Let me explain a little through my verse -
To tell it all, I don’t have any right.
I was conceived in sin, in sweat and nerves -
Just as it should be on a wedding night.

When we ascend and try to spread our wings,
It’s getting tougher fast - that much I’ve known.
But I strode calmly, stood among the kings,
And acted like a scion to the throne.

It’d be the way I wanted it to be -
I wasn’t in a bind or feeling down.
My friends in arms at school were helping me,
Just as their fathers served the royal crown.

I’ve never given thought to what I say:
Just talking big with ease, day in, day out.
The big-shot kids believed me anyway,
For as their leader, I left little doubt.

Instilling fear into watchmen’s lives,
We ravaged Time, like smallpox does, or worse.
I slept on rawhide, ate meat off a knife,
And tormented with stirrups my mean horse.

I knew I would be told: "Long live the King!"
My forehead branded with the mark of fate.
High as a kite among the gilded things,
I tolerated volumes and debates.

I was brought up by Jester of the Court:
I used to smile just with my mouth alone,
A mystic gaze concealed my angry thoughts, -
Alas, poor Yorick! You’re already gone.

But I refused the spoils I came across:
Rewards and glory, privilege and loot.
I suddenly felt sorry for this loss
And reined around the newly sprouted shoot.

The hunt no longer held its wonted thrill;
I hated all the greyhounds, just the same.
I lashed out at my beaters, dogs at will,
And turned my horse back from the wounded game.

I noticed that the sports we used to play
Were turning into nothing but distress.
At night, I would discreetly wash away
The filth that comes with daily piggishness.

I saw the light by turning dumb and slow.
I didn’t like my era or its crooks.
I overlooked the trickery at home,
But I immersed myself in reading books!

My brain, a hungry spider on the loose,
Devoured all knowledge, desperate to learn.
But thought and science are both of little use
When they are proven wrong at every turn.

The thread with all my childhood friends has frayed,
And Ariadne’s thread was just a plot.
As with decisions that cannot be made,
I wrestled with the words: "To be or not."

The sea of troubles sloshes all the time.
We shot at it - like millet through a sieve -
Thus sifting out the phantom answer’s line
From this conceited question we received.

The call of my ancestors through the hum...
I followed it, but doubts came in a wave.
The weight of heavy thoughts would pull me up,
The wings of flesh would sink me to the grave.

The days had fused me into (an) amalgam:
Still hardly solid, it began to melt.
Like others, I shed blood, and just like them
I could not give up vengeance and forget.

My rise before my passing is a plunge.
Ophelia! I won’t accept decay.
But by committing murder, I’ll be judged
Just like the one with whom in death I’ll stay.

My name is Hamlet. I despised brute force;
I couldn’t care less about the Danish crown.
But in their eyes, I thought the throne, of course,
And I was trying put my rival down.

At birth, we see obliquely the death mask.
A flash of genius, like a crazy set.
It is a vexing answer that we ask,
But we can’t find the proper question yet.