Script

Aware of the rumors, the ghosts of my past, The madman the world saw, the shadow I cast. I was hated by thee while we sat in the class, But now there is something—a story fantast. I see you as glasswork, a soft, fragile light, A melody humming in the middle of night. You might tremble, thinking of my olden days, Fearing the darkness that a bad man can blaze. But look at my hands—the shaking has ceased, The anger is silent; the ghost is at peace. The man you once hated defeated the deceased; He found a sanctuary he couldn’t have missed. So, let’s burn the old pages, our bitterness too, A blank, vast horizon awaits me and you. I will write a rhythm that needn’t be blue, Hand me the pen—let’s write a story anew.