Ode to those ancients, my gods!
I am christened by this warm water
the blood running down the backs of slaves
and I bathed, and bathed, and bathed in it
as if it were a hot spring
Those poor ancients were by blood my saviors
I am holy and preserved through their sufferance
for them, high indeed, I should lift my head
I have not cried out day and night
as they did before the temples and tabernacles
for deliverance
Nor have I cried to the stars all day
hoping that they'll lift up my soul into a place of sheer bliss
Those ancients are my gods
I feel their breath mussing up my hair
so pure are their souls that once were full of troubles
I am stronger now, yet
in spite of this gift inculcated in my genes
I must eat and drink little, and so beware never
to satisfy these humanly longings.
I must view the world with eyes of mercy and forgive
Fill every empty heart with compassion,
even those of souls who stirred up wrath and clamored for my demise
I must disremember the grievances of flesh,
and so do as those ancients bid me to do,
for they were but flesh
The wind they breathed is the same squall around my feet, and the same fog on violet hills
that hisses for peace, and blows my eye-lids straight to sleep
I have been born and molded out of sheer glory
and time in its diligence has arisen me up to dizzying triumphs
to endow me with wisdom, so that I inherit the foundations of all nations
I am those ancient gods that walked in the darkness, so that there may be light
I am those tides that brought fish good and ready to be had
I am those birds that climbed high in altitude
and viewed the earth from above
and spoke to saints to turn sinner away from stray
I am those actions long past and unfelt, that made this moment possible
I am the whirlwind dust that answers all voices that supplicate, and those that do not
I am the wood that spews fire, the dark that give birth to light
the child that drew pyramid and bent the tide
so we could consult together as beings beneath this vast cosmos our home!