ankh symbol Painting by Liana Horbaniuc
I, who travel the world ruled by a bestial frenzy,
I am the pain of the sufferer and the distorted folly,
I left those who did not follow me.
According to the desire of my heart,
I traveled to the lands of the horizon, to step on my throne,
To calm down my stormy mind where the
Deluge dwells since the dawn of time,
Irritated by an ancient wrath
Turned into candescence as the centuries went by.
And I saw the top of the wondrous horn
It stands out as a bestly tooth from the barren gums
Whether it’s a crypt or a golden chest
Buried in sand
In the harsh desolation of the desert
A dead woman’s silent garden
Like an oasis.
A sweet, intoxicating voice asks from the grave:
”Where art thou go?”
Is that a spirit, or a jackal
Sneaking around my throne made of copper
Wishing to depose me and
Take my crown away?
You’re standing, Traveler, among the spirits –
The killer of the descendants of my kind,
Pharaoh Ai, counselor of the emperors,
Stands among the powerful ones he slaughtered
They murdered my children!
Ai, the slaughterer shall stand among the spirits
His smell is Pazuzu, the smell of Horus’ eye belong to my flesh.
”I do not ask for such a dwelling,
Or any other at all…
Blinded, I’m walking the world
To rise like a morning beast-star
And count all my foes
My eyes are open, my ears open too
I travel the horizons of the Sun, travel the horizons of the Dark.
I bridled my weapons
Ropes are tied, ships summoned
I have conquered, I’ve passed by – was that all it was?
I went to a dream of things that once’d been
Glory, the miracle of Gods, miracle, and a coffin
That’s the dignity that belongs to the powerful ones
And the desperate ones as well
Who will win this race?
I walk the world to command
Jackals, pass the throne to those who come in peace
And praise them, you, jackals;
The throne you should give, not your knives
Throne, so I can rule the spirits
With a forged scepter in my hand
Scepter made of an unknown element
To revive this heart in my dead body.
Then you sit on that firm throne,
On the throne of scholars,
In a lone tower that needs to be redone
I bow down to your deadly efforts
You brought light into my eternal night
And now listen to me well,
Because you won’t hear from me anymore:
I, Ankhesenamun, an ancient statue
Mother of the dead-born children
Whom I sprayed with the sacred milk
Brewed in the breast of mother Isis.
Distorted by blows and insults,
distorted by time itself,
I’m leaving a mark on the ground,
Marking the arrival of the beast.
And the mark says:
Yes, the ropes are tied, the ships summoned
For the One who passed by the graves – was that all it was?
For the One who walked hand-in-hand with the dead and the spirits.
To the things that once had been
She voiced a wise word
About the One that was a loyal mummy in the dead hour,
A chaperone of the unfortunate King’s daughter.
They killed her children!
Bearing a white crown, in a royal dress, with two sagging,
In the house of Anubis
Your books will burn
Around the altar, the salted Sun pillars
And you will cry your witless eyes out
With an aristocratic humaneness
Coupled with vulgar curses
Fruitless are all hopes, and fruitless are woes
To be told in the cold heat of misery.
They’re keen to lament, but they don’t,
Sadly smiling before the emptiness.
Oh, crowned thou art, Ankhe, together with
The buried Gods in pain and fatigue.
You, worshiped by the temples with snake litters
In their foundations, and – behold! – vipers are
Waiting in the line.
May these sailors take you to the horizon
May they round your path off
My mouth is open to you, my nose is open to you
My ears are open to you, my voice reeds too…
Red as the red crown of Horus
(one can hear a whimper-like laughter)
Collect my bones when leaving
Clear this dust from my limbs
And from the furrows of a long thinking and dried tears
Which left a sterile track behind
Remove these bandages from my body and give me your hand
A grave is open for you too
But if you won’t, may your boats sail in a hurry
So my name can endure
So my tomb may endure
And that’s my temple, my temple too,
And before you go,
Here’s my gift to you:
A green feather of a crocodile God, with caring eyes,
With passing time,
The One that rules the river, Nile,
With his powerful face,
Yes, that’s the one that rules,
The master of the night,
And he says:
Every day is shining for those who yearn for the horizon
The upper door of the Heavens wait for them
A place in Heavens is ready for them
Under the blind eye of Horus.
And as for me…
For a millennium and a half, I haven’t talked to anyone
Like I talk to you!