September Fourteen

On that memorable night when you called me up, 

For letting me listen to your unending and 

seemingly authorized gospel, 

For those ebony like crocodile tears you've shown me, 

For throwing me bricks and thorns of insults 

you said:  "the price of my fame," 

For those sweet mockeries you have scattered 

 when I turned my back, 

For the foul words you've uttered which 

almost break my nerves, and left unmended, 

For pushing me to the walls, when you know I was helpless. 

For the prejudgment you proclaimed against me,

 as if you were the jury, 

For pointing an accusing finger at me, 
 
thinking you are pure, dignified and perfect. 

For trying to pull me down when you realized 

I was very much ahead of you. 

For all the things you thought, you taught me 

For all the things you've done, 

Those were the things I have forgiven 

but never shall I forget. 

Now listen, as I have listened to you 

May God have mercy on your soul.