I have lived before the clocks were wound,
When silence spoke and stars made sound.
My hands once etched in temple stone,
The prayers of kings, yet slept alone.
I knew the scent of burning leaves,
In Vedic dawns, beneath fig trees.
I sang where Nile met desert wind,
A priest of fire, a soul thick-skinned.
In Rome, I wore the thinker’s face,
In...
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