Subjects of History

I am forsaken by narrative

I am haunted by the presence of hope

And the longing for it

conditions my belief

In the night, we wander aimlessly

In search of the trails of light

And when they arrive

We no longer search

Only to return to the verses we recite

The lost angels of our temples

Approach us in descent

The numbers of their dates unknown

And their return inevitable

What kind of pleasure dictates

the rhythm of our emergence?

What kind of lust overcomes us at night?

And will we ever be liberated

of the limitations of our sight?

They have rid me of my senses

The losses and the treasures of belief

I long for your breath

And the search for reconciliation commences

We, the subjects of history

Reach the highest summit

Only to witness ourselves beyond repair

We, the victims of misery

We wander in the deserts of our despair