Resurrection

Who could have known of their watch Who could have told of their suspicion Who could have told That they were the harbingers To my resurrection? Me, I sat there Plummeted Engrossed in my ingratitude Occasionally Languishing Betraying the illusion And I remember, too, Lingering in the thirsty Emptiness Mummified Entwined in my solitude. Sometimes Before the Eolithic era Which refracted by dioptric Prometheus moulded his man There were no leaves on branches No bark on the trunks No undergrowth in the forest No sweat on the pores. I opened the cataract on my veins the silence of the stars surged forth down the rivers on my palm- leaving deserts behind. Sensing disturbance In my oblivion Reproaching my rebirth I reached out for the present Leaving no spoor. Centuries after I arrived at the end of my hibernation At the beginning of their quest I had not solicited, I swear! Mother, they said These cracks on your face In the shape of nations Who will mend them? Those aliens Who daily defile your rivers Make love to your beaches Shitting on your mountains Who will excoriate their oddity? Those derelicts Shaking your constellation To balance the ecology: Who will indite the epilogue? Those dirty mercenaries Who raped your plains Plundered your joy: Who will expiate the outrage? Who will resurrect Your majesty? Who will deflect The holocaust?