Proud I was in life, but foolish, believing crowns
and flattery were signs of real power.
But scarcely was my chamber dug
when I was sent to dwell in it.
Here, I was meant to dine in splendour with the gods
but gold and jewels have no sheen
in endless dark: what use are chariots
and hunting bows inside this womb of stone
that drip-feeds me its cursed gift of ever-life?
Disembowelled, bound, and blind
how I have known the infinity of night!
You come as thieves:
I do not care – these things are yours.
Gladly, I exchange them for your gifts, of space, of light.

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