Worlds Away

what the nomad brought home

Anachronism

Rome was already dead.

It was her ghost which emerged from the barbarian raids
To witness the moment the Tawantinsuyo awoke to its own splendor
Just moments before discovering that the seeds of its destiny
Had always been germinating there among those Seven Hills.

And as the mountain kingdom lay bleeding,
With one final, desperate gasp before her altar,
A deathbed convert, but all too tragically late,
The prostrate Inca warrior poured his libation of virgin tears
Over the marble belly of Venus–
Whose alabaster robes had buried
The quena
That opened those last decisive battles on the páramo–
And an empire built on granite
Fell to dust at the feet of a fading Classical apparition.

When the most bitter of Andean chills
Mangled the Mediterranean olives on their branch,
Two great empires
Reigning out of time

Clashed in anguish.  Fused.
And fell
Right there

On our bed.


* ~ Ñoqa Chuquiagomarkamanta Pichopaq ~
Quena =
type of Andean flute, held vertically at the lips

February 10, 2008 - Posted by | Poetry, Writing | , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: