Narrow, dusty streets in a fertile valley,
Golden veils of sand and heavy air,
Long, unearthly shadows in the wake of rising sun,
Cast by buildings leaning in, their rough walls blank and bare.
Men labour in the heat, skin glistening with sweat,
Their masters' voices blaring orders, brusque and proud,
While women whisper quietly among themselves,
Grinding grain on rough stones in the gentle breeze.
And in the heart of this everyday tranquility
A likeness in the face of god
ever reaches for the wheeling sun -
its body frozen in immortal stasis,
wings that have never beaten, lips that never spoke.
Its enourmous paws cling tightly to the earth.
And worst of all, its gaping eyes -
divine in form, yet blank, unseeing,
stare fearlessly into the golden disc;
Perhaps they are now blind because too long
Have they coveted the brightness of the stars?
So calmly, motionlessly it exists,
while petty souls of men swarm about its feet,
forever trapped in a lucid sapphire prison,
together as the master and the slave.
Golden veils of sand and heavy air,
Long, unearthly shadows in the wake of rising sun,
Cast by buildings leaning in, their rough walls blank and bare.
Men labour in the heat, skin glistening with sweat,
Their masters' voices blaring orders, brusque and proud,
While women whisper quietly among themselves,
Grinding grain on rough stones in the gentle breeze.
And in the heart of this everyday tranquility
A likeness in the face of god
ever reaches for the wheeling sun -
its body frozen in immortal stasis,
wings that have never beaten, lips that never spoke.
Its enourmous paws cling tightly to the earth.
And worst of all, its gaping eyes -
divine in form, yet blank, unseeing,
stare fearlessly into the golden disc;
Perhaps they are now blind because too long
Have they coveted the brightness of the stars?
So calmly, motionlessly it exists,
while petty souls of men swarm about its feet,
forever trapped in a lucid sapphire prison,
together as the master and the slave.