If I Were a Poet

This theater is haunted by a spirit in exile:
He is the other half of me,
the half that rebelled and chose a forbidden path.
When I come here, he tortures me;
In the corner of my vision he waves his arms,
and he jumps behind my back when I turn my head.

So go ahead, sit there in the front row
and laugh during the concert.
When I am finished, I’ll remind you
that although you have my soul,
I have your hands.