Somoshree Palit
Long days ago, no man will know,
If legends go this way,
There was a child of music mild
A music wild she would play.
She raised an altar lest she may falter
To alter what fate might be,
In her accord she struck a chord,
“What god, what lord could you be?”
“I am a god, a dying god
Of unshod feet in grass,
Of a trembling note, a silent throat,
Lights that dote and gently pass.
Of a proud smile that lasts a while,
The fragile sweetness of flaws,
Of nameless past until they last,
The lingering last applause.
Of a silent tear and a smiling fear
Sweet nothings my lady fair,
Of moonlit glass and scarlet grass –
My lovely lass Cessair.”
His wearied chant could scarce enchant
The descant of her race,
In all his wrong was a warlock’s song :
Her song was warpaint on his face.
Oneday came Fear, a sanguine jeer
Was etched each year on her mind,
Oneday came Cold, the stories told :
They told that Spring was far behind.
Oneday came Grief, on every leaf,
They strung belief of rains,
“They break her spine and I, divine,
Assign myself with chains.
To you my muse, stay by, bemuse,
I am no use to your chord.
At your finger, no tune would linger
My Singer with a useless god.
Pray not to me, do you not see
I cannot be one to bring
Honour for you, some laurels few,
There are gods who’d hear you sing.
She was a daughter of earth and water
A martyr of hate and guns
She smiled, and in her face beguiled,
Reviled a thousand suns.
“Madness madness everywhere
Madness all around.
Madness madness everywhere
In madness every sound.”
She laughed and laughed as a manic shaft,
She quaffed the stars, lamented :
“There is anger and hate, and death in our fate,
Artists great are oft tormented.
Through my fate, may it dissipate,
The hate that you may wear,
Let them trod on my broken chord,
You will still be the god of Cessair.”
His wearied chant could scarce enchant
The descant of her lands,
In all his wrong was a warlock’s song :
Her song was ambush on his hands.
Then came War, and the screeches
Of undying rage, the call of the hounds
That deafened Him. “If only I could
Raise her over these lifeless mounds.”
She sunk into her sacred grounds,
The grounds where music bloomed,
The God, he rose on lifeless mounds,
Where Death and Horror loomed.
“A useless god, could you not see?
I’m a god of nothing”, he spoke,
“Tell me again what god could you be?”
She smiled, and divinity broke.
“I am a god, a dying god
Of unshod feet in grass,
Of a trembling note, a silent throat,
Lights that dote and gently pass.
Of a proud smile that lasts awhile,
The fragile sweetness of flaws,
Of nameless past until they last,
The lingering last applause.
Of a silent tear and a smiling fear
Sweet nothings my lady fair,
Of moonlit glass and scarlet grass –
My lovely lass Cessair.”
The silence was unbroken, no gods had then awoken,
And the only word there spoken was the broken cry, “Cessair”.
Several years of war and tears
The world still hears tonight,
A silent chord, the empire’s rod,
Lay still in the god’s foresight.
A silent voice silencing noise
Diffused in joys his heart :
“I am Cessair, of peaceful air,
Of radiance rare and art.
I am the god of a tuneful chord,
The god who in storm responds,
Of ceaseless love from realms above,
I am of unbreakable bonds.”
The god smiled, smiled at the child,
The Muses wild sung her fate.
“Would you leave, with music weave,
And receive libations of the state?”
“I am the god of a tuneful chord,
The god who in storm responds,
Of ceaseless love from realms above,
I am of unbreakable bonds.
In the hours of night, you brought me light,
You bid me fight despair,
You are the god, you are the lord,
Of a ceaseless chord, Cessair.”
His wearied chant could now enchant
The descant of her lung,
In all his wrong was a warlock’s song :
Her song was arson on his tongue.