The drama of a winding sleepless lake and the Ol' Master of the ruba'i from 11th/12th Century Persia in the midst of 21st Century politics unfolds little by little...

The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Three

(Note: I do hope it’s clear to readers by now that – strictly speaking – in these ruba’iyat, I deviate from the original Persian medieval model, introduced by Rudaki in Ghazna, in that I do away with the 7-syllable hemistich and even the 14-syllable line of the couplet in order to create a longer more breathless ruba’i of my own. I adhere only to the intent and the tone at large. Apologies to Master Khayyam and his ilk.)

Then as the dawn comes creeping through the dull cold listless haze
Shattered by nitpicking crows still in their tuxedo craze
Raucous squawks remind her to take that woollen mantle off
And stretch her legs just where her feet splintered the brittle glaze

Yet no one had ever seen her curious darling eyes
Her fronds of glaucous eye-lashes lie under thin ice
On some frosty winter morn gusts shake her locks threadbare loose
While some Himalayan pine bucked her will long bent with vice

No frog croaks nor cicadas cut into eerie silence
And the vapours of sticky unkempt limbs hang low and dense
The forsaken dame dreams on as on every December morn
No carbide stench of Bastille Day fireworks will choke her sense

On such lone nights when joggers dare not dig into her sides
She’d unclasp her python coils to search through shopping guides
For sherwanis and sarees to rouse Khayyam from his cup
While the svelte lass from Lahore wanders in her coils besides

Come winter! Come shine! This life’s nothing but a longing grind
Each in his own way dying to find his own special kind
If that happens, will this world be bereft of its only quest
For never does the search bring together two of the right kind!

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013