The Last Victim of Vlad the Impaler

Mehmet Akgönül

I was the new tree to be planted—

in the garden of corpses—

whose facial muscles twisted with pain— 

had made a strange expression on their faces.

I was a simple farmer—

who could not pay the Voivode his taxes.

If you saw people impaled from afar—

you would think they were smiling.

This is the strange expression I was talking about.

Before Vlad The Impaler’s capturing— 

by the Great Sultan of the Turks,

I was the last innocent who would be slaughtered.

I'm in the garden smelling—

rotten human flesh and dried blood.

I pray that God takes my life before I am impaled.

What kind of flowers will bloom—

from this soil watered with our blood.

So many innocent screams will be stuck on this earth.

Vlad the Impaler will be called Dracula—

and accused of sucking our blood.

But the only thing he sucked from us—

was the games we would play with our children.

And kisses we gave to our wives— 

that we have under the moonlight.

I watch them rub oil on the stake— 

and for the first time, I notice—

that my eyelids have muscle.

Because they are so tight— 

that I can't close my eyes.

Vlad approaches me—

and cuts my wrist with his dagger.

He drips my blood into his glass of wine— 

and is winking at me.

The beast snaps his fingers and his puppets impale me— 

to stake calmly as if they had no souls.

He makes the final touch— 

of his perverted artwork with me.

I think just before my screams and drown in my own blood—

Dracula must be more ruthless than the devil himself!

My moans in pain, tearing the clouds, reached God—

Even God turned a blind eye to the cruelty done to us.

The sky where angels should glide is full of crows.

The crows are as crowded as the victims.

I can not even breathe because of the stake—

I'm going to die, I'm dying, I'm dead.