Rebirth Of Manus
© Surazeus
2019 02 07
Stripped of my possessions, my clothes, my name,
and ownership over my family land,
then thrown naked in the field of wet grass,
excommunicated from my home town,
I stand exposed to the harsh elements,
nobody alone in the bleak wilderness.
Though I lose all identifying marks
that signify my status in my tribe,
and define who I am and what I do,
I still remain my naked primal self,
intelligent animal who can talk
and analyze environment where I am.
Stripped of all my social illusions, masks
that defined my role in communal game,
I return to my original self,
so I can invent new role to play,
and develop new set of daily rituals
from habitual actions that sustain life.
Can I survive this anguished howl of pain
and grow beyond this horror of exile,
so I can find in deep well of my heart
my secret voice to express my clear thoughts
then give myself new name to describe how
I rise reborn from cold mud of this world?
I built so many things with my skilled hands
over the years to make my visions real,
but all I made has been taken away,
yet I know I can make it all again,
because my vision and skill to create
I possess inside my mind and my hands.
As long as they never destroy this body,
they cannot destroy my vision or skill,
so I can give myself new secret name,
Manus, to indicate my skill with hands,
how I can manipulate solid matter
and create everything I need to live.
Reborn from the muddy field of this world,
I am Manus, the Hand who creates things,
transforming waste land into paradise
by stacking stones to build surrounding wall
where I construct the hall to house my soul,
and tend plants in garden of my safe haven.
Though they destroyed illusions of my status,
I create new illusions to maintain
ritual performance of daily routine
tending food that sustains body of flesh
so I can stand proud again on this world
and proclaim myself, Manus of the Earth.
© Surazeus
2019 02 07
Stripped of my possessions, my clothes, my name,
and ownership over my family land,
then thrown naked in the field of wet grass,
excommunicated from my home town,
I stand exposed to the harsh elements,
nobody alone in the bleak wilderness.
Though I lose all identifying marks
that signify my status in my tribe,
and define who I am and what I do,
I still remain my naked primal self,
intelligent animal who can talk
and analyze environment where I am.
Stripped of all my social illusions, masks
that defined my role in communal game,
I return to my original self,
so I can invent new role to play,
and develop new set of daily rituals
from habitual actions that sustain life.
Can I survive this anguished howl of pain
and grow beyond this horror of exile,
so I can find in deep well of my heart
my secret voice to express my clear thoughts
then give myself new name to describe how
I rise reborn from cold mud of this world?
I built so many things with my skilled hands
over the years to make my visions real,
but all I made has been taken away,
yet I know I can make it all again,
because my vision and skill to create
I possess inside my mind and my hands.
As long as they never destroy this body,
they cannot destroy my vision or skill,
so I can give myself new secret name,
Manus, to indicate my skill with hands,
how I can manipulate solid matter
and create everything I need to live.
Reborn from the muddy field of this world,
I am Manus, the Hand who creates things,
transforming waste land into paradise
by stacking stones to build surrounding wall
where I construct the hall to house my soul,
and tend plants in garden of my safe haven.
Though they destroyed illusions of my status,
I create new illusions to maintain
ritual performance of daily routine
tending food that sustains body of flesh
so I can stand proud again on this world
and proclaim myself, Manus of the Earth.
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