Of the dusty ruins of the misty pasts
When gods were kings of kingdoms
Far across the great divide of the seas,
There lays a vase carrying ancient stories.
Love, War, Intrigues, Promises – Humanities
Of Ancient Life, so distant in times and spaces-
Are conjured up in holography, jettisoned from
The spell of Oblivion of Time by the Cycle of Time.
Suddenly, from the horizon afar that seems endless
An Old Man appears in a great chariot of two horses
And tells me, “I am A’as, god of gods of the Hittites.”
I ride his great chariot and vanish into the horizon endless.