Part 2: Kandake, Liquid Voice
Towering citadel I, Tizamy entered, wind,
Sand-worn bricks, square-based, narrowing
At archers’ parapet heights, abandoned
Decades, yet divine presence felt, lingering
Consciousness, visions I received, dried
Bones crypt-sealed, darkness confined,
Awaiting resurrection, rekindling prophetic
Sight, soaring infinite skies, unhinging time
And tides. Yet, another existence realized,
Lo! Lovers, heaven-transcending passions,
Penned verses, desires igniting papyri
Scrolls into ethereal flame.
Faithful beyond death’s dark door, adoring
Spirit companion roamed free, wanderer,
Mummified female body lost to desert sands,
Stanzas memorized, wind-whispered at my
Ear, “Against unspeakable disparities, we
Loved, instinctively enamored, mortal-divine
Perfection attained.” “Who are you, mother?”
I knew not how to address her, liquid voice
Mind-cleaving. “Listen, child,” she stated.
“Elevated to luminescent clouds we were,
Dwelt amongst temples, proud monuments
Of heroic gods, without regard for sickness,
Suffering poor, under-trodden.”
Staggering, head-swirling moments, I felt their
Passions, wine, trance of poppy, mortal flesh
Aflame. “I am Kandake,” she replied, her mind,
Our mind bent on crypt opening, my body,
Our body taken for unspeakable acts, grotesque
And sublime. “Judge not beyond mortal under-
Standing,” Kandake advised. Miracles perceived!
Truth of creation, realities rising from noble
Brows, fields, forests thought-formed, Ancient
Ones’ first dawning beams proclaimed, weighing
What species would continue-evolve, unwitting
Destruction faced, dominion over foreign lands,
Upwelling mountain ranges, distant seas.
Alas! I understood parent’s forbidding decrees,
Legend passed down dozen ages, no child
Should venture upon hand-hewn stone steps.
For me, Tizmay, such admonitions too late,
Barefoot, I walked protected temple porticoes,
Diaphanous gown covering breasts and waist,
Embodiment of regal youth, my virtue safe-
Guarded, undefiled. “Fear not ruthless dagger,”
Kandake advised. “From exalted heights, breathe
Rarefied air.” Lo, I was never such alive; for this
I became Kandake’s mind-shackled handmaiden,
My bosom, my soul offered for crypt opening,
Releasing specter held captive therein.
Communion too close with immortal gods, Tizmay is about to
“breathe rarefied air,” though mortal and divine will be affected.
Thanks for reading.