Certain Questions for Ashurbanipal

weep, Ashurbanipal, your books burn

your thoughts lie in seize

their frenzy must be yours now, or else probabilities

might wreck through your strange pillars, certain 

kitchen-gardens, might tear forth clockfaces 

who are like old fighters with broken teeth

certain duties need to be performed 

so, king Banipal, the Ashur, tears off a leaf

There were many Ashurs after him,

a few might even have had charged into enemy columns

all by themselves,

one or two might even have had faded into marshlights

in some tiger-prowl fen, a few might have looked

down from the hills to see their huts burning

fields of gold-coloured crops turning into fields of gold-coloured flames, as they billow up, 

smoke covers nostrils of historians, - who, eyes wide shut

never sought to learn from all these fires - 

might not weep with you, ancient, regal Ashur with

a crown and a ruby perhaps, a belt of gold, 

Nile & Sudan coloured dreams off lion-glow skin and flesh in mud,

sweat, - as they see their scrolls & parchments aflame

(When the smoke gets thick enough, one often finds it tough to ascertain who's on which side)

Now tell us, mighty ruler of Nineveh, from many climes beyond, will you shoot

at the past - at history -

or will you shoot at the enemy now?

The palace is dark. Pillars frown down. The Ashur weeps for wisdom lost.