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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


Picture courtesy

This was originally written for Soulcraft workshop.

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