File CARD031-4646.

Decrypted: 04.2403

Categorisation: Deep Space Broadcast, voice only.

Nature of Deviation: Transmission received 3 days following the return of USS Ascension from an unsuccessful rescue attempt of Jianna Krim.

Status: UNCLASSIFIED

I stood amongst the ruins of a once proud people,

And mourned my own overwhelming folly.

These streets had hummed with life and love,

And these avenues, like the great river at its heart,

Had channelled the lifeblood of a people, not prone

To failure and defeat and endings.

Tan stone, now turned a deathly black,

Had once borne witness to a million whispered stories.

Of a mother who scolded a child for love,

Of a father who stood sentry over a vast family,

Of a son who chased his friends with laughter,

Of a daughter who wished to be anywhere else.

Now the stories lie amongst the rubble at my feet,

As the city burns before my eyes.

 

The strike had come with a silent scream,

Fire descending from the skies.

Like heavenly wrath from a forgotten god,

Who sought to make a people grovel at the altar

Of a pride, so sinful it must be turned to dust.

Were we so wicked that we must be smote?

So vainglorious in deed and word, that

With an unerring hand and eye,

This mysterious god would judge us so harshly?

In my heart of hearts, I know the truth.

I had wished such sadness upon my people.

I had been the voice that called to the heavens,

And smiled when the world burned beneath their wrath.

 

There was wailing in the streets,

For an age beyond comprehension.

A sound so endless and piercing,

That it must carry to the ends of reality.

A wave of mournful ululating cries, ringing.

A plea so chilling it shatters bone, and,

With its unyielding wavefront of tears,

Drown the universe in sadness.

One day, the streets will be silent

Laughter and scream passed into shadow,

But for now, a paltry echo remains, and,

With ever-diminishing power,

Falls into history and fades into the ether.

One day, this too, will be forgotten by the universe at large.

And when the final child has ceased it cry,

When the final mother has emptied her heart,

My people, too, will pass into memory.

 

I thought myself above this wound,

That the fall of my people would fill me with joy.

I had signed it with a smiling kiss,

Happy for the ending of my forebears’ great achievements.

But I see now that my heart still lay amongst this dark soil.

Nestled amongst mud and stone and water and air,

That I had forsaken through a wounded pride.

It was the pale white blossom of the Isca tree,

That is now but a charred thorn,

Erupting from a dry and rancid soil.

It was in the river’s flow,

That once frothed at the mouth with exuberance,

But is now a stagnant pool of churn.

 

I am a fool,

And one who now stands in a ruined home.

Look upon me kings and paupers,

Look upon me mother and child,

Look upon me Cardassia which still lives, and know,

I wished this in another life.

I regret it in this one.