Liatra
Pasha Acremodios grew greedy,
discontented with the domain he dominated,
so he turned covetous eyes toward Farabia,
sending his soldiers to seize this ripened plum
Spoiling for a fight and fighting for spoils,
his army swept across Farabia
like a bloody broom,
brushing it clean of plunder,
bringing back abundant booty–
orichalcum and gnometal,
moonweed and nightpetal,
elf dust and faerie dew,
witchwood and devils yew,
dragonelles and goblinettes,
clever brass gadgets and striking statuettes...
And slaves, a multitude of slaves.
Acremodios paraded them through the streets of Posbala–
cooks and cleaners, miners and gleaners,
gladiators and prestidigitators and...
Liatra Fey-Nachni!
A terpsichorean treasure
who delighted beyond measure
Yet one dance she never did,
except in solitude,
for it was too fine for mortal eyes,
reserved for the gods alone,
and in fruitless frustration
men desperately demanded
the Dance of the Lavender Veils,
to no avail
But Acremodios commanded her
with a clear and veiled threat:
“You shall dance at the end of a rope,
a twitching jig of death,
or else show me your lavender veils
and continue to draw breath.”
And Liatra bowed her head
and began her finest dance,
and the pasha sat upon his dais,
clad in his grand attire,
lustrous brocaded robes bristling
with diamonds, sapphires, gnome stones,
his fingers encircled by rings
sporting gems of unmatched clarity and cut,
yet this gleaming, glittering, glimmering array,
which always bedazzled his gaze,
now seemed dim as a new moon
bescudded by clouds,
compared to the eyes of She
He regarded a nearby bowl
filled with peaches, plums and pears,
a mouth-watering repast–
palpably unpalatable
compared to Her succulent lips
His thoughts strayed to the market square in Posbala,
where serpents rose from their baskets
to sway so sinuously,
coaxed by the charmer’s pungi,
and he thought of the hawks and falcons
which wheeled betwixt the clouds
in the skies over lofty Talcyata,
yet the graceful, supple movements of these beasts
were like the clumsy jitterings of hobbled beggars,
compared to the undulations of Her body
Acremodios glanced at his guards,
six strapping men in
scarlet pantaloons and crimson vests,
with ruby-handled scimitars
ensheathed upon their waists.
But those curvy, flashing blades
were no match for Liatra’s legs,
which pierced pasha’s heart with longing
far fiercer and too deep
She wore a pink choli
embroidered with golden needlework,
and a sky-blue skirt,
slit daringly down the sides,
in the Farabian manner,
and her nimble fingers held two veils,
which she flicked with a conjurer’s skill,
gauzy lavender wraiths doing
their own frenetic dance
And the bells on her wrists and waist,
her ankles and earlobes,
tinkled together like giggling fairies.
And the tinkling turned louder,
growing to a gonging,
pounding within the pasha’s head,
as the stiffness in his loins spread
down to his legs,
up to his stomach,
out to his arms,
into his heart
The music ended with a frenzied flourish
and Liatra Fey-Nachni lay splayed upon the floor,
head bowed, bosom heaving,
sweat beading her flesh
as her rouged eyelids closed,
concealing the triumphant gleam
in those violet orbs
And the pasha did not clap his hands
nor voice his admiration,
but stared at her ceaselessly,
his eyes fixed upon the spot where she lay,
long after she’d scurried away
They took Acremodios to his bed,
laying him on a mattress stuffed
with the hair of beheaded monks,
and covered him with a quilt
patched together from sundered vestments,
and there he lingered,
wasting away for weeks,
as ghostly gnostics urged his spirit
to trod the blazened path
And Acremodios’ soul journeyed to
the caverns of inflamed fates
where sulfurous clouds scud across black orbs
and the shades of the damned promenade
in tunnels of molten memory.
But the impish barbs and demonic lashings
troubled him not,
and the scalding pathways
merely trifled with his toes,
for such torments paled compared
to one terrible Truth:
He would see Her no more,
and when next She danced,
other eyes than his
would behold a hint of heaven
Copyright © Stanley Carter | Year Posted 2016
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