The stooge                                       Poem by: Redouane Moustaghit

Here I am again
A poor player
in the life game
so resentful,
so aghast
So helpless and lame!

Here I am again
A mere shadow of me
In a relentless hectic race
Crippled by my own loneliness
Wearing my silent, frozen face
So shrouded in mystery
So shrivelled by disgrace

Here I am again
A poor player without a name
With neither fingerprints nor claws,
****** into a desperate lost game
With no bravadoes to flaunt,
No trophies to take home,
No fleeting glories to claim

Here I am again
A strident voice out of tune
A piteous stooge on a stage
A wrathful infant of misfortune,
A child of spleen and outrage
Here I am again, here I am again

Here I am again
A reckless rambling soul
A cloak of mist without grace
Here I am again,
A vague shape lurking in the dark
A floating cloud in time and space
Here I am again, here I am again

Here I am again
An odd word that doesn’t rhyme
A rusty bell doomed to chime
A puzzling mystery,
An unsolved riddle,
A guest of misery,
A second-hand fiddle
Here I am again
An old coin, not worth a dime

Here I am again
A smouldering midnight candle
A rusty leaking water drain
Here I am again and again
A creaking barrow, a fading shadow,
The very humble me, the very poor me
On the altar of confusion, slain
Here I am again, here I am again                                    
                                                                Redouane Moustaghit