(1st Part: Poetic Choice)
A crossroad I’ve reached,
where three roads meet,
which lead to three directions
with many different diversions.
Beauty, Tragedy and Satire,
name posts are hanging higher,
and I have to make a choice,
the right choice,
only one choice.
The first road will lead me to be
a satirist, a wordsmith very rude,
you met in Thesmophoriazusae
or in Shadwell’s perfect stupidity.
As part of a deliberate plan to hurt,
with an utterly rotten line of dirt,
a truly an innocent, honest heart
and get rot my own heart and art,
I can send to the history of dustbin
not for him committing a grave sin
or any pure, serious social offence
that he can’t seek any fair defence,
but, I don’t need any Greek to hide,
for refusing to stand in our own side.