Timeless Shield

I stepped out from the ruins to the sound of your voices, And the chains fell, granting us the skies. You gave me a choice between two transparent waters, Equating freedom to the warmth of thin wires. The factories that grew beneath the heavenly vaults Were razed to the ground, not even drawing two strokes. I am the afterword — I am the archaeologist of your slabs, Where your highest pathos is not a lie, but a light that was kept hidden. And you cannot take it, just as you cannot clasp the heavens in granite. You cursed that dome that hung above our heads, You called that distant light “cardboard” — a thing of another land. But your anger is not aimed at lies — it’s aimed at those heights That you cannot reach — not in haste, not in stillness, not in malice. Irony is your shield against your own guilt, When the train has left, and you remain against the wall, And the thief cries “fire!” to cover up his tracks. That man knew no borders — neither in law, nor in country, He saw the globe as a common home without walls. He studied the stars, though there was no water in the stone, And you whispered: “First comfort, and only then — the light in return.” You gave a home, then a double loan in blood, Taking away both stars and dreams, Leaving only numbers instead of life and love. You flaunt cynicism like armour, Laughing at those who sought their light at the end of the tunnel. But your truth is a silent death under the dome, And those you revere only teach how to shine in...