Their soul is made of
endless compromises
who claim perfectionism in their lives;
what they can't be in reality
they claim to be in narrations, whitewashed.
They excuse themselves infinitely
and they punish others endlessly;
That is the pity of them;
They have to carp and carp at others
to engine their complex
of being always perfect;
poor souls! who have traded poorly
their real self
for the gilded tin-work of the society;
Be happy, my dear soul!
to be always imperfect;
never covet any encomiums
to live your ordinary banal life
here on this dirty soil;
don't breath for claps!
don't sweat for laurels!
don't dance to the tunes of society
and make yourself a showpiece!
just live your dirty little life
for yourself and by yourself;
The slave-catchers are aplenty
and come in so many forms;
don't sell yourself for any of the charms.
