Hub of the Wheel



You can’t differentiate ‘tween a bird or other
or a dreaded soul or another,
they are all black harbingers of woe,
parade of ravens. Theban woe,
Lydian. Universal.

‘That rock is crying, look!
ㅤ‘What rock?
‘That one, within the caves over the hideous mounts. Look!
ㅤ‘It’s no stone dear. Don’t be so rude!
‘Why you cry, mulier?
ㅤ‘I still feel it,
ㅤ‘my tears are still warm:
ㅤ‘saline and the moans heart touching —
ㅤ‘They arise from the heart.
ㅤ‘How can you expect a stone, connect to a heart!’

‘O then ‘twas my fault!
 ‘Ζητώ συγγνωμη! συγχώρεση!’

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ‘Ha!
‘and do you presume I won’t forgive you?
‘Nay! I’m not so stone for a heart as the myths,
 ‘myths they are!
 ‘ω, γιοι μου, τις κόρες μου, το αίμα μου, την υπερηφάνεια’
 ‘now I pride in being real and the pain;
 ‘I pity them:
 ‘some retarded minds’ wanton.’