Of the dusty ruins of the misty pasts
When gods were kings of kingdoms
Far across the great divide of the seas,
Lies a vase carrying ancient stories.
Love, War, Nature, and Magic – 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 grand chariot of two horses
And tells me, “I am A’as, king of gods of the Hittites.”
I ride his great chariot and vanish into the endless horizons.