Hands, older than mine,
Clamped on my legs like prison shackles.
The world is inverted
Upside down, left, right swaying,
Laughter of the jackals.
Frater, mei frater, mei ira!
I scream like a banshee,
Waiting to retaliate the second I am loose.
“Let me go” says I,
“Or I shall have the Master
Bring his gavel down upon thee.”
Then, I am falling,
Soft, carpeted thud,
Laughter of the jackals fleeing into the distance.
Running, I consult the Master
And call for judgment,
Like the storyteller of truth I was.
Laughter of the jackals becomes laughter no more.