*  *  *  *  *
 It wasn't chance, you never did desire
 A place of stardom in the public light,
 Instead you chose to hide your inner fire
 And walk alone nameless in the night.

 You weren't to be another Gauss or Riemann
 And contemplate geometries of space,
 Instead you chose to be an aimless dreamer,
 Walking around in a drunken haze.

 You left no mark, no tearful farewell note,
 You didn't write a major book or play,
 Nor did you exercise your right to vote,
 You didn't care whom to vote for, anyway.

 You missed the finer hues, the subtle points,
 The intricate and complex social net,
 You found all these nuances annoying
 And threw them all away without regret.

 You took this world--the bare skin and bones--
 Laughing insanely in your pensive gaze,
 And made a poem from these barren stones
 That set the silent moonlit night ablaze.

 One day they'll say somewhere in Kentucky:
 "That bastard would bring poems to the bar,"
 And you'll find that you've been really lucky
 To reach an audience so wide and far.
 

                                     March 25, 1997
                                  --Alexander Shaumyan