Maybe it’s better to not have
everything so ancient, customs
that draw from the first fire,
maybe we shouldn’t jump
from firewood to lithium power
before putting a good attire
in front of a beveled mirror,
the corner reflections in the colour
of the survival of the meek,
maybe against incredible odds,
horses and Scythian bows 
as far as the eye can seek
maybe not at the Caspian Sea
but in a squeaky bathtub filled
with memories to the curved rim
of the idea of a community
immediately recognized
only by an old history prim
maybe that got it all wrong
when the technology of war
had to pass through morality.
Maybe some ideas must die,
their elegance sacrificed
in the service of humanity.
After all these kings and queens
of weak following strong
following yet stranger peers,
maybe it’s time to pack our bags
and say goodbye to a diamond
that we coveted for years,
maybe without malice at first,
but now that we finally know,
in our hauntingly advanced age?
In front of bad news piled high
from the personal tragedy
to the demise of all by rage?