The Heir

In days of yore, when gods ruled and men sinned, a tale unfolded, whispered by the wind. Etana, King of Kish, his heart aflame, yearned for a son; a successor to name. Escaping corporeal bounds, he soared on eagle’s wings, toward the heavens’ door. The mighty eagle obliged; borne him high through limpid skies where clouds danced nigh. ‘O, noble bird!’ cried Etana, eyes wide. ‘Bestow Plant of Birth,’ he ardently sighed. For in its leaves lay Life’s sweet secret core, a son to carry forth his lineage evermore. Through the mystical realms they soared as one, riding cosmic currents toward the sun. Sisyphean trials await; tests of faith a’ might, as Etana clung to hope, his heart alight. The eagle’s wings, once strong, now faltered; feathers worn, its strength and vigour altered. They tumbled in a perilous descent; ruffled, delivered unto Fate’s intent. At last, they reached the realm of gods divine, where all Life bloomed, eternal and benign. The Plant of Birth stood tall, its leaves aglow, promising Life anew, a lineage to bestow. Etana plucked the sacred gift, heart elate': His purpose fulfilled; his destiny innate. He descended, cradling hope within his breast, for kingship and lineage, gods’ will confessed. Proclaiming his good fortune to subjects, he not once considered them to reject. Mountains reflect in pellucid waters where the woman, cradling Balih, saunters.