souls of the west and now, of the east

only know of my family as our likenesses serve

as ambiance for the moving pictures,

though i am not known enough even for this.

but as far as their messiah and their prophets became faith,

my family of gods sunk into immateriality.

our grand cities into suburbs,

our doctrine into myth.

what our worshippers learned as children

is now esoteric knowledge 

reserved for the academe.

and Iah himself know;

that is the nature of time.

it wears at aged dieties 

as believers find new ones.

wisdom and knowledge is fist attributed

to my father, the ibis,

and i remain unaccredited.

yet i still power as a child scribbles her first words,

as a man weaves numbers in and out of formulas,

as an old woman reads the book she discovered in a library,

as a construction worker layers brick upon brick,

as the little boy sneaks his telescope to his

bedroom window 

in the dead of night, when the stars are the brightest.

knowledge and all the practices 

that i have been responsible for

in my thousands of years

have changed, but their essence remains the same.

and i, the seven horned,

hi alty hi alkatib,

live on through those practices the human condition

will never allow to fade.

as that is the nature of time.