Tuesday, June 06, 2006

The Citadel of the Sun

Sister Indica flags me down
I stop and say hello.
We chat, lively at first
But then she asks me some personal questions,
For which I have no answers.
I peer into the inner void
And become afraid

I hitch a ride into the ghettoes of my mind,
The driver smiles a toothless grin
And asks where I am from;
And then where I am going;
To the citadel of the sun.

Steel forged across the sky
Vertigo over the river
This narrow passage is life itself,
A chasm on both sides.
Later we walk on white sands
And talk of the seeds of our darkness.

We spend the night at an inn
On the banks of a river,
Where pirates and slavetraders
An empire built, but now dwindled.
We meet Sister Indica at the river's edge,
And laughter is restored.

A lamb is slaughtered
For the funeral feast.
The blood drains away on the concrete,
A ritual sacrifice at the hands of men.
The fire is lit and the flesh burned,
Charred and cleansed,
Life begins again.

We stand in the street outside,
The gates of Babylon locked before us.
Gyrating amongst the new tribes,
Chanting over the steady drums,
The prophesy is freedom
From the cells of our dark night.

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