May my memories of yesterday
be true and not due to you,
mixing them about any which way.
Further, when tomorrow comes then
I wish to be me you see and not to be
a bowl of daffodils (or even of ramen).
That even the now is how I perceive.
No arcane chains on my brain puppeting me
in ludicrous performances I cannot conceive.
May my feeling that you are good and just
not be a sick trick to hide the prosaic
reality that you just enjoy fooling us
That an omnipotent being, being so perfect,
does not mind, we find, the mind it created
actually making use of its intellect.
I pray that your motives I would not condemn.
That my appeals, though real, are a futile ordeal,
not needed, for you would not require them.