by Zinta Aistars
To Markus, my son, joy and ache of my heart, a wonder I have watched grow from a cherub to a young and life-hungry god eager to shape his own world. In honor of his 21st year...
Tasting the wild, you had your own
game rules to follow, your own
authority to respect, code of honor,
chosen lines and boundaries,
designated limitations –
I could only watch in wonder.
Round peg in some squared off opening,
you chipped away at its edges:
this is who I am, hear me roar!
Hear my name, hear my hungry heart
beat like a hammer, hear my blood boil
with yearning and divine rage,
hear me command my own destiny.
I hear you. I am listening.
Your voice rises and cries
a siren call that makes
even my old blood sing.
Young and beautiful god, straight shouldered,
with fiery eyes but a gentle hand,
the world is your oyster and you
its pearl. My treasure lies
in your smile and my lesson:
resist the lure
of convention. Break the rules
if you must. Pay the price
but remain proud, as gods do.
Lay your head on your chosen guillotine,
your second coming will arrive
painted in its own hues,
framed by your own summits,
singing with its own choir.