Le Temps Revient...

Poetry, Music, Art & Ideas for the Archaic Recurrence...

martes, 8 de marzo de 2011


A didactic poem written in the stanza of Spencer.
Osiris Ani, triumphant, saith:
“My place of hiding is opened, my place of hiding is revealed. The Khus have fallen into the darkness, but the Eye of Horus hath made me mighty and the god Ap-uat hath nursed me like a babe. I have hidden myself with you, O ye stars that never diminish! My brow is like unto that of Ra; my face is open; my heart is upon its throne; I have power over the speech of my mouth; I have knowledge; in very truth I am Ra himself. I am not held to be a person of no account; and violence shall not be done unto me. Thy father liveth for thee, O son of Nut; I am thy son, O Great One, and I have seen the hidden things which belong unto thee. I am crowned king of the gods, I shall not die a second time in the underworld.”
-The Book of the Dead, Chapter XLIV: Of Not Dying a Second Time in the Underworld.
From the Papyrus of Ani (British Museum No.10,470, sheet 16).

   A people cannot be liberated, 
When still deep down inside the mind’s eye
Are seen vast visions of Pharaoh’s hatred
Against whom rebellion we aught but try,
Let long simmering animosity fly, 
Sparks of resent built up over the years,
Leaders never leave when foreign powers pry
Upon what’s not their business, augmenting fears, 
   Tyranny quashes those who wonder, hopes turned to tears.
   Ozymandias ruled out a lifespan, 
Never questioned despite a shaky start,
Amateur interventions oft’ but can
Lead onto lucky escapes as the smart
Knowing defenders brace themselves at heart
To resist futile pursuits of glory,
O king you grew old, remembered thou art,
As thy hard granite tells a tall story,
   Yet of subjection? All is erased, forgotten surely!
   High Ozymandias finally fell,
To aught typical of mortals -Disease,
On his death bed pangs of an aching yell,
Deeply anxious tension, nobody sees
A path further forward used to the ease
Of following another’s whim today,
Deciding all, the populace agrees,
Finding here the courage to stand and say
   That no longer shalt they kneel to cruelty nor obey.
   The Book of the Dead, an item once sold
To those few wealthy enough to afford
The purchase of salvation in days of old, 
On to Elysian fields like our Lord,
Or an idealic Nile delta secured
By priests and gods who all recline therein,
Escaping the dark Underworld abroad,
As capricious a life as any sin,
   Coinage pays off the rich who always win.
   Far out in those desolate, heat-soaked sands, 
Where nights pilgrim rarely does choose to roam,
The silent yearning to flee such harsh lands, 
Finds solace in naught closer by to home, 
Searching through wastelands for a ransacked tomb,
Mistakenly thought to hold the secret
Of all held dear, now desperately alone, 
Looking for the same answers without regret,
   Yet new questions are found, thereabouts met.
   In distant valleys of sweltering climes,
Otherwise found in one’s very own mind,
The inner sanctuary of forgotten times,
Rekindles a flame that centuries did blind,
Revealed a symbol once left behind, 
Whose meaning was yet left to us to choose,
The desert’s grainy abyss is lined
With statues which hardly ever could lose,
   Their constant presence towering high above stark dunes.
   A life filled with crimes of every sort, 
Never goes punished for the proper reason, 
Scribes, lawyers, bankers are easily bought, 
The only ones ever accused of treason,
Who counter these motions in due season, 
Those principled outsiders have no place
In a city state other than prison,
Easily corrupted! Our entire race
   Of men are still learning to stand with a sense of grace!

    Any man can lord it over his fellows,
If he is willing to go all the way,
Avoiding no depravity, wind blows
Wherever he demands or bankrollers say,
Despite the general will, kept at bay
The needs of the many, their ignored pleas, 
History’s onward march to a better day
Hijacked by greed’s jealousy and foul hate,
   While keeping closely guarded fortune’s iron clad gate.
   The most perilous time for a revolt
Is not that before its tough attainment,
Yet that which follows, calls it to a halt,
Furthering no more its vast achievement,
Misdirecting opinion, overseas sent,
Twisted deceptive words sowing confusion,
Giving a chance to those always hell bent
On usurping a cause in seclusion,
   For its own agenda through media delusion.
    The Ptolemies once took such advantage
Of civil strife in the lands of the Pharaohs, 
Petty rulers too short-sighted to gage
The impact of foreign rule, everyone knows
Ruin is brought to a people when wealth goes
Abroad to satisfy decadent cravings, 
On lavish banquets a king oft’ blows
The multitude’s fortunes, belittled savings,
   A lifetime’s labour lost to greed and such fickle things!
   Ptolemy that most subtle general
Of Alexander’s army had the foresight
To hide behind a visage bilateral,
Partly as Pharaoh with divine right,
Otherwise a Greek king, ruling by might,
A plain trick to legitimize his hold
On an eastern land, provoking to flight
All opposition, a new dynasty bold,
   Which despised native peoples, into slavery sold.

   Who now rules over the land of the ancients?
Pyramids hold mysteries no less guarded,
Ruling by proxy with best kept secrets,
Local insurrection little rewarded
Humble basic needs casually discarded
By foreign interests’ misuse and distortion,
Their own agenda being extended,
The one way to derail revolution,
   Further military rule the compromised solution.
   Sons of Egypt! Now this is your moment! 
To set history flowing, gushing forth,
Your lifelong hated, vanquished opponent
Now lies fallen, his support from the north
Broken, withdrawn, no place here on our Earth
Will longer put up with such villainy,
What fine example exposing selfish dearth,
Osiris! your sons’ awoken destiny!
   Isis! Your daughters driven to such noble mutiny!

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