Khalid Mukhtar

Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you

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Thinking About Chivalry

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Spare me your chivalry
If it means you’ll hold a door open for the lady behind you
Only to ogle her as she walks in

Spare me your chivalry
If it means you’ll help an elder cross the street
But only when it doesn’t dent your schedule or go unnoticed

Spare me your chivalry
If it means you won’t hit a man when he’s down in a brawl
But will cheer the cowardly slaughter of fleeing innocents

Spare me your chivalry
If it means you will let your friend have the last word, well,
Only to go home and give your family hell

All that chivalrous behavior we exhibit
We barter it for attention:
To be known
To be seen
Seen by others but more dangerously
By ourselves

For nothing is more delicious than worshipping
That handsome idol of the self
Moulded with the clay we selected so carefully
From the river banks of our toadying consciousness
Glistening from generous coatings
Of the “it feels good to be good” glaze

It does feel good to be good
And that’s alright
But it’s fickle:
You see, when we change and grow
The idol morphs and scales
There is no telling what we’ll change into
Yet the idol prevails

Let’s turn to the constant deity
Who Ever Was 
Who Ever Will Be
If we can serve to ONLY be seen
By the One our eyes cannot see
Then that may be
The truest brand of chivalry

Then hang the axe around the neck
Of your idol, saying:
He did it

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