Let all the days be foretold
as someone else’s prophecies,
dog-eared and tattered
and already old
before you and I began our own journey of foresight:
a Kristang futurologist?
I will not be denied
in my quest to do whatever I want that is fair, and rational, and conducted with the oversight
of the universe. This is research, and investigation,
and the deduction of my own blazing worth
outside the prying eyes of the exallos, and beyond the drawstrings of any disgusting, filthy purse
of theirs. These are my own hurts,
and my own ways to bandage them.
Through papers, and presentations, and abstracts
that revive an Earth
that we once knew.
Micro-emotions in the dirt;
macro-traumas torn up and written across the sky in graffiti lines that blur
the distinctions between science fiction, fantasy,
and everything our ancestors endured.
Now, at the crossroads:
turn your kaleidoscopes inward, stargazers.
There is something new appearing, and it is not made of lights, or starpoints, or lasers:
it is a gateway, to something that could never possibly hate us:
a greater creole empathy,
for any wayfarer who knows that one does not need to be chosen by destiny
to be rationally, and very accurately courageous.