Here they are, all around me,
Like bodies littering a battlefield.
Plucked up, their peace of centuries is disturbed
By greedy, sacrilegious hands
Now looking any which way
Regardless of high-energy points,
Which they faced before,
Gazing at their homes, the distant stars.
Now they are labelled and covered up,
Placed any which way
Regardless of friend or foe,
While greasy, itchy fingers
Trace the chisel's path,
Unknowingly committing sacrilege.
Uncaring tourists are carried along on
Aching, swollen ankles,
Unable to appreciate a sculpture
In its entirety.
Their regal lines are stuffed willy-nilly
In a pin-sized room,
Dynasties, deities, star energies
Criss-crossing each other
Caught in a net of time.
As many tongues
From all corners of the world
Speak of everyday, mundane affairs,
Considering it their right
To float amongst the “gods” who watch
This new species of humans
With silent dignity.
