you are walking the streets
you do not walk the boards anymore
your trousers are frayed, your shoes dusty
and the hard walkways have worn them out
you are not presented in the glorious costumes
and the stage crowns anymore
the illusion is gone, it’s reality
that’s permanent now
you’re the beggar, the recluse, the plain and shadow
you walk down to the shops
and your speech raises eyebrows
where’d he learn to speak like that?
they ask, in whispers, like conspirators on stage
your actions are too lofty, your manner too distant
it threatens them, they must crush you –
so that’s why you’ve learned to blend in as well as you can
those were the days
when they heard your words, and they felt it resonate
when they noted your pronouncements
and there was acknowledgement
but those were the days, a long time back when they
looked at you, and they knew you, and they looked in awe
now the children sneer at the old man,
and when it’s too cold, your nose runs
and you need to **** more often
and the women notice you hobble,
you leave the art of significance
and you learn the art of the indistinct
and you’ve learned
which practice is more difficult:
acting the prominent, or acting the anonymous

*Go, old man, old actor, every dog has its day;
the new breed eats the bones today