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  anyone for humiliation

                   do even the best cringe
in shame
                   at the bottled-up look they take of themselves
                                                       most in fear of being found out
                              others the damage they must have wrought 
in the image they have of themselves
                                                                                       but all all
by the tasks and choices their lives lead them on to
             either through the immediate pleasure that can be got                 
    or for wanting to shine in the midst of peers
             they cling to the glory their imageselves chase after 

                 O it’d be so easy to say
life after all abuses every one
	humiliates every precious person
  puts us all to the acid test
		some hapless irreversible irreparable disaster
	inadvertent mistake
					lapsus 	
                                              even for the insignificant wayward
nonentities
             and leaves us all less proud of our makings
                                                                our fathers  mothers
       it’s even easier to seek the fault in our genes
            or insist that such and such was the compelling circumstance
     put the blame on this damned unrequiting thing we call Life
                               which after all must come   will come to a final self-defeating end 

             There are others who’d say
this life of ours was precisely for this purpose
        precisely given to make of us 
the gods we were never born to be but to hanker after
                                       unless we sought the feet of the Almighty
       batter death down and survive into aeons of bliss
 on the mindblinding petals of the Golden Flower 

             How many may take this death-defying firstclass deluxe flight
                  and for what purpose
        if the Almighty himself   as they who come as messengers say   directs all lives in secret
           is he looking for an assistant
                                                        
                                                Who cares if one is born again
   since we remember not where or from whom we came 
                        and take everything here on earth       
       for what it’s worth
what can the isolated adult do
	the most corrosive abusive power rides in the vaults of mindless banks l’appareil judiciaire the police the secret services
the chiefs of armed forces  the cabals the cartels the secret societies masons or not the media Kings the monolithic political party bosses  trade union cadres and in those who wield psychiatric netherworld control of the mind and souls the priests in skirts  all  all managed by the hungry few in the line of succession in the hierarchical hereditary edifice the age-old royally pontificating pyramidal straight-jacket world 

             must we not then accept our lot
try as best we can to let things not get much worse
                                               but if the chips fall right only in the other birth
                   think little of the setbacks
                            and come back again stronger 
   all   all  
		wishful self-numbing reverie

May 8, 1997 
© T. Wignesan – Paris, revised from : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999
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