Names Of My Dead Ancestors
© Surazeus
2018 11 01
Above blue water, high on flapping wings,
I cannot fly because the spinning world
pushes me against its surface with force
of aching hope, so I breathe as I crawl
rocky hill among bushes toward gold light
that flushes my flesh with painful despair.
Weak from hunger and fear of painful death,
I pull myself up the crooked pear tree
and lean against it, dizzy from despair
that people I loved were killed by fierce men,
then grasp the pear that stings my heat-cracked lips
when I bite into glory of the sun.
What truth can I find in this wretched world
when all my beliefs were smashed by war clubs
of angry men who destroyed all I built,
except the sweetness of juice on my tongue
that makes my eyes sparkle with strange delight
because I can see sharp colors again.
How intricate the social game we played
when we lived secure in walls of our town,
obedient to strict rules we all designed
yet riven by conflicts of petty power,
till men with clubs smashed our skulls with hard blows,
and shattered illusions of our rich peace.
How arrogant I was in pride of power
that I reigned as master of all these hills,
but now I wander alone in their shadows
and feel nothing but their indifference
to my suffering as they stand in sunlight,
deaf to my demands for justice and right.
My wise fathers for many generations
built citadel of secure paradise
on rugged hill overlooking wild sea,
but now strange men with hunger in their eyes
rampage in grand halls of my ancient home,
laughing as I wander waste land alone.
I thought I ruled by right of royal birth,
yet my frail political power was based
on assent of the people of my tribe,
but, now that they are corpses on the ground,
my right has vanished as mist in the wind,
so now I am no one but a wretched fool.
How shall I live now that I have no tribe
whose actions I managed with strict command,
except to sit under this old fruit tree,
watching sun and stars spiral through the sky,
and eat ripe pears that fall into my hand
while I sing the names of my dead ancestors.
© Surazeus
2018 11 01
Above blue water, high on flapping wings,
I cannot fly because the spinning world
pushes me against its surface with force
of aching hope, so I breathe as I crawl
rocky hill among bushes toward gold light
that flushes my flesh with painful despair.
Weak from hunger and fear of painful death,
I pull myself up the crooked pear tree
and lean against it, dizzy from despair
that people I loved were killed by fierce men,
then grasp the pear that stings my heat-cracked lips
when I bite into glory of the sun.
What truth can I find in this wretched world
when all my beliefs were smashed by war clubs
of angry men who destroyed all I built,
except the sweetness of juice on my tongue
that makes my eyes sparkle with strange delight
because I can see sharp colors again.
How intricate the social game we played
when we lived secure in walls of our town,
obedient to strict rules we all designed
yet riven by conflicts of petty power,
till men with clubs smashed our skulls with hard blows,
and shattered illusions of our rich peace.
How arrogant I was in pride of power
that I reigned as master of all these hills,
but now I wander alone in their shadows
and feel nothing but their indifference
to my suffering as they stand in sunlight,
deaf to my demands for justice and right.
My wise fathers for many generations
built citadel of secure paradise
on rugged hill overlooking wild sea,
but now strange men with hunger in their eyes
rampage in grand halls of my ancient home,
laughing as I wander waste land alone.
I thought I ruled by right of royal birth,
yet my frail political power was based
on assent of the people of my tribe,
but, now that they are corpses on the ground,
my right has vanished as mist in the wind,
so now I am no one but a wretched fool.
How shall I live now that I have no tribe
whose actions I managed with strict command,
except to sit under this old fruit tree,
watching sun and stars spiral through the sky,
and eat ripe pears that fall into my hand
while I sing the names of my dead ancestors.
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