Last night I fed an army of mosquitoes.
They made a feast of my flesh and blood.
And as I laid helpless in the darkness
I felt like a martyr for nothing.
I tried to reason with them that I have an album coming out,
That I lead a consulting gig and that I am a good person.
But they didn’t give a damn, preferring to my goodness,
The sweetness of my blood, they found abundantly favorable.
I was madly furious, for never I’m ignored so bluntly
And no one molests me unpunishingly.
The stings itched godlessly and kept me awake wild-eyed.
But when I felt most desperate, I was granted wisdom.
What is there to hate mosquitoes for?
Only fault of theirs is that they are true to their nature.
Granted I’m not fond of their nature,
But their “being true” is quite admirable.
I wish I had that much zeal to stay true
To my self in my endeavors and obligations.
And if in times when I feel as tiny as a mosquito,
I could create as much impact as it does -
Then, at the moments of my greatness
I could sweep the universe of its feet.