The Satrapy

Rarely do I find a poem that reflects how I feel about things, but I do enjoy these occasional reminders that anything is possible…
What a misfortune, although you are made
for fine and great works
this unjust fate of yours always
denies you encouragement and success;
that base customs should block you;
and pettiness and indifference.
And how terrible the day when you yield
(the day when you give up and yield),
and you leave on foot for Susa,
and you go to the monarch Artaxerxes
who favorably places you in his court,
and offers you satrapies and the like.
And you accept them with despair
these things that you do not want.
Your soul seeks other things, weeps for other things;
the praise of the public and the Sophists,
the hard-won and inestimable Well Done;
the Agora, the Theater, and the Laurels.
How can Artaxerxes give you these,
where will you find these in a satrapy;
and what life can you live without these.

The Satrapy, Constantine P. Cavafy (1910)

And just in case you need the same help I did:

satrapy: a province governed by a satrap.
satrap: a provincial governor in the ancient Persian empire. Any subordinate or local ruler.

Found via this article: Quanta Magazine: “A Poet of Computation Who Uncovers Distant Truths”