Little Hero Under Contestation Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

Did you ever imagine yourself at least as a little hero?
I, Piotr Telouskin the craftsman, couldn’t, until lately.

But when the lightning stroke I was called by the king.
Me, whom he ordered to restore our mutilated belfry,
to cure the lesion of the Church of St. Peter and Paul.
Where did the architects and contractors disappear?

He let aside the buffoons begging: only you can do it.
I spent six weeks to restore the cross and the sphere,
acrobat on ropes and scaffoldings, a circus spectacle.

I overcame fears by hearing the chirps of the birds,
the cheerful voices of children; damn all who dispute.
To reward me the king placed his seal on my throat,
for all taverns to offer me wine, when I tick on throat.

Alas! All were forgotten. The architects got posts back,
found errors in my job, courtiers accused me as drunk.

At least that newspaper shouted against them strictly:
'who forgot the feat of Piotr let them climb scaffoldings
of one hundred twenty three meters, and show dexterity'.

The fate of a little hero rough and split, they hate me;
I balance with innocence, acrobat over any misery,
do small actions but courageous, beyond their cowardice.
Is my labour invisible up there? The light Delos will show.

I only need sweet appreciation, like the chirps of birds,
like the cheerful voices of children, down in the square.




© JosephJosephides