Solid Subjects

What is your substance, whereof are you made?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade, 
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
“Tell us. You’re safe.”
We need your spirit to use it at our expense. 
We’ll leave you broken, mute and contemplative,
Thrown away, of no use to anybody, shapeless, discarded –
And the headlines will say: “He neglected his duties. 
He now began to haunt the places, was determined to possess it.”
But what is this it? What is the truth of it?
A driven reporter, a Gale Weathers type of gal, so vivid and alert, 
asking nosy questions like “What made you give it all up in a second?”

Questions we don’t ask ourselves when we assume 
That there’s a purpose or character.
But we need to know
What is your substance, 
Whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
What do you consume?
Where do you sleep?
Who do you sleep with? 
Who do you date? 
What kind of thoughts keep you up at night, 
When you are walking down the lane so late?

Now we read today’s news, 
Gale Weathers 2.0 commenting: 
“What a tragedy, he was so young skip, skip,
blah, blah – shell shock– driven to insanity.
The disappointments he had suffered, let alone the fatigue and derision –
Never really forgave himself for past decisions.
He bore the consequences of his actions,
It weighed down his pocket when we reacted.”
Folding the paper, suddenly, it radiates cold.
Is that our guilty conscience? 
It is now weighing our spirit down,
Shaking our heads in disbelief,
Copy paste, insert empty phrase:
“Politics be damned!”

But what if we was just an illusion?
What if there is just you or me? 
What if I, I mean you, I mean we, are all fake mentalists?
What is our substance, whereof are we made,
That millions of strange shadows on us tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And we, but one, can every shadow lend.
What is our substance, 
When modernists like Woolf 
Might have written about solid objects
But we have too much passionate prejudice in us 
To preoccupy ourselves with anything but morbid subjects?

© Elena Natroshvili

IG: 16minutepoetry