Let the eye is not looking. I see the past because I see a future. Do not want to see again saw the victim fall again in the future. When life does not give the place again. Here, in Thebes, I stopped walking.
I am Oedipus, the accursed. And a city can be so surprising. In this Thebes. Oedipus never understand the will of the gods. Acting alone, to face and cope with the temporal power. Commemorate the passion and death.
And my daughter Antigone. Forgive your father’s Oedipus. That he was not a brave man, much less remarkable. Let yourself be dragged into the story of extreme suffering, and not your fault. For me, you are the brave hearts.
Then told the story to Homer, a father’s life story, later. Oedipus in power or not will always meet the limit. Excitement but also trepidation. My blessing for you, live bravely and died bravely.
I told you, O Homer, indeed of human life deserves its time, not always spectacular views. When a hero, record, insult throwing them choose. Because silence is better, and freely pursue truth is not supported forever.
But sorry is not a gift. Bitter, but ironic. Resignation, but also keeps the passion. That I felt the presence of Hades has been close, may they, who have I hurt forgave me. After that, let me burned in Tartarus. There is a sense of longing for the quiet, which are expected to attend it, holy.
Source : https://tengkuputeh.com/2012/03/13/poetry-of-thebes/
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