EXHIBIT AT THE NATIONAL ANTHROPOLOGY MUSEUM IN TOMBOUCTOU

By Andrew Dombalagian

This is the first professionally published poem for Andrew Dombalagian, a long-time amateur writer. His other poetry, inspired by Lovecraftian illustrations, anime characters and everyday observations, has previously appeared in collegiate publications.

INSCRIPTION ON PLAQUE, Titanium-Gold Alloy, ca. 2250—2300 C.E.

This artifact, showing evidence of prolonged exposure to the conditions of space, was recovered by Professor Amadou Sangare in a folk market outside the New Lagos Desolation Zone, although its true origins remain unknown. The inscription is etched in a dead language, not native to Africa, believed to have once been a trade language prevalent on Terra. Translation has revealed the meaning of the prayer poem, though elements such as rhyme and metre have been lost in transition.

The plaque bears a prayer offered by early starfarers to the Elder Gods, pleading for protection and safe passage between planets and star systems. The crude mysticism and superstition once applied to space travel parallels the rudimentary nature of technology and knowledge of that bygone epoch. Note the childish optimism expressed in the verses, reflecting a primitive belief that the long-dead Elder Gods yet possessed any influence amongst the stars. This artifact represents both an infantile step in starfaring history and a remnant from the Dark Ages, when mortals yet doubted, and even challenged, the supremacy of the Great Old Ones.

The flapping of heavy, grey wings against the membranous thickness of the void

Echoes in the thundering roar of our thermonuclear heart, pounding against its carbon bonds.

Humble are we who sail the satin tapestry of night, ever on the verge

Of the Pit, where sleeping lies the Blind Idiot of all Oblivion.

May the sheen of Bast’s smile, though never so warm as upon her brood,

Find our voyage safe from the burning cold wrath of the aether.

Before Hypnos closes all eyes forevermore, for another day,

May we yet gaze with awe and horror unfettered.

Protect your servants from the ebon, bilious hearts that throb against the crystalline

Chains that bind them to the orbs and spheres that pulsate brightly in the

Eternally Yawning Gulfs. Their noxious, chromatic radiations pollute the

Eons with the foul beneficence of their Great Old Masters.

The narrow, blanched roads between worlds that our vessel travels overhang with

The looming, glassy canopy of galaxies and nebulae fertile with Three-Lobed Eyes.

They watch with a patience as icy as the void that cradles their bower.

Though our voices are mere flecks of cosmic dust adrift between eons,

Please heed this plea from your vassals, O Elder Lords.

May the dying light of the cosmos find our hull shining with the might and majesty

Of the vast shell that ferries Lord Nodens across his abyssal kingdom.

From the hearth fires of one sacred star to the next, may we lowly souls find safe passage,

And in our journeys, may we find comforting respite

Against the Old Ones who dream in their deathless slumber.