The Lion Of The Desert.
I am Abu al-hol, the Father of Terror,
The Great Barabi, the lion of the desert,
In a sea of shallow shifting sands I sit,
An island amidst the Egyptian waters,
Where waves of dune rise, ebb and drift,
Then in silence crash upon my stone flanks,
Whilst centuries drip to drown in time,
Choking on the froth and spume of dust,
Which rises as incense smoke from a censer,
From all four of the desolate directions.
Washed by dry tides of wind and storm,
Scoured by squalls of sand,
That scream and howl both day and night,
In dark fits of furious frenzy,
Then burnt by sun and froze by moon,
Whilst all the while I sleep uncaring.
During the day fleas with the faces of men,
Clamber aboard my broad stone back,
And chip away at my stone skin,
With chisels, picks and shovels,
Seeking to destroy my beauty for knowledge,
Whilst beneath silvern jambiya moons,
Thieves in masks dig tunnels into my rock,
As maggots eat into festering flesh,
Seeking my treasures hidden deep within.
For when the sun has set and all the fleas fled,
I awaken in the moonlight,
And gaze in constant guard the night sky,
Fending off misfortune from the stars,
Which as a serpent slides through space,
Forever winding its way to our world.
Behind my eyes I keep my secrets,
A chamber of the sun,
Where polished crystal lenses,
Collect the twin rays that enter within,
Directing the beams upon an altar,
That produces the fire of creation,
Within the catacombs of my stone.
Whilst higher still in my mind,
The garden of the brow Chakra awaits,
Where higher wisdom awes the initiate,
With visions of the soul and cosmos,
Within the form an aetheric astronomical body,
Etched in silver upon its limbs,
Are sigils of sacred origin,
Designed to inscribe themselves,
Upon the minds of the elect,
Who enter within this retort,
The ark of my eternity.
A secret door sits beneath my breast,
Barred and blocked by Roman rocks,
That as talons of stone grip the earth,
And deny entrance to my adepts,
Who are drawn to worship me,
The wise men and Emperors that bow before me,
And seek the keys of heaven,
So the world grows dark with ignorance,
And sickens with its sins.
One day I will awaken and roar to the sky,
Then unleashed shall be, that dread tide.
Yet I have walked through those stone walls,
In questing dream as would a ghost,
Sunk through the deep seas of sand,
And stepped forth into that cavern,
Steeped in sinister darkness,
Where rests the lost tomb of Menes,
The founder of Egypt, a Bard of Britain,
A Druid of frozen Thule and a son of Menw.
Along lost passages into an inner sanctum,
I walked the Baardic path,
Where walls in white crystal shone,
With stars of polished pearls,
And planetary spheres of polished gems,
Used in images of mystery and medicine,
To heal, kill and enlighten.
White marble tablets inlaid with gold runes,
Rest upon rows of stone sarcophagi,
Which can only be read,
Through the Third Eye Of Illumination,
Which opened and revealed,
The sacred text efflorescing as a flower,
Foretelling of a red star rising,
Thunder and lightning, a world awash
With walls of moving waters,
That will throw down the mountains,
And drown all those spiders of greed,
Whose sticky black webs enshroud the earth,
with threads of death and war,
And wash away all the sinners and their sins,
So that the world may be reborn anew,
And rise from the waters, green again.
The runes foretell an apocalypse,
Preceded by many signs,
A light in the night sky in Capricorn,
The circuits of Venus usurped,
The Blue Kachina of a man made machine
Dancing as a dying star in the plaza,
Tishya shaking the heavens,
A Golden Calf sold as Art in an auction,
Whilst the lightning flash of a death spiral
Mocks the jackals of the city,
Then the roaring of the Sphinx, Abu al-hol,
The Father of Terror in the desert,
Shall be heard, heralding the Age of Ragnarok.
