My Countrymen

What do you seek, My Countrymen?

Do you desire that I build for

You gorgeous palaces, decorated

With words of empty meaning, or

Temples roofed with dreams? Or

Do you command me to destroy what

The liars and tyrants have built?

Shall I uproot with my fingers

What the hypocrites and the wicked

Have implanted? Speak your insane

Wish!

What is it you would have me do,

My Countrymen? Shall I purr like

The kitten to satisfy you, or roar

Like the lion to please myself? I

have sung for you, but you did not

Dance; I have wept before you, but

you did not cry. Shall I sing and

Weep at the same time?

Your souls are suffering the pangs

Of hunger, and yet the fruit of

Knowledge is more plentiful than

The stones of the valleys.

Your hearts are withering from

Thirst, and yet the springs of

Life are streaming about your

Homes ‑ why do you not drink?

The sea has its ebb and flow,

The moon has its fullness and

Crescents, and the Ages have

Their winter and summer, and all

Things vary like the shadow of

An unborn God moving between

Earth and sun, but Truth cannot

be changed, nor will it pass away;

Why, then, do you endeavour to

Disfigure its countenance?

I have called you in the silence

Of the night to point out the

Glory of the moon and the dignity

Of the stars, but you startled

From your slumber and clutched

Your swords in fear, crying,

``Where is the enemy? We must kill

Him first!'' At morningtide, when

The enemy came, I called to you

Again, but now you did not wake

From your slumber, for you were

Locked in fear, wrestling with

The processions of spectres in

Your dreams.

And I said unto you, ``Let us climb

To the mountain top and view the

Beauty of the world.'' And you

Answered me, saying, ``In the depths

Of this valley our fathers lived,

And in its shadows they died, and in

Its caves they were buried. How can

We depart this place for one which

They failed to honour?''

And I said unto you, ``Let us go to

The plain that gives its bounty to

The sea.'' And you spoke timidly to

Me, saying, ``The uproar of the abyss

Will frighten our spirits, and the

Terror of the depths will deaden

Our bodies.''

I have loved you, My Countrymen, but

My love for you is painful to me

And useless to you; and today I

Hate you, and hatred is a flood

That sweeps away the dry branches

And quavering houses.

I have pitied your weakness, My

Countrymen, but my pity has but

Increased your feebleness, exalting

And nourishing slothfulness which

Is vain to Life. And today I see

Your infirmity which my soul loathes

And fears.

I have cried over your humiliation

And submission; and my tears streamed

Like crystalline, but could not sear

Away your stagnant weakness; yet they

Removed the veil from my eyes.

My tears have never reached your

Petrified hearts, but they cleansed

The darkness from my inner self.

Today I am mocking at your suffering,

For laughter is a raging thunder that

Precedes the tempest and never comes

After it.

What do you desire, My Countrymen?

Do you wish for me to show you

The ghost of your countenance on

The face of still water? Come,

Now, and see how ugly you are!

Look and meditate! Fear has

Turned your hair grey as the

Ashes, and dissipation has grown

Over your eyes and made them into

Obscured hollows, and cowardice

Has touched your cheeks that now

Appear as dismal pits in the

Valley, and Death has kissed

Your lips and left them yellow

As the Autumn leaves.

What is it that you seek, My

Countrymen? What ask you from

Life, who does not any longer

Count you among her children?

Your souls are freezing in the

Clutches of the priests and

Sorcerers, and your bodies

Tremble between the paws of the

Despots and the shedders of

Blood, and your country quakes

Under the marching feet of the

Conquering enemy; what may you

Expect even though you stand

Proudly before the face of the

Sun? Your swords are sheathed

With rust, and your spears are

Broken, and your shields are

Laden with gaps; why, then, do

You stand in the field of battle?

Hypocrisy is your religion, and

Falsehood is your life, and

Nothingness is your ending; why,

Then, are you living? Is not

Death the sole comfort of the

Miserables?

Life is a resolution that

Accompanies youth, and a diligence

That follows maturity, and a

Wisdom that pursues senility; but

You, My Countrymen, were born old

And Weak. And your skins withered

And your heads shrank, whereupon

You became as children, running

Into the mire and casting stones

Upon each other.

Knowledge is a light, enriching

The warmth of life, and all may

Partake who seek it out; but you,

My Countrymen, seek out darkness

And flee the light, awaiting the

Coming of water from the rock,

And your nation's misery is your

Crime. . . . I do not forgive you

Your sins, for you know what you

Are doing.

Humanity is a brilliant river

Singing its way and carrying with

It the mountains' secrets into

The heart of the sea; but you,

My Countrymen, are stagnant

Marshes infested with insects

And vipers.

The Spirit is a sacred blue

Torch, burning and devouring

The dry plants, and growing

With the storm and illuminating

The faces of the goddesses; but

You, My Countrymen...your souls

Are like ashes which the winds

Scatter upon the snow, and which

The tempests disperse forever in

The valleys.

Fear not the phantom of Death,

My Countrymen, for his greatness

And mercy will refuse to approach

Your smallness; and dread not the

Dagger, for it will decline to be

Lodged in your shallow hearts.

I hate you, My Countrymen, because

You hate glory and greatness. I

Despise you because you despise

Yourselves. I am your enemy, for

You refuse to realize that you are

The enemies of the goddesses.