Old Dusty Roots

Pita Amor
1918 – 2000


They are my old, dusty roots
The strange code of my captivity;
Tied am I to the dust and its mystery,
I bring strange, unknown essences.
In my pores they are already outlined
The scars of an eternal empire;
The dust has marked its cauterization,
I am a victim of forgotten guilt.
In a dusty form I forsee
And to the new roots I startle
I must bequeath my anguished breath.
Conquering the air by storm,
I have nothing to do with what I feel,
I am an unhappy accomplice to something higher.

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