I wished I were a hero

The last day I wished I were a hero

Tasted the wine to morph into Superman

Only to be denied by the  marvellous age

as the dying man pinning hopes on providence

of the lord who would not rescue Christ

from the cross and denied the Church a faith

to love the prostitue and call her a lame dame

 

A hero to worship the heroism be my breed

nonetheless silence about the room was pinching

like a five year old crying for a supper

and there was nothing in the world to hang about

but the World Cup of my dreams when I was a ten year old

to become a captain was the chance time had given me

only to be spurned in the morning with a loss

to the kids on the other side of the street

never mind the coin toss

 

Today in the morning I wish I were a hero

and the heroism will be defined to play violin-

the game of roses only if there is an answer in the mirth

of morning upon morning being churned  day after day

and something huge happens in the world cup’s way

as a fair agenda game, how the man has grown over?

since the days of the third reich and violence on display

immortality eludes me as a lawful wed wife

 

if only the last day were Sunday and heroism was

the talk for the day! I would oblige with a random

tip-toed walk on the pavement, slowly  gauging my days

after the dead winter had waylay the month of December

and my partner was away never to surrender.

I reckon the last day I wished I were a hero

 

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