The wheel of time starts spinning, and life goes back and back,

To its very beginning, through nothingness to black.

To where the life ignited, in humans the first time,

To that fantastic garden, with angel’s songs and rhymes.

The first stop – the arena where prisoners are punished

To entertain the rich kings whose virtue is long vanished.

Monarchs think they are gods; cruel souls, and poisoned breath

Their hungry shadows feed with mundane pain and death.

Photo by Sebastian Davenport-Handley on Unsplash

The punished men are screaming, tortured, shot down by pain,

Their torment’s curse is wailed by the ghost crowd, like the rain.

Their suffering transpires, burnt in descendants’ trails,

Uttering through lineages, painful and bleedy tales.

The wheel of life spins wires of whispers, howling to the quiet mind,

All thoughts, memories, and feelings ran back to the part entwined.

Ancients’ voices moaned the curse. There were no ears to hear it, though.

Until now. When voiceless’ elders speak! They pass forgiveness vows!

Stay safe.

Mihaela Stancu wrote this poem. It holds all rights reserved.

(© Mihaela Stancu, published October 2021)