poetic fragments op. 38

A road, not me

Robert Frost sang with a sigh,
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

I’ve never been willing to

Take a road unlike him.

I’ve been always taken by a road

Which was not radiant in the least

But was under a bright evil star.

Hence

I have no regret paradoxically.

Taking or not taking a road

never has made me what I am.

From beginning to end,

There was not “me” but “a road.”

The road was
Grassy and in leaves.

It was both summer and winter.

Two roads diverged in a wood.