I was in the garden, listening to your poetry.
I tried to listen, tried to hear-
But the rats would not stop bothring me.

I was not (and am not) an omnipotent seer,
I could not see what was to come.
(How much worse these things could get,)
I was in the garden, listening to your poetry.

A cloud of smoke, the stench of fear,
Heedless on your lute you strum-
But the rats would not stop bothring me.

A little man perched on a flowr and this is what he said:
I am the prince of tiny woes,
Ill keep you on your toes-
For my master is Pazuzu,
And for him the rats youll hew!

His voice was grating in my ear,
Obscuring thoughts like rum.
(I reminded myself, I could not forget,)
I was in the garden, listening to your poetry.

I cast the little man a leer,
And listened to your gentle hum-
But the rats would not stop bothering me.

The little prince gave a howling laugh:
Give in now, while you still can,
Youll never be perseverant as I am!
Just kill the rats and end it now,
To my lord Pazuzu you will bow!

I steadied my breathing, the comfort held dear,
My heartbeat pounding like a drum.
(Be patient, do not move quite yet,)
I was in the garden, listening to your poetry.

His grin turned to a petty sneer,
Just as the ache began to numb,
But the rats would not stop bothering me.

In one swift bound, he jumped to my shoulder and shook his little head:
A shame, a shame,
A rajamala so tame!
You will not fight,
You have no might,
Nor power oer anything!

Youre wrong, I said with a furtive laugh,
As I brushed him from my shoulder,
I have more might than youll ever have,
More might than any soldier-
For I could have, but I did not;
You would have, but I would not.

I was in the garden, listening to your poetry,
I listened and I heard,
The rats no longer bother me,

I am the master of myself.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Phaestian, in the year 927 AF.