Sentinel Poetry (Online) #37

3rd Anniversary Issue – December 2005

ISSN 1479-425X

Frontpage

 

Poetry

 

 

REHAN QAYOOM

 

Pygmalion

 

Loathing their lascivious life

Vowed to hate women, to not take a wife

 

Chaste as a celibate but in his dreams

came women, fleeting quick and fast as beams

 

Call it his destiny, or fate: a muse

worked wonders in his mind his skill to use

 

As master chizzler he began to knock

a perfect woman from an ivory block

 

(A prize from the emperor acknowledging)

his genius in the art of chizzling

 

Which when completed, he lay eyes upon

and fell in love with- desired it strong whereon

 

He realised, it was but an ivory maid

unravished yet and chaste - an idol made

 

By his own hands, with his own fingers shaped

his whole being raved; his mind seemed by it raped

 

Knowing it is madness he insanely wrapped

his arms around its neck, he finger-tipped

 

Her cheeks and brushed them lightly, snuggled

Tickle-kissed - as if he on kisses lived 

 

Shunning all arguments of real unreal         

believed reality is what we feel

 

So bought he little gifts all lovers buy

their girlfriends; scents and watches, by the by

 

He gave her seashells, pearls and precious stones

little birds tweeting on in diverse tones

 

And flowers: roses, (fleurs de lys) and

pendants with drops of amber - in her hand

 

Then one day he wrapped a cashmere shawl

about her shoulders, blood-red: wherewithal

 

Studded with earrings and bejewelled to her eyes

musky, intoxicating, swoony, wise

 

And then he stripped her naked; one by one

the presents came off slowly, every one

                                                 

He stripped her naked till she was full nude

he stared at agonising beauty, rude

 

Pure, undefiled, he could comprehend

the articulacy of holy flesh, it’s portend

 

Except he’d a ring on her finger placed

to signify; no longer was he chaste

 

“You're mine my wine forever till I've breath

in these my lungs I'll love you beyond death”

                                     

My grave shall sprout with lilies for your love

and men shall sing of me - and gods above

 

He cushioned her with weaves of Tyrian purple

and talked to her; he seemed with words to startle

  

Till came the day of offerings for the feast

of Venus - gilded horns the milky beast

 

Was offered at the altars of devotion

Pygmalion offered his and asked a solution

 

 

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