Past the Persona

And now, ladies and gentlemen,

The demigod has fallen from divinity!

The demigod appears feeble, senile!

The demigod only patronised us, pandered

To our volatile minds and promulgated a spout of

Proper-gander dressed up as universals, but only hold beneath them

Her true life’s colours, her individualism, her imperfections,

Her tragedies, agendas and boundaries of knowledge.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, she is set for scolding and obloquy,

Her satin torn by the wolves of truth

And personal modernity, her mortality revealed

And human skin too. The chaos ensues

From a rebelliously tossed flaming kindling.

A riot has begun:

A revolution, or a downfall?

Betrayed peasants produce pamphlets and posters

Of defamation, circulate them with haste

To see the royalty and holiness of this antichrist stripped

In the hopes that all the ruckus and rebelling

Will end with her sound crucifixion. Houses burn. The truth is out.

You are human.

Is there anything more liberating for a man,

Crippled by his own ridiculous, whimsical

Adoration for a woman, than when the demigod falls

To his own echelon,

When the fissures of his fancy suddenly show?