Consistently, his neighborhood bothered him.
Screwing up the spring carnival,
Drama prevented his glory as criticism filed the city squares.
He grinned, then faced the ancestors; ”We will win.
Well, one day, maybe next carnival. Trust me,I commit.”
He seemed so sure.
An awkward promise resonates.
City is being dressed up for the carnival.
A day before the next carnival, he was carried to the cemetery.
Spontaneously, glory likelihood is nil.
From over the neighbors’ shoulders, he cries:
You fool, before you follow me, enjoy every lousy minute of life,
Paralyzed, unreachable pleas, he is gone.
He was the carnival.