Borne
I arise.
A shiny, slithery, wailing lump
of blood and bones.

Jolted from the dreams
in my mother’s womb,
I wake up to a world,
bright and cold.

Time flew by . . . and I walked along
beaming with pride,
jeering at the mass of men
kneeling, praying, weeping, begging redemption.

Until a day, when an old poet
showed me an Obelisk, lying half burried in the sand
engraved on it was an elegy
of a king, and . . . his greatness.

The king and his horses
all gone . . . aeons ago
his grave – an empty ditch, looted and raped of its jewels
nothing remained . . .

Only the stone looked on, unfazed by the winds that grazed its face,
whispering:
For all what you do, and for all what you are,
you are but
the dreams of a dolphin.

//4th May 2002

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