Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Day 31: Upon seeing the sign: No Purpose. No Entry.

What shall I say 
when the gatekeeper asks
to account 
for my presence?
Should  I say I came to 
serve or be served
or observe
the state of things
of confusing service and 
disservice?
 When you travel this far
only to find you've
forgotten your purpose
or you no longer want it,
will it make sense to return
or proceed;
and this guard--
what standard does he keep
to say a purpose is valid,
will he accept silence?
Surely, there is joy
even for a fleeting second
to stay at the door,
between aiming and aimless.


 

Monday, January 30, 2017

Day 30: All you ever wanted

When you wake up in the morning
And your dick won’t rise with you
And your maid is late with your coffee
and viagra
and this maid calls your driver
who is late because he went to a wake
of the dead and the living who wanted your photo a-feastin’ and your fly open
and your toes showin’ and you
curse him for wakin’ later than his
bossin’ and you read the papers
and you notice they missed the quota
and the countdown is off by a thousand and they talk about the helicopter and the man who jumped off from it and landed on the crocodiles and they have not forgotten but it has not been proven
And you hear Obama fucking intellectual, writing books, teaching law, editing a law journal, and he became President, what does he know about power when he hasn’t shot a man, when he hasn’t fucked a whore, when he gets angry in a gray suit, well-pressed and bloodless? Unlike the police with the million dollar home who robs a Korean, and then chokes him and burns him and flushes his ashes off the toilet while his boss sings a rock song in a concert of hippies who worship the Pope who caused the traffic and caused you to be late for a date
with a whore, and this drug-addict lover, de Lima, whose voice reminds you of your teacher who almost flunked you in math which has no use but for counting dead bodies that smell of gun powder that gives you the high like when you’re mad 
so you decide to go on air and call the press and talk about the bullshit you go through each day 
when all you ever wanted is an angry fix. 
Yes, all you ever wanted is an angry fix.
‘tang-ina! ‘tang-ama! ‘tangnyolahat!

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Day 29: Conversation with Chuang Tzu

What business is there
in being useless,
to plant a tree in the 
middle of nowhere,
so it will not be disturbed,
when surely the tree
serves some purpose
like holding the soil in a flood
that will inundate the village
or provide a shade for the birds,
a home for the squirrels?
Dear Master,
who said the useless is
never disturbed,
perhaps it is better to say
it is futile to wish to be inutile
prepare to be disturbed
for we are all designed
to be of use if not to us
but to others.
Dear Master replied,
”Who said we wish not to be disturbed?
What we wish is to free ourselves
of use so we can
learn from them who use us.
When we cease to be 
what others need of us
we become that 
tree before it grows up.”

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Day 28: Song for the Accused

The Supreme Court missed it 
as they sometimes do
great learned men of the race
put a man to death and
misread the law.
T'was April 1974, in 
Pola Mindoro Oriental
Manuel Morales had carnal knowledge 
with his daughter  Maria, 
young lady of 14.
Incestuous rape we call it now --
a plague humanity beset for centuries hence
And it happened repeatedly so
poor child,  Maria, 
I wished he set her free.
But God was silent all those months 
and on December of that year,
born to Maria one evening at 7
a bright baby named Mary,
she was crying and healthy
but Manuel had thoughts 
and poor baby he took and 
buried on the ground
15 feet away from 
where she was born.
Yet, God had eyes who knew
and decreed that no crime though hidden 
would not be found
for one Delfin Dris and the fiery Dr. Alamar
unearthed the remains of little Mary.
Manuel Morales was caught and jailed 
He confessed to the killing
and related his deed.
It was shame he said 
that caused him to do it,
the proof -- his granchild he killed.
He confessed to the police.
He confessed to the court.
He was ready to embrace his fate.
The court sentenced him to death
and the Supreme Court reviewed
if the law was applied.
The Revised Penal Code it said,
the great Court quoted,
Nocturnity would aggravate
the death penalty -- we cannot avoid.
but one J. Abad Santos dissented
How can it aggravate when it was not intended?
Poor baby was born at 7 already in the evening
Nocturnity was not planned but was a given
the punishment should be reduced
to imprisonment for life.
But the Court of sage chose not to hear 
the lone dissenter's voice
perversity must not escape, it said 
and to the death Manuel Morales went.
And now, forty years hence
we examine the mistake
our dearest Court made
J. Abad Santos, God bless him,
was right. In crimes it is so
one is punished for intent
and not for an event 
as common as night. 
Morales is dead, but he could have lived 
to contemplate and suffer for his fault
he might have reformed and lived a pious life
as he had shown when he confessed
He might have been forgiven and 
lived a wondrous life, yet it is
over now and it is done.
an evil deed and big mistake 
forever etched.
So, here I argue against death,
how many more mistakes will we make?
how many more to suffer his fate.
Someday it might be you, your friend, or family.
Pray it never happens to anyone you love --
a hopeless fate 
remorse too late.

Friday, January 27, 2017

Day 27: Meatless

They say you become the
animal you like to eat.
I’m a pig then
nosing around the pen
happy to lie in the mud or wherever
always waiting for dinner
and the next meal after that
and the one after.
And you,
a chicken, 
forever pecking on the ground
looking for little things like worms
in your food, but if you’re a chicken,
the worm is your food, which
you hate like lizards.
And even if you’re just sitting there
you’re actually doing something
like guarding the chicks
or hatching eggs.
It seemed improbable 
that we’d end up together,
the slouch and the worker.
So, we decided to get married
and now we’re vegetarians,
almost.


Thursday, January 26, 2017

Day 26: Names

You've understood something 
if you’ve learned its name.

Like when a new species of birds is discovered 
and it is called
Rudder's Forest Robin

Some rare pain in your heart,
Brugada Syndrome

Crazy roommate,
bipolar

Your dark past,
Incestuous rape

Caring but silent god,
Father.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Day 25: Letter to 70 year old self

You could have been President 
like you once dreamed 
until you read Nietzsche and 
decided metaphysics is more exciting 
than feeding the greed 
of those who profess 
they want to serve.
The philosopher king 
would have to win the election 
without joining it
or wanting to
such queerness of fate
should match 
Plato’s design that the 
ordinary ones wouldn't understand.
But cheers to you who kept the faith
to keep the path that Frost described
to find enjoyment in the rain,
drink in measured cups,
fast in large dinners, 
feast when there is little
To sing the forgotten song 
and dance for dancing’s sake 
To tell the story no one
wants to hear
To think and unthink at a finger snap
To love with a love, as Poe described,
That is more than love, 
and love some more.
To stay when there is hope
To pray when there is none
As the universe expands,
to be its little child.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Day 24: Boazanian Dreams

I don’t remember Voltes V
ever having trouble with it.
A beast fighter attacks 
and they begin the dance — 
the machine hero takes some beating
a couple of blows,
it is wrestled to the ground,
a chain runs a current
gets the team in pain,
But the earth defender recovers,
chain knuckles, Voltes Bazooka,
the Ultra Electro Magnetic Top is unleashed 
taking from the skills of Mark Gordon,
the orphan cowboy with the obscure past,
the snake like belt turns 
into a yo-yo string and a whip 
with spinning tops that 
explode on impact.
It never fails
this zippy gadget
doesn't stop 
the way a cellphone drops a connection 
or an ATM goes offline
and debits your money
and eats your card,
or the LRT freezes on track
or your car gets a flat tire.
And though the Voltes V story 
fails not to inspire 
it's never the same
when you gear up for work
and a thing conks out
in a third world kind of way
and you lose or 
(almost) die.

Monday, January 23, 2017

Day 23: The Guard

At the port of Verde 
the quiet isle between 
Batangas and Mindoro
stands an abandoned resort,
Dos Palmas, they used to call it, 
the same one
which lost Martin Burnham
in Honda Bay, Palawan.
The lobby chairs are empty
the rooms still kept,
sheets, dusty;
spoons and glasses complete —
No one there
but a guard on duty.

One morning I came by boat,
a client wanted to see
how much the resort would fetch;
the pictures showed it was,
a place of rest, serenity. I walked around the island and met him
who stood on the edge of nowhere
No one but the sand and sea
No boss to report to
No thieves to deter
No kidnappers to fight
There was no one to kidnap
But the turtles on the beach.
A tough job it was to be vigilant
Like Beckett’s play it seemed 
Godot never came to him who waited.
Jester was I and called him 
expecting him relaxed and cheating
“Attention! 
Soldier, are your shoes shiny?”
And lo! On his boots I saw the
sun winking, and said he —

SIR YES SIR!

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Day 22: My Wife vs. The iPhone

She threatened to throw it to the trash
Once
it refused to turn on, having been 
Dropped
repeatedly from high places like my 
Heart
of a rock that wouldn’t budge to tell 
Hers
is not a problem of force but of
Understanding 
if she’s not keen on reading the manual
Might
as well listen and accept there is 
Nothing 
on my mind but her struggles, and the 
Time
I spend on duties are things to 
Fill
the open space of being like the 
Gadget
when it chokes because it's sending 
Email
and many other things
And
in this fight against the iPhone,  
We
are rooting for no one else but 
She.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Day 21: Tatay's Lesson

He asked me one morning 
as I rushed a paper for class
why I haven’t learned to type,
growing up in his shop 
with typewriters that arrived
missing letters, rigid strokes, 
that needed fixing
in a corner of his house in Pola, 
a town of bankers, lawyers, and clerks
who begged their babies 
jumped the line
for theirs were texts that needed to be set, 
filed in court, or sent far away.
He counted 
how many learned
from his machines
in the afternoons
learning rtyu’s to fghj’s
soon after they’re chasing the quick brown fox, 
the rhythm of clickety clacks and bings 
replacing the stoccatos in which a beginner starts,
That was thirty years ago
and Tatay left;
how would it fascinate him to know 
Liquid Paper is gone
with auto-correct.
Yet on a Macbook,
God bless his soul, I worry 
about letters on the
screen neat and clean, and
regret it might be late
to learn where the “z” is
without looking
a written word
on a moment’s thought
just by touching.

Friday, January 20, 2017

Day 20: Riddles for the 21st Century

1. Twelve numbers 
you need to handle me or
you know not what I will be
for when I have flown and you didn’t see, you regret it and 
you miss me.

2. What it is the end 
of all that begins,
and begins at the very end,
like a river with no sea,
the end that never ends?

3. “You say potato and I say potatoh
you say tomato and I say tomatoh
potato, potatoh, tomato, tomatoh
Let’s call the whole thing off.”

Answer: 
1. Time 2. Death 3. Sec. Andanar and the Press, or Pres. Duterte and Sec. Yasay

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Day 19: Wika nga ni Neruda

(Halaw at salin mula sa Soneto XVII)

Di kita mahal gaya ng rosas na asin, topasyo, o hilera ng klabeles na nagsasaboy ng silab:
Mahal kita tulad ng pagtangi sa mga bagay na madilim,
palihim, sa pagitan ng anino at diwa.

Mahal kita parang halamang hindi bumubukadkad at bitbit ang liwanag ng bulaklak, kipkip, sa sarili lamang,
at salamat sa iyong pag-ibig
mula sa lupa ay nabuhay sa aking katawan sa lilim ang
masinsing bango ng rosas.

Mahal kita ng hindi alam kung paano, kailan, at saan
Mahal kita ng tuluyan, walang ligalig at yabang
Mahal kita pagkat hindi ko alam kung anong paraan ka pa mahalin

kundi ganito, walang ikaw o ako 
sa digkit ang iyong kamay sa aking dibdib ay akin
sa digkit ang iyong mata ay pikit sabay ng aking pangarap.

Day 18: To Throw

off a troll, 
start with a big word 
like “supine,”
he’ll be wondering 
how it’s pronounced, 
and, too lazy to lift
his fingers and Google 
how to say it, he won't 
read any further, 
not knowing in English it means
— the acceptance
of an immoral situation 
due to selfishness or 
indolence
like when people are killed openly on the streets by state agents and 
no one protests because only drug addicts get killed and bystanders are mere collateral damage.
Also means 
— the position of body lying down and the face is looking upwards like when the drugs addicts are killed and they are made to lie facing the sky as the policemen put a gun on their hands to make it appear the corpses were involved in a shoot-out.
Sa Tagalog, “supin” syort por
sumisipsip na Pilipino kaya
kahit patayan ng patayan 
walang nagrereklamo kasi hapi-hapi tayo.
Supin supine in the face of murder.
And he, friendly neighborhood troll,
might even  click “like" and "share” 
if you end with
 👊 👊👊👊!

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Day 17: Subic Rhapsody

You can tell
in this January afternoon
the gods 
have blessed us 
the way the coconut leaves sway 
to the direction of the sea
the chill swirling around the nape
whisking salt in the air
as the smoke scatters 
in this bayside bar;
we could have been 
in an air-conditioned room
on the 52nd floor in BGC,
away from the elements,
pampered by modern man’s facilities. 
Yet time and space have crossed 
and willed us to be here
as the sun descends
the wind upon our faces.
 

Monday, January 16, 2017

Day 16: That Lecaroz Painting

of Francis M.
was done in half a day,
one June 12 afternoon,
when boredom struck
and we had money to burn
on canvas, paint, and beer,
with splashes and shades
of the Republic's flag
Kaleidoscope World repeatedly 
played "Every color every hue is
represented by me and you."
I only wanted to see her work
half-expecting she'll get it; half she won't.
It mattered not so long as the barbeque 
came out tender and flavorful.
But she painted
like a mad woman, 
twisting and turning,
the brush landing on the canvas
followed no patterns 
but those in her mind.
She was on his eyes when she paused,
changing brushes as she worked,
her hand barely moving in its stance.
I left to check the grill and let her be.
Then she hanged it on the wall for it was done
And I, 
whelmed by what transpired, 
declared 
genius that was once cloaked 
has been found.
 

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Day 15: To Bato's Cop


How many criminals has incoming Philippine National Police (PNP) Chief Ronald "Bato" Dela Rosa killed? Dela Rosa seemed stumped by the question during a radio DZMM interview Friday, saying only his priest knows the answer… He also revealed that he sometimes weeps in church when he is asking for forgiveness from God. "I am no cold-blooded killer," he said.” http://news.abs-cbn.com/nation/06/10/16/bato-i-am-no-cold-blooded-killer

Who doesn’t need
poetry under a crescent moon
on a white-noised night,
and urine-stenched air,
to kill and put a gun on a 
dead man’s hand
before the radiomen
get to the bloodied street?
You have been assured,
a price for every head
and pardon, if you make a mistake.
You never had it so good in your prosaic world.
It's hard to live you say
when people are  rollicking in 
kaleidoscope dreaminess 
the way that grass
fools the mind of the 
lightness of living
when there is work to do
like build roads and
people do their tripping.
It is your job, in fact, 
to strike out an item
from a list
the way a butcher knocks off a
cut from the carcass of a hog
on a manifest.
Please take a second
to see that the words on the list
are not ribs, hocks, or tails,
but somebody’s name 
who might have been your dad 
or wife from another life,
a fellow human with a face. 
Yet, counter-factuals, you say, 
are irrelevant to your work.
It is easier for a man like you,
bemedalled soldier of the state,
to go home to your real wife, 
tell her how you survived the shoot out with the man, 
who came like the pied piper to take 
people's kids away, he with the evil laugh,
breathing fire as he struck, he was dead
before he could shoot -- 
a little spin here and there 
and you, 
with the heart of a rock,
declare shouldn't we be happy to be alive?
Who doesn't need poetry?

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Day 14: Attorney Overdrive (Excerpt from a Novel)

Book One Chapter 5

First Hearing

Gabi's words that evening spurred me to get back to law school and finished what I started. Somehow I remember him as I arrived early for my first hearing, which like my first board meeting, is headed for disaster. I have one solitary task - postpone the hearing.

The case is a simple bank collection case, A owes Bank money. Bank sues A to collect. It should be fairly simple like the case digests being peddled around in law school to save classmates from embarrassment during class recitation.

Unfortunately, A has an elaborate story worthy of Frederick Forsythe novel. According to A, he was part of the group that wanted to take-over the bank. His friend, a man named Dewey Dy, had borrowed his title so he can show the Central Bank that he had assets to back up his take-over bid. Little did A  know that Dewey had induced more than fifty other friends from the Rotary Club to lend money or real estate to Dewey for his take over bid for the bank.

 What Dy did, however, is to borrow money from the Bank he was supposed to buy using the assets he had borrowed from A and the others as collaterals, make the first draw, which wiped out the single borrower's limit of the Bank, gamble his heart out in Las Vegas, and settle in Canada, leaving A and his friends and the Bank he was supposed to buy dead broke. 

Dewey never paid the Bank, which was closed by the Marcos Government after experiencing a bank  run following Dewey’s departure to Canada. Jaime Laya, then Central Bank Governor,  saw some assets of the Bank worth saving, offered one peso for very ten pesos in debt to the Bank's depositors, and asked the Social Security System to run it.

My boss, Atty. Antonio, who used to head the Bank's  legal department reinvented himself and put up a law firm, which was assigned to handle the tedious task of foreclosing on Dewey’s hapless friends. Unfortunately for all of us, the Bank has not produced a single witness to enforce its claim. The Firm has apparently been postponing the presentation of its first witness on many guises. 

Reading through the active folder, I realized how creative the Firm has been in getting the postponements:

1.The lawyer’s car broke down, 
2. The lawyer’s grandmother died,
3.  The lawyer died, 
4. The lawyer left his file, 
5. The new lawyer went to the wrong court,
6. The the new lawyer resigned, 
7. The witness was sick, 
8. The witness left for the US, 
9. The witness has not returned and will probably never will, 
10. The new lawyer took over but he had loose bowel movement,
11. The new lawyer got married, 
12. The new lawyer’s wife gave birth (but it was a false alarm), 
13. The new new lawyer’s wife gave birth (this time it’s real), 
14. The new lawyer has been appointed to the Office of the President, 

Now, there's a new new lawyer, and that's me. That is like three years and the court has repeatedly warned that failure to present a witness in the next hearing will cause the court to order the dismissal of the case. So this hapless task of keeping a hopeless case alive has fallen into my lap. 

The other side is represented by the Law Firm of Romulo Mabanta who’s got a solid reputation as a mean legal machine. The handling partner, Atty. Tierro, has thirty years of litigation experience behind him, while I just took my lawyer’s oath a couple of weeks ago. So, this is like Michael Jordan versus rookie, never mind if the rookie is Kobe Bryant. 

What I need is a strategy to have another chance at another chance, a tall order considering how the Firm has made a fool of itself postponing this case for a long time with these ruses. I can only think of one strategy, which is based on Sun Tzu’s Art of War. Be early in the battleground.  What happens when the battle begins is something for the legal gods to decide. This case may have been really a joke to begin with and we have been led on to keep this joke alive. What is disconcerting is the seeming lack of concern of the Bank to get a witness to the stand, as if keeping the case alive with no hope of recovery could go on endlessly. So, I was early. I sat there at 7am in the morning with no one else in the courtroom. 

The Regional Trial Court of Manila Branch 30 circa 1995, probably was the most odd-looking court ever. I arrived in my coat and tie with a matching pocket square and brown Oxfords to a courtroom no bigger than 10 square meters. Of these little space, the Judge's bench occupied about half of it, and there are two chairs in front, which I presume were for the counsels. 
There are piles of folders on the door, almost blocking the entrance, and one electric fan vintage 70s rusty and noisy, but working. The room is dominated by a huge wall with the portrait of the late Chief Justice Justice Teehankee by Federico Alcuaz, similar to the one hanging on the Ateneo Law School Library. 

A few minutes after I arrived, a janitor came to sweep the floor. He greeted me as he did his work and said. "You're new here Attorney?"

"Yes," I said.

"Don't look so nervous," he said.

"No, I'm okay," I said.

"Attorney, don't forget to greet Judge. It's her birthday today." he said.

"Oh," I said. "Ok, I'll greet her. Thanks."

Just then a man in white barong with salt and pepper  hair arrived with a big suitcase. He took the chair in front of me and introduced himself -- "Atty. Tierro" he said in a deep baritone that sounded like the voice of Morgan Freeman. I think I managed to squeak out my name. 

"Oh, you're the guy who wrote that Petition to the Supreme Court. I didn't realize you're that young." he said.

"Oh, that hopeless case about the attachment proceedings here? Thanks." I replied.

"You know, I prepared for three days for today's hearing." he said.

I bit my lips and said "Oh, that's so hardworking of you."

"You know this Alcuaz painting of Chief Justice Teehankee is a series?" he said.

"There is another one in Dondi's office. You know Dondi? It's the CJ's son who works with us. And the other one hangs in the Ateneo Library." he said. 

"But Alcuaz is a nut. You know he finished law from the Ateneo but went into art full time?"

"I didn't know that." I said. I thought Alcuaz was an artist who studied in the Ateneo College, that's why he enjoyed the patronage of Ateneans. Now, it makes sense why his painting of the late Chief Justice is on the library. 

"That Alcuaz is an idiot -- he raffled off one of his paintings in the Ateneo Alumni Homecoming. And the sonofagun joined the raffle and won!" Atty. Tierro said. 

"Oh, really?" I said.

"What a surprise to all us who wanted the piece. That imbecile of an artist, donated his weird looking ghostly  picture of an obscure man for the raffle, joined the raffle, and won it back." He continued.

I realized there is more to this story.

"So the crowd was asking him to waive it off. Of course, what kind of a person would donate something and take it back, even assuming that he won the raffle fair and square? " He added.

"What did he do?" I asked.

"He refused. The selfish idiot refused. I said there's something wrong with this guy's head. Just then he relented and said that he would instead paint a portrait of the raffle winner. So, we had another raffle. And we were all so excited that one of us will be painted by Alcuaz." He said.

"Oh that's good." I said.

"And guess what? I won it." He said.

"That's cool!" I said.

 "But this nuthead, never did that portrait. I kept following up with this guy. My secretary was bugging him all the time. One day he said I should turn up in his studio and he would do it. So, I turned up in his studio on my tux in the heat of the afternoon. But he never came. The idiot stood me up. I was so angry." He said, his voice crumbling as he ended his story in rage.

I sat there amused with the story, thinking poor guy, he must have been really angry. Just then the court stenographer and clerk arrived, and told us we should be ready for the judge is about to come out of her chambers.

Atty. Tierro was still gathering his composure and wiping off the sweat on his face when the judge came out in her standard black gown. She must be nearing the age of  sixty, her hair was brown, and she wore bright red lipsticks and classy pearl earrings.

The case was called, and I jumped in trying hard to imitate Atty Tierro's baritone, 

"Your honor, you look beautiful. 
Happy Birthday!" 

I started singing happy birthday and egged Atty. Tierro to join in which he eventually did, adding a deep bass to the melody of the song. The staff from the other room came over and I motioned them to join us too in the singing and soon the room was filled with people singing happy birthday to the judge. Afterwards, we clapped and the judge looked genuinely happy and told us thank you.

And I said, "Your honor, you are probably the most stylish lady judge in Manila and it is an honor to appear before you today.  In spite of the fact that you could have taken your birthday leave and could have stayed with your family who probably would miss you, you chose to come to work  instead of celebrating your birthday. And I am very proud to be working with you who have demonstrated your dedication to the administration of justice in our beloved country."

The judge smiled and covered her mouth with her handkerchief like a school girl who was gushing and said "Don't mention it counsel."

"May I ask for a postponement?" 



In the afternoon after the hearing, I turned over the file to the docket clerk. But before giving it, I saw the list of reasons for postponements that I drew up earlier and added " #15. Birthday ni Judge."


Follow the story of Attorney Overdrive here http://lavidalawyer.blogspot.com/search/label/Nanowrimo?m=0


Friday, January 13, 2017

Day 13: Notes on the Cross-Examination of Pilate

How long were you the 
ruler of Judea?
And isn’t it so that your mandate is to 
keep the ruled at peace,
make things predictable —
food for the hungry,
work for the unoccupied,
penalty for the wicked?
And this man who spoke about the 
law of loving God above all
and loving others as one loves oneself,  
what balance did he tilt 
to merit the punishment that you meted?
He did not incite any one against Rome, you will agree? 
Or rally Galilee to secede?
When he spoke, in fact,
of giving to Ceasar what is Ceasar's, 
or loving one’s enemy, he might have implored the province to embrace your dominion — 
weren’t you, after all, the enemy?
The truth, Mr. Pilate, is that you are a coward, correct? 
You stand for nothing but the erection in your loins, 
the food of your feasts, 
the palace where you sleep, and 
the servants you order around?
And violence you can take,  
as long it’s not you they attack? 
Better he than you, 
a footnote to the bankruptcy  of your politics, 
where you trade the easy for the just and 
deny what is due?
You’re an ordinary man in an extraordinary time? 
You know history would not be kind, 
Answer me yes or no — 
You were oblivious  of your 
chance to prove 
the prophecy was wrong —
That man is rational
That man is free
That by doing what is right, 
man could break 
from the empire of expediency?
There are many like you 
who lived and died,
simpletons
with amoral hearts?
You are excused.