Two Mothers and a King, a Poem

drops of rain on the eager land

fragrant doomed morning

photographs of her recollection

her son’s final breath

blends with her

melodious wailing for the king with the thousand wives

a bargain for another’s child

an imposter mother shattered

sham predicament for justice

a conjured up testimony

is it or is it not, she floats in a daze

eyelids shut, body rocking

her empty hands searching

flashing mind fragments

terror and isolation

disquietude and regret

slivers of a tale swirl in her tormented existence 

emerging and re-emerging

lamenting in misery

imagined little truths

reckless little lies

one mind with the magistrate’s sword

for the satisfaction of judgement

of a halved progeny.

Moon, a Poem

Soft glow peers in darkness,

Watching over nude branches. 

A newborn crescent in the brooding skies, a lunar month commences.  

She gazes at us, ushers us through tribulations.  But wondering,

What subsequent torment will we bring on ourselves.

We chant her in song.  

We long for her.  Sanctify her in legends.    

She is time itself.

She makes us dance in a trance.

She is ours and no one else’s.

Her luster glints our love and madness.

She is the wolf crying. The tide rising.  

She is desire and rage.  She is anguish and bereavement.  

She is the allure of tranquility and turbulence inseparable.

She is artistry.  She is radiant.  She is lightless.  

She is bewitching.  She is demonized.  

She is us.