It all began as pure myth.
These psychological ploys,
Too real to decipher...
Yet meanders unanswered,
Until they stop!
Or trail away...
Left to drift!
Sit they do as a teapot brewing...
Boiling mists until someone removes it!
Determined to whip up traditions flavored,
And savored with each sip!
Lip service does not quench,
An undying thirst for more.
Ancestors are not certified,
Or relied upon to explore.
The pouring of it satisfies,
The creation of heros adored.
As those real who were truly the heros then,
Are dismissed as misfits to ignore!
Anthropologists are dispatched...
To search under rocks by bits!
Old ruins are disturbed for clues,
For any truth awaiting that sits.
And persistent are those
Insisting more symbols unfounded be made.
Relying on myths of 'shady' existences...
Regardless of artifacts discovered,
To recover minds illusioned...
Deluded and totally crazed!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.