Rebirth Of Troy
© Surazeus
2018 02 19
Since the mountain shepherd Paris was crowned
Alexandros, son to the King of Troy,
and Enkidu befriended by Gilgamesh,
the Goddess of Love has transformed wild men
with the power of desire beaming her eyes
into civilized men who control lust.
Dig your fingers into the soggy clay
of the great river that flows from the sky,
green Aruru, who created all things,
and mold my body from the clay and water
of this world, then spark my heart with sun flames,
which animates the desire of my will.
Whether Shamhat, Helen, or Aphrodite
rises from the rippling waves of the lake,
teach me, Mother of the World, how to sing
the dreams of action flashing in my eyes
so I can join community of mankind
and feast in the great hall of dance and song.
Though Siduri gives me large glass of wine
and tries to persuade me my quest for life
after death of this frail body will be vain,
I descend the ziggurat from feasting hall
and walk to the farthest end of the world
where I stack stones in circles to build Heaven.
I am Wilush, son of Shamash, son of Utu,
son of Enki, son of Enlil, son of Anu,
son of Ea who breathes the world alive,
and here I build the temple of my heart
to protect my children behind strong walls
so we may eat the apples of the sun.
My fingers bleed when I grip the white stone
and heave it on my shoulders to bear far
bones of the mountain I carve with my teeth,
then stack high walls to surround pool of water,
enclosing haven in garden of fruit
where I stand guard in the silver moonlight.
Desire for daughter of the river god
motivates suppression of blinding lust
to channel energy of aching will
in project building walls of paradise
where she sits pregnant with seed of my soul
and eats apples I pluck from the snake tree.
I pause from reverie of ancient times
on wide cement street full of busy people
between two giant towers of steel and glass
in the vast sprawling American city
that continues from sea to shining sea,
and look at my reflection on glass door.
How many generations I survived
since I first carved blocks of stone from the mountain
and built the towering citadel of Ilium
where I ruled the boat-trade of the Green Sea,
one small hill-top fort where I played World God,
till wild horsemen thundered from the vast plain.
We lived inside circular walls of stone,
transforming from hunters and gatherers
into craftsmen and merchants who sell goods
in market towns on every river shore,
united by bright vision of the god
who sees all from his high ziggurat throne.
We still form groups around the leading head
who manages crafting work of our hands,
transforming kingdoms into companies
where chief executive officer plays king,
and the president plays wise emperor,
thus I am Cassandra, prophet of truth.
How many cities these three thousand years
sprout and flourish from the ruins of Troy,
as godfathers of family enterprises
build kingdoms and empires on market towns,
balanced between the roles of Hector and Paris
till Augustus conquers Marcus Antonius.
Foolish Alekassandros Paris, listen
to the prophecy of your sister,
wide-eyed Kassandra who raises her hands
toward empty sky and proclaims, I see fire
burn our nation because you choose the woman
above the prosperity of our tribe.
When Goddesses of Wisdom, Power, and Love
offer their gifts for the apple of fame
in contest over who should rule our hearts,
choose wisdom of knowledge about this world
over power of trying to control this world
or over lust for the pleasures of love.
Armed with wisdom about nature of things,
the wise ruler may exercise true power
to organize farmers and construction workers
who operate system of food production
which feeds every hand who participates
so mothers may raise children of their souls.
In Arcadia I am the shepherd king
who strums lyre while watching sheep on lush hills,
and sings about the simple life of work,
creating things from the Earth with my hands
by tending fruit trees and building with wood,
while my children play laughing in the fields.
We build global empire of companies
based on the labor of farmers and craftsmen,
erecting giant banks of steel and glass
on the ruins of Troy where I once danced
inside ring of stones with my wife and children,
singing stories about heroes without names.
Goddess of Love, Ishtar, appear to me
from flash of insight in the falling rain
where I wander lost in city of lies,
and guide me to lush meadow of fruit trees
where I may rebuild our civilization
that will fall at the turning of the world.
© Surazeus
2018 02 19
Since the mountain shepherd Paris was crowned
Alexandros, son to the King of Troy,
and Enkidu befriended by Gilgamesh,
the Goddess of Love has transformed wild men
with the power of desire beaming her eyes
into civilized men who control lust.
Dig your fingers into the soggy clay
of the great river that flows from the sky,
green Aruru, who created all things,
and mold my body from the clay and water
of this world, then spark my heart with sun flames,
which animates the desire of my will.
Whether Shamhat, Helen, or Aphrodite
rises from the rippling waves of the lake,
teach me, Mother of the World, how to sing
the dreams of action flashing in my eyes
so I can join community of mankind
and feast in the great hall of dance and song.
Though Siduri gives me large glass of wine
and tries to persuade me my quest for life
after death of this frail body will be vain,
I descend the ziggurat from feasting hall
and walk to the farthest end of the world
where I stack stones in circles to build Heaven.
I am Wilush, son of Shamash, son of Utu,
son of Enki, son of Enlil, son of Anu,
son of Ea who breathes the world alive,
and here I build the temple of my heart
to protect my children behind strong walls
so we may eat the apples of the sun.
My fingers bleed when I grip the white stone
and heave it on my shoulders to bear far
bones of the mountain I carve with my teeth,
then stack high walls to surround pool of water,
enclosing haven in garden of fruit
where I stand guard in the silver moonlight.
Desire for daughter of the river god
motivates suppression of blinding lust
to channel energy of aching will
in project building walls of paradise
where she sits pregnant with seed of my soul
and eats apples I pluck from the snake tree.
I pause from reverie of ancient times
on wide cement street full of busy people
between two giant towers of steel and glass
in the vast sprawling American city
that continues from sea to shining sea,
and look at my reflection on glass door.
How many generations I survived
since I first carved blocks of stone from the mountain
and built the towering citadel of Ilium
where I ruled the boat-trade of the Green Sea,
one small hill-top fort where I played World God,
till wild horsemen thundered from the vast plain.
We lived inside circular walls of stone,
transforming from hunters and gatherers
into craftsmen and merchants who sell goods
in market towns on every river shore,
united by bright vision of the god
who sees all from his high ziggurat throne.
We still form groups around the leading head
who manages crafting work of our hands,
transforming kingdoms into companies
where chief executive officer plays king,
and the president plays wise emperor,
thus I am Cassandra, prophet of truth.
How many cities these three thousand years
sprout and flourish from the ruins of Troy,
as godfathers of family enterprises
build kingdoms and empires on market towns,
balanced between the roles of Hector and Paris
till Augustus conquers Marcus Antonius.
Foolish Alekassandros Paris, listen
to the prophecy of your sister,
wide-eyed Kassandra who raises her hands
toward empty sky and proclaims, I see fire
burn our nation because you choose the woman
above the prosperity of our tribe.
When Goddesses of Wisdom, Power, and Love
offer their gifts for the apple of fame
in contest over who should rule our hearts,
choose wisdom of knowledge about this world
over power of trying to control this world
or over lust for the pleasures of love.
Armed with wisdom about nature of things,
the wise ruler may exercise true power
to organize farmers and construction workers
who operate system of food production
which feeds every hand who participates
so mothers may raise children of their souls.
In Arcadia I am the shepherd king
who strums lyre while watching sheep on lush hills,
and sings about the simple life of work,
creating things from the Earth with my hands
by tending fruit trees and building with wood,
while my children play laughing in the fields.
We build global empire of companies
based on the labor of farmers and craftsmen,
erecting giant banks of steel and glass
on the ruins of Troy where I once danced
inside ring of stones with my wife and children,
singing stories about heroes without names.
Goddess of Love, Ishtar, appear to me
from flash of insight in the falling rain
where I wander lost in city of lies,
and guide me to lush meadow of fruit trees
where I may rebuild our civilization
that will fall at the turning of the world.
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