The problems solved by friends with ease
Appear large, Atlassian loads
I cannot hold, or shrug, or throw.
In loneliness of solitude
I curse the guts of Hercules
Who tricked his labour on to me.

My friends are moving mountains there,
And here I lie so paralysed.
They, Hanumaan; I, Lakshmana.
Though both the instruments of God,
Though both in service of Divine,
For now, I’m hurt, and down, and lost.

And yet I am no Aurora,
No helpless Sleeping Beauty cursed.
No true love’s kiss I need to wake.
I have with me my salvation.
And only I can call it forth.
The only thing I need to do
Is raise my voice and ask for help.

And, say, they do not come to aid,
And, say, for all my cries of help
I only get Promethean pain –
Eviscerated every day –
I’d know my dream was worth it all.
For I have stolen from the Gods
The fire burning in my eyes.
No eagle, raven, owl, or crow
Can catch and tear a dancing light.