The Unaware!

Today the same color, the same talk, the same temper as if it were nothing that blood is in this stream! As if it were nothing that your ominous dagger struck my breast, O hellish one, O tyrant demon! Today the same door turned on the same hinge as if it were nothing that the whole street had trembled! Today the same mule and polo stick and the same ground? as if it were nothing that this ball has changed? Today the same page, the same word, the same guile? as if it were nothing that that face has been disgraced! Today the same arrow and the same gallows and the same brand! as if it were nothing that the courtyard is without its gazelle! As if it were nothing that that page has turned: the plain has become a phoenix and carried the news to every side: O unaware ones, wing and feather and garden have burned they blew fire into every cypress, into every street. Alas! The fire of your tyranny is neither cold nor dead it will catch at the root the dry and the green, and the palace that runs after oppression. So that another tyranny may rise from the flame? or that flower and bud may win justice from this scent? What harm was there in goodness, that not once did you show it to the heart-burnt ones in the homeland, on this side? What word, after all, do you seek in this last breath? It is sedition! Yes! The mirror says: look at your face!