Tag Archives: verses

The day is begun

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A new day is born, as the light

Divides the sky and the earth apart

when the specks of sunlight bright

Fall from Apollo’s golden chariot.

 

And songs of a bluebird waft 

From the leaves of trees afar 

As I see the longing for tidings

Resembling the sun in the mist.

 

Then the arc of the rainbow appears

From the misty nascent fresh sky,

And my eyes fill with infant joy

Reflecting on the diamonds of dews.

 

fee-fi-fo-fum, fee fi-fo-fum

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The owl hooted on the oak,

The crow cried in the dark;

Dogs howled on the hills,

Cats purred in the bushes;

The Night was ripe and ready.

 

Fee-fi-fo-fum, Fee-fi-fo-fum,

The Three Witches began to hum

Standing in the grim gray garbs

With the gray eyes glaring in silence

They were ready to tell his destiny.

 

“Scotland, the jewel of thy crown,

The sword calls for thy title to own,

The blood is thy sacred power,

As it runs redder and deeper.”

Thus, the prophecy of his fate’s cast in

 Fee-fi-fo-fum, Fee-fi-fo-fum, Fee-fi-fo-fum!

 

P.S.: This week’s #FairyTuesday theme on Twitter liberally encompasses witches, ghosts, and other supernatural beings, so my choice is the Graeae, the Three Sisters personifying the Fate of Man in the ancient Greek mythology. They had only one eye and a tooth to share, but the pre-Herculean Mycenan hero Perseus intercepted the eye when the Sisters fumbled with it in the air and forced them to answer the whereabouts of Medusa. They ultimately relented to the demand, whereupon Perseus set about killing Medusa. 

This image of the Three Sisters is then also wondrously associated with the Three Witches of Shakespeare’s Macbeth by the sheer dint of the somber, dismal greyness of the three uncanny women. But as Mcbeth was a tragic figure consumed by guilt and greed, so were the Three Witches, malevolent and dystopian, vis a vis the somewhat faltering and fumbling Grey Sisters menaced by Perseus bullying them to elicit what he wanted to know. 

This poem, however, is more of Macbeth’s Three Witches leading him to perdition because the grim image of the witches conjured up by Shakespeare is terrifically atmospheric and dismally spell-bounding without the pageantry of words and expressions. 

 

The Wild Swans

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The Wild Swans (1962)

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of the shore

A wicked witch queen out of envious spite

turned her eleven stepsons into swans, wherefore

Elisa the dolorous sister drifted away in a plight

Till she chanced upon the fairy queen in her chariot

Who saw the golden heart of the princess that moved

The fairy caprice and told her with thorny nettles to knit

Shirts for the swans to break the spells with her lips sealed;

Such was Elisa’s vow, and the vow took her to her encounter

With a gallant beauteous king of the strange land faraway

Falling for her silent beauty, keeping her in his chamber of amour;

But the zealous archbishop and his ilk viciously sent her away

To a stake for witchery, for her silence was otherworldly;

As the ambers of fire were bursting around her fast and faster

The swans with crowns appeared in the dusky sky from the yonder

And Elisa threw the shirts at the swans, and lo! the men stood there;

Then the fiery fires blossomed into pretty white flowers around Elisa

Lying on the bed of the flowers, which the king plucked and placed

Upon his lover’s bosoms with drops from his welkin eyes, whereupon

Her spirit returned from a departure to the ether exalted, elated

By the end of the old and the beginning of a new life in the kingdom

Where there’s no other world beyond the lovers’ union heart-to-heart. 

 

P.S: One of my favorite fairytales of all time is “The Wild Swans” by Hans Christian Andersen because of the travails that the princess Elisa endured for the love of her brothers and her fathomless patience akin to that of martyrs of the early Church in spite of unthinkable pains of horrendous tortures and gruesome ways of execution for their unswerving faith. What’s more, I love the fact that the king was not only infatuated with her external beauty but also her internal virtue distinguished from all other beautiful women who would vie for his kingly attention. Their love was no less glorious than that of Romeo and Juliet, for the king loved her for the dangers she had passed, and she loved him that he loved all about her, still and ever. Hence this is my contribution to #FairytaleTuesday whose theme for today is a fairytale with an element of lovers in love on Twitter. 

top of the world

What then if there’s no time for leisure

to stand on the top of the hill in solitude;

No time for pleasure to view the theater

Of nature’s play on the stage of magnitude?

 

P.S.: I think the music ‘Top of the World’ by the Carpenters strikes the chords of my impression on the view I witnessed on the top of the loop. So here I made a little video for a lark.