Bones Of My Ancestors
© Surazeus
2016 04 18
The hard bones of my ten billion ancestors
calculate the structures of mountain peaks
and symbolize the surging ocean waves
because I stand on river shore at dawn.
I walk on the skin of my dead ancestors
whose eyes sprout as flowers from immense face,
so I pluck apple from hand of my mother
while my father rides the galloping sun.
I drink the blood of my dead ancestors
when I cup my hands in swift flowing stream
and collect sunlight to beam through my eyes
while I name each dead soul reborn as leaves.
Standing alone in grove of whispering trees
I sense someone watching me so I gaze
at eye of light glowing in boundless sky
and see my face looking at me from pools.
I find myself as an ancient blind woman
sitting in dark cave as she tends warm fire,
so she sings heart-aching tune under stars
that causes ghosts to stand before my eyes.
Long ago first mother and father came
and multiplied into a thousand children
who built homes from stone on lush river shore
then tended apple trees and herds of horses.
When our first father on pyramid died
his sons fought over who would play his role
as god who masters thunderstorms and fire
till one stood victorious on hill of skulls.
I look in mirror where I see his face,
sun god who ruled over empire of trees,
but everyone was dead or went away
so he ruled over skulls and squeaking mice.
All men and women who once ruled vast tribes
are nothing now but dirt in garden plots
where flowers sprout in whispering wind of dawn
as new children play their lost memories.
I kneel before the king on throne of gold
to present book of tribe tales I compiled
but he places laurel crown on bowed head
of fool who sings jokes of mocking disdain.
I twang silver strings of lyre Hermes forged
and chant spells of Orpheus that cause stones
to erect tall white tower on hill of springs
where I carve spells on bones of my ancestors.
These ancient dramas of power-hungry tricks
surge still in waves of political games
when Godin and Saturn sit on high clouds
and play chess with men in wars for control.
I cover my face with mask of my father
and stand on high stage in Globe Theater
to play prince who must fight to wear gold crown,
but I toss it in dust and walk away.
I sit alone now on vast spinning globe
to conjure dream spells from verses of code
that preserve memories of quest for truth
played on flute from bones of my ancestors.
© Surazeus
2016 04 18
The hard bones of my ten billion ancestors
calculate the structures of mountain peaks
and symbolize the surging ocean waves
because I stand on river shore at dawn.
I walk on the skin of my dead ancestors
whose eyes sprout as flowers from immense face,
so I pluck apple from hand of my mother
while my father rides the galloping sun.
I drink the blood of my dead ancestors
when I cup my hands in swift flowing stream
and collect sunlight to beam through my eyes
while I name each dead soul reborn as leaves.
Standing alone in grove of whispering trees
I sense someone watching me so I gaze
at eye of light glowing in boundless sky
and see my face looking at me from pools.
I find myself as an ancient blind woman
sitting in dark cave as she tends warm fire,
so she sings heart-aching tune under stars
that causes ghosts to stand before my eyes.
Long ago first mother and father came
and multiplied into a thousand children
who built homes from stone on lush river shore
then tended apple trees and herds of horses.
When our first father on pyramid died
his sons fought over who would play his role
as god who masters thunderstorms and fire
till one stood victorious on hill of skulls.
I look in mirror where I see his face,
sun god who ruled over empire of trees,
but everyone was dead or went away
so he ruled over skulls and squeaking mice.
All men and women who once ruled vast tribes
are nothing now but dirt in garden plots
where flowers sprout in whispering wind of dawn
as new children play their lost memories.
I kneel before the king on throne of gold
to present book of tribe tales I compiled
but he places laurel crown on bowed head
of fool who sings jokes of mocking disdain.
I twang silver strings of lyre Hermes forged
and chant spells of Orpheus that cause stones
to erect tall white tower on hill of springs
where I carve spells on bones of my ancestors.
These ancient dramas of power-hungry tricks
surge still in waves of political games
when Godin and Saturn sit on high clouds
and play chess with men in wars for control.
I cover my face with mask of my father
and stand on high stage in Globe Theater
to play prince who must fight to wear gold crown,
but I toss it in dust and walk away.
I sit alone now on vast spinning globe
to conjure dream spells from verses of code
that preserve memories of quest for truth
played on flute from bones of my ancestors.
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