Restlessness, Transience

The letter you sent me has been read and translated.
It was delivered by four grey geese, it was tied in purple ribbon.
When it fell into my hands it was spotted with mist and flimsy
From last night’s rain. Your seal was cracked, the black of dirt
And dust, a thin line collected between two circle halves.

I am sending a respose to inform you and the other people with
You that your men have refused to restore my walls and rebuild
My foundation. It was found that the city has a long history
Of rebellion and sedition, that powerful kings ruling
Over all the land – the taxes and tributes were paid directly
To them. But what do you fear? We are not those kings.
We are weak. We are small.

By now you must know that we survive for a different purpose.
I no longer rule. I have been searching in the archives and graves
For notions. I found out the truth about downfall:
Not one man’s kingdom escapes.

You must know that we are tired of your men’s presence.
You must know that we are tired of this restless turning over.
We are no longer worth the occupation. We have nothing left to
Offer, not even the fulfillment of revenge.

You will leave, you will allow me to understand satisfaction.
When you see that I am too crumbled, all your men will flee,
Past the broken gate, leaving millions of worm-trails in the sand.
These marks will remain for the night, and in the morning,
I will hear the plain wind. When no trace of your time remains

Here, I will be left alone to build.