+++
title = "A Sestina"
description = "Poem in six stanzas and an envoi"

[taxonomies]
categories = ["blog"]
tags = ["art", "poems"]

[extra]
zenn_applause = true
+++

## By Satya Benson

Lying in bed, imagining all the wonderful creations  
To come, crying tears inside because they won’t, I can’t fight,  
I am too weak even though I can be strong and eat the fruit  
Of labour I won’t, I will not though I want, though I must walk,  
But on the outside, where I can see, I don’t yet drink  
Those tears, those bitter tears, not till I’ve pushed through the thick

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And out into the light and the others where I can’t tell if it’s still thick  
Or if I’m stronger, and maybe I really can make those creations  
And in a glass of hot blessed pride offer a drink  
To all those who I want to challenge, and then it will be their fight,  
But no, that is a dream, life is moving fast and I must walk  
And then I dream that life will bear my fruit,

And I am back. But this time it is trivial and I plant small trees, that will bear fruit  
That is hard and true, but small, so small, and does little to penetrate the thick,  
Little indeed, so onward but not forward I must walk,  
Until like Alice I look back and have come so far but I have to run 
faster to get to any creations,
Faster, always faster and never fast enough, I have to keep up the 
fight  
So at the end of the day I can lean back and take a drink

But not too deep, I must be wary of drowning, know when to pull away the drink,  
For that, more than dreams, will bear the real, cold fruit  
In that small ugly life we fight without valor or honor, our fight  
Is dirty and small and slow and bare, a fight to clear the thick,  
To push it away, and leave in its stead full lush creations  
But that is a dream, and instead I keep on my feet and walk.

Must that be? Do I have to give in, to just let go and walk?  
It brings relief but sadness too, and is not truly resolved — instead I will drink  
Deeply without drowning, and someday _I will_ realize my dreams, see my creations,  
And they will, I believe, bear rich lush fruit, thick fruit,  
But I lie, I do not believe, and hampered by self-imposed limits stumble and rush to the heavy thick  
I didn’t see it coming, but I will get up again and fight again, that valorous fight, _I will fight_ — 

Lying in bed, crying tears inside because I can’t fight,  
I will not be strong and eat and drink, though I must walk,  
Walk crying bitter tears which make me blind to see them, then pushing through the thick  
And out to my cup of tears which I now drink,  
And out to my tall trees bearing their gorgeous fruit,  
And I do not only imagine all the wonderful creations.

But here remains the thick and still I must fight  
For my creations to make them real, and I keep on the walk  
All the way back home, to lean back and take a drink made from the aged sweet juices of my fruit.
