‘Don’t listen to those powerful voices in your head’.
The ones that make your eyes water when they speak,
Their embrace plunges you into an utopia of nothingness,
Yes those voices.

They remind you of why you are not holding the sceptre,
Why you are not dominant over the other kings.
The hairs on your cheek shudder as they whisper.
They tell you things, things in parables.

As they pour you the umpteenth glass of sorrow,
You wonder their claim as guile.
Should I really wield the sceptre?
With a wave of your hand they vanish like the voices they are.

You pay no heed to them,
Lest they are the powerful voices.
Can the powerful be liars?
Why am I not dominant over the other kings?

Save the voices are not liars?
Why do they not speak of my victories?
They come at night,
And whisper my fails alone.

Would a king rather fear his triumphs than his shortcomings?
Be grateful, be grateful to your voices.
For your kingdom will not suffer,
As long as they do not cease to whisper.


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