Ode to Thebes
by Sophia Sanikidze
I.
Hail Thebes,
city of Truths,
Honor,
Intelligence.
Watch the pendulum swing.
The Fates weave a story
on the loom as the sun hits its peak.
Watch Oedipus come down the traveler’s road,
blood of royals,
love of family,
mind of purity.
The Sphinx opens her eyes,
stretches.
Words roll off her lioness tongue.
The tapestry has a knot,
and the fates wait for the Chosen to untangle it.
Hero or villain?
Villain or victim?
Oedipus breaks the Sphinx apart
to free the trapped city,
and the knot tightens.
More and more, the strands tangle.
Love and death flip a coin.
It lands on ignorance,
but Oedipus refuses to let the bet lie.
Hail Thebes,
the city of evil Truths,
the city where Honor is twisted,
the city where Intelligence is death.
II.
Hail Thebes,
land of Order,
Inheritance,
Piety.
Oedipus is gone, gone, gone.
The lady Antigone guides him.
She is his eyes.
Ismene prays for her family,
but the gods are unforgiving.
They are offended,
and leave the Fates to their schemes.
Creon demands what is needed,
Polynices demands what is owed,
Eteocles demands what is wanted.
The women watch as Oedipus grants none of it.
They watch as it all falls apart,
even as the story tightens at the seams.
He will never apologize.
How do you travel the road the gods pave for you,
only to be struck down?
The Gods are not happy with their own orders.
How will you take what is yours,
when none deserve it?
How will you ask forgiveness for stealing
when no one apologizes?
Hail Thebes,
land of broken rules,
land of things stolen,
land of accusation.
III.
Hail Thebes,
country of Laws,
Bonds,
of . . .
Creon reigns with an iron fist,
Antigone begs for her brother,
Ismene hides.
There is no one left in this country.
Only whispers of things unfair,
of things taken,
of things deserved.
Family drops dead one by one,
bonds of love are strained,
the loops of the Fates get tighter and tighter.
Proclamations are made,
proclamations are broken.
Love stabs Death,
and Death strangles her in turn.
This country is hollow,
the only life left the buzz of anarchy.
Creon tries to hold it all together.
The threads finally snap,
and the tragedy’s curtains close.
Death of family, death of those loved,
and the loom breaks.
Hail Thebes,
the city, the land, the country of hollowness.
The death shroud is done.
Wear it with pride.