The Heretic (Burnt At The Stake Of The Nations) Poem by Agatha Eliza

The earth shakes
us and again, our lives
and - here we are
with one hand in the ground
blindly grasping for roots
that seem unattainable,
mellow and rotten
like a shallow carcass
of a white empty seashell
cracking
devoid of substance
devoid of emotions
devoid of any life matter;
and the other
stiff, upward towards the sky
the infinity, the clouds
the distant stars
blunt and paralysed, but
with its fickle fingers
restlessly touching,
measuring
the invisible borders
the dimensions
the fleeting time
the frames and dreams
someone else
sets for ourselves
right before we are born,
the flags, countries and nations!
but we are not here
to be chained
to be dragged into the depths
to be forced to do things
against our will.

These fragile lives and hopes
seem such wasted gifts
when we look back at history
licking our wounds
while still contemplating that
we walk the same ground
others walked upon
but it's not different..
there are still footprints
on the very same gound
built by people who are
no longer here to tell the story.