Historical Poem by Artchil Daug

I am cursed to see the imprint of my actions
in the ladder of consciousness they slide
these ghosts of time-passing apparitions
exerting gravity no one can hide.

I see those falling roses of summer
and the sorrows that bleed of oblivion,
trapped in emotions never getting dimmer
wrecked stranded blinded to the alluvion.

But came other lands in the flow of life
sediments and driftwoods that form anew
promises that march in the sound of fife,
thus I opened new horizons in view;

for the past is not a fixed prison cell
that takes my future away where I dwell.