Sunday, December 31, 2006

The Princess and the Water Carrier


The Princess and the Water Carrier
The Ballad of Shehn and Salim
Farhad Dastur, Nairobi, December, 2006.

In old Jaipur, under an azure sky, where peacock did fly,
Dawn’s first hushed kiss brushed the royal face.
A tale is told both tragic and true,
Of tears and woe and virtue upheld,
Of a princess and her heart that like a shooting star fell.

Thus we begin at the Sultan’s palace on the lake,
And dawn’s first hushed kiss painted on that royal face,
Rising to greet both God and bright day,
Young princess Shehn, in single thought and purpose bent.

From gilded cage her highness did gaze,
Beyond the hyacinth lake to the hill country haze,
To the village where the water carrier’s head still lay,
In restless sleep upon his pillow of hay.

What is love but two souls in eternal dance,
Ever the flower yearns for the Golden Sultan’s glance,
Stone and bone bound to earth in locked embrace,
While the heavens above, reflect God’s adoring face.

The news, happy and sad, that morning broke,
Princess Shehn to wed neighbouring prince Ashok!
By Moghul decree would peace and wealth thus guarantee,
By tonight’s beguiling plan, she must this burden unyoke.

Two shadows met by the green garden gate,
Under pomegranate tree, a promised flight on a promised date.
With Moon as silent witness, their compact softly spoke,
To escape the next night, ere king and queen awoke.
Sealed with a kiss, their secret known to only sky,
The princess and her water carrier would tradition defy.

Oh Moghul King, why anger, why shake?
Vexed at the conspiracies a maiden’s heart may make?
Know that never before did passion’s blood beat more pure,
Than beat in the bosom of your own daughter of Jaipur.

Ashok’s promises of jewels and fine linen failed sway,
The princess and her purpose: to Salim ever and a day.
Candied plums sweeten not a tongue that cannot taste,
And lullabies sung to a deafened heart are a waste.
Keep your Samarkand emeralds, your blue Kashmir sapphires too,
Some treasures only reside in the soul’s timeless space.

Night’s stage curtain dropped on a city unawake,
The palace glowed with light of celestial make,
A masked form clothed in robes darker than ink,
Upon his skiff he crossed the abyss of the lake,
Toward earth, fire, breath, and ache.

But what is this, what strange apparition here?
Not the water carrier borne, but a messenger come near.
From phantom cloud, a dark countenance appeared,
An old man with folded note; handsome Salim disappeared!

“Sun of my day, Sun of my night,
Roots of my tree, eyes black-pearl bright,
You are my flame, my one candle light.
Marry one day, but not this cursed night.

I am but a poor boy, from the village afar,
With neither title, nor rank, nor a fortunate star.
I bring not riches, not position, not fame,
Splice this bond, ere I bring you royal shame.
Forsake me my precious, in a future age remain,
When we meet again as equals,
And two become one in deed and in name.”

The old phantom withdrew, the princess stood still,
On fallen knees her soul’s misery did spill,
To be cleaved from her other in so cutting a way,
Oh bursting heart, even the heavens betray!
The yellows of summer, now endless winters of gray.

Across time’s snowy valleys and high mountain passes,
Across successions of kings and empires vast,
Among crowded souls of many an age marching,
The once-princess of Jaipur spent centuries searching,
With only the stars gazing down with their uncommon grace,
One day to illumine her once water-carrier’s face.


Written in celebration of the love story of aunt Shehn and uncle Salim.

Saturday, December 30, 2006

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The Great Bird Will Take Flight

"The great bird will take flight above the ridge...filling the universe with awe, filling all writings with its fame..."
--The Codex on the Flight of Birds, Leonardo da Vinci, 1506.


"...the first memory of my childhood is that it seemed to me, when I was in my cradle, that a kite came to me, and opened my mouth with its tail, and struck me several times with its tail inside my lips..." --Leonardo's first memory

Friday, December 29, 2006

Raven Against a Bright-Dark Sky














Raven Against a Bright-Dark Sky.
Hollyburn Trail, Cypress Mountain, Vancouver, Dec. 28th, 2006.

The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe, 1845.

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”