Your mocking disbelief does not concern me;
I am what I am, an immortal spirit
trapped in flesh and subject
to ceaseless transformations.
Every time I die I pray it is the final time,
only to open my eyes and see the earth anew.
I have been a tree and a flower,
a bull, a goat and an ass,
a girl, a boy and even, once, a Persian eunuch,
beloved of the defender who slays men.
Through all these I remained myself
only the outward appearance changing
like an actor taking on a different role.
So often I’ve gazed into reflective bronze,
a gurgling river, the eyes of a lover
and seen a face I can’t recognize
– then the bewildering moment passes,
and I’m back to myself.
So jeer if you must;
long after you’ve dissolved into bone and shit,
I’ll still be walking through this world.
Hermes blessed me with perfect recollection
and I am patient. Very patient.
Tell your descendants, O Sicilian Thersites,
for you are powerless to do ought else,
that I’ll be coming for them in the quiet dark.
It would be tragic if I sent them down into Haides’ mire
without any idea why.
What? Don’t feel much like laughing now?
Neither do I. Philosophy is a pursuit for the serious-minded.
