Persepolis

Persepolis

We live alone in the high mountains, where time ends,
at least it seems so. This is the landscape of dreams,
this is the firmament of delights. It was lost,
once it was lost: and if I came this way again
would you? Would you remember who I am? It seems
so long since we carved our names on the ageless rock.

An eternity, and ten thousand angels weep
the still stairway; the rage of slaves, the emperor dead.
Xerxes you lived too long, you killed too much of mine.
'How pretty!', 'Worth a postcard', 'Such a proud people.'
The sweat, the passion, the ache, the life and blood shed,
and a people gone. And I, a slave only to time

would trade the world for one drink of the humble cup.
Alexander, destroyer of cities, the man
slips through my fingers as dust; and over the crest
of Mount Rahmat, the sun. Perhaps our time is up.
The evening calls and calls you back, go if you can;
why seek mortality? Stay here awhile, and rest.