“Et Tu Bruté?”, asked the ruler of Rome,
His fable surviving time itself.
Such was the treacherous knife,
Stabbed behind friendship thicker than blood.
Caesar speaks of Brutus;
Caesar speaks of cold hearted betrayal;
Tales of which transcend Rome.
Caesar speaks and we relate.
This poet, familiar of Roman folklore,
Hears more than the words Caesar spoke.
For the ruler of Rome,
Whose fable survives time itself
And whose tales transcend Rome,
And chose to do the other things too.
Betrayal, we cry foul,
Like the one felt by the Roman ruler.
Betrayal, much like in Caesar’s fable
Is what we do to ourselves.
The yielder of the knife be Brutus
But Caesar stabbed Caesar and not from behind
For Caesar chose Brutus
And Caesar chose to do the other things too.
History remembers his last words
But this poet has not forgotten what came before.
By Anirudh Dalmia
Painting: Ides of March