1 posts
  • rishabhpal22 27w

    The Fifty-Fifth Tongue

    Release me, release me
    There's a poem tapped in morse
    Where a cowardly death-rattle
    Sits waiting by its horse
    It speaks of your Voyage
    It stands upon your eyes
    To be told to a people
    When the last of us dies

    In the redness of the distant
    In the coldness, in the dark
    Skulls of your shamans
    Are building us an ark

    There's an altar for my mother,
    And a window with old blinds
    To protect me from sorrow,
    In a billion years and minds

    My King has called me, the fifty-fifth tongue
    Awaits to be written, etched, and strung
    To be told to a people
    When the last of us has died
    In places where God sleeps
    Unchained, untied

    I shall walk again past these tears again
    Where death is thinly drawn
    The sands of the Nazca
    Shall stir the broken pawn
    My ancestors lie there
    In defiance of Rot
    To send my saddled horse to you
    With its Pale Blue Dot

    I must go where they are waiting,
    I must travel to that ark
    Where a thousand mothers call my name
    From a thousand graves unmarked

    I must go where they await me
    'Neath a crystal obelisk
    Where a million souls call my name
    Upon that Golden Disk