{FICTION}
Then I shaped my palm to
Luna’s crescent, and held a blossom
Its petals sang out: ‘Please be soft with me.’
Then I shaped my palm to
Luna’s crescent, and held a blossom
Its petals sang out: ‘Please be soft with me.’
When it shrunk with pallor
it sang once more: ‘Please be gentle with me.
Why do you disturb my resting here?
‘I once was flesh but now I lie as rose.
Your touch upsets my gentle sleep as if
Waking a dreaming babe.’
As of a sweet newborn, curling in to,
her chest, to shield her eyes from daylight’s break,
great wrath of Apollo’s golden rays,
so did the snow-white flower close
its thorned stem pouncing up, and I leapt back
for fear of spilling precious blood.
‘Could she have unveiled you otherwise,
Thou afflicted heart,’ my goddess called,
‘what she has learnt only from the bard’s tune,’
‘she would not dare to so violate your peace.
How tragic, your fate had befallen, I weep
As her graze was the blade that pierced.
‘I beg you announce your name, that she
Plead for forgiveness, vow to defend your
Honor, in the light from whence she still takes breath.’
Then the bud spoke: ‘Your kindness warms my wary
trust that once was as a child, you have my faith.
I am grateful you seek to hear my tale of woe.’
‘For I am the lover who hails
From that great house, in flaming Verona,
To betroth the man, my father thought son.
‘A kiss upon my lips then I besought by madness.
Loyal was I to that calling of Venus, in life,
that thus I fought for love and then for him.
‘The lord who always gave his devout touch
from forbade kin, he passionate speech
and mighty virtue of soul,
‘inflamed all parts within me.
And they, inflamed, did too inflame Romeo
that innocent play grew to divine bond.
‘My heart, in aching sorrow,
praying in dying to return to arms,
of love, plunged deep, and awoke in faint glow.
‘By this blossom’s bared seed I pledge my faith
not once did I betray
my true soul, a rose beside me for eternity.
‘To whom will plant thine feet in solid earth,
protect my cause from cynics’ scorn, which, reason,
belies senseless beneath that strike of age.’
The sage paused, then spoke through tears to me:
‘Since she has suffered again her anguish
do not puncture the still of brave life.’