Are raconteurs good wives?
Consider the thousand tales
Each she carefully spun
To satiate a sadist’s hunger.
Call it a web of deceit!
Yet, never let your eyes sway from
The sword that had killed his previous wives.
A Bluebeard of sorts
Had married her out of curiosity
Wondering if women were fallen!
Yet, she never questioned his decision
To slay a wife after nuptial night!
Tales were his childish fancy
Mother-like Schezerade held him
Women know how to curb recalcitrance.
Her threads were few, she wove
Intricate tales of genies, lamps, flying carpets
And distant lands, magical caves,
Thieves, slaves and maidens
Leaving his curiosity unabated
Taking him to cliff-hanging suspense
And then lulling him to sleep…
Which never came
He would look at stars
And wonder until his sleep-filled eyes shut.
Each tale was a new horizon
Never did he realise how illusionary
Was the unfolding line.
His gaze was transfixed
Night after night, it bore
the agony of the untold story.
Through each velvety night,
He learnt that his temptress
Had become his saviour,
Stories nourished their souls!
And yet we believe
Why a marriage would require tales?
Stop! Pause a moment, think!
Have you ever wondered
Who wove the warp and weft,
The fabric of the myth,
Schezerade’s never-ending ingenious tale?
Mumtaz N Khorakiwala
This was originally written for Soulcraft workshop.