I thought I was going into a dream world
The Tempest was my soul
Segregation history
A story that Shakespeare once told

My mother is from this dream world
A misfit like me but mescal was her song
Popé is her demon, her persona is frail
In her imagination Popé is a beacon but promiscuous remains her name

Then I found myself lost
in a nightmare
I’m trapped
I’ve always been a failure in balancing acts

Lenina a goddess; a Siren in disguise
A treasure that is found only in an oyster
My mind is lying, I know she is only as haunted as the rest
I’m glad she isn’t an innocent beauty or our lives may become the story of Romeo and Juliet

Technology is their companion but one day it will become a pernicious weapon
The beauty in a flower destroyed in the second age of man
Their lifestyle is one of deprivation
Their lives a tragicomedy; ignorant mimes

Fools believe soma is the solution to the conundrums in their minds
They think it is a getaway
Nobody understands, it’s only a poison oak
To them, it’s an instrument in their hands

Happiness is a shallow stream
Life is predetermined; sculpted from birth
Books forbidden; believe it’s a torture in their mind
The prisoners in a cell; their eyes are hidden under a blind

Stability is preservation
But change is inevitable; it is the only form of conservation
God is not unsteadiness
Nor the end of civilization

I understand why they call this place Brave New World
Here, bravery is not a virtue but a means of surviving in the absence of conditioning
I’m a jester in their eyes, I am put up for display
This mockery is inescapable, my salvation will be a sequel; the story of my death