Poet rally week 14-the Hand maidens’ tale

First of all thank you kindly to all of you who have taken a time out to visit and comment on my blog. As some of you already know translating works from one language to another is immensely difficult, and having two young children it isn’t always easy to find the time to comment or work on this sanctum for my sanity!

Secondly I would like to applaud Jingle, for taking the time from her day to organise our poetry and from time to time keep us in line. Thank you for bringing our community together in such a sweet way Ms J.

So on we go with the chronicles.

The hand maidens tale

She was but 14 when she was bought to serve, bought up in the slums

Pretty in face but fickle in nature, she grew up serving the glittered Queen

Ayesha was sly, but had many admirers, from the emperor’s page

To the dashing courtier, and many “favours” did she bestow these men.

She coveted the queens throne, had ambitions of her very own

And she was trusted by her mistress so. Her confidant,

A shoulder to cry on when things went wrong for our empress fair.

So when a favour she was asked, she wore the careful friendship mask.

One night as she was filling the marble bath, the queen as normal asked to be undressed

Oh, she envied her golden skin, and ample curves, even the brunette hair

which fell down past the Empress’ hips. She wanted everything.

Even her robe of silken thread, was something of a treasure to Ayesha.

As the naked Empress stood before her, she controlled her rage

Exhibiting calm and courteousness to all around her.

The queen waved off her other servants, and sat in the ornamental basin

Ayesha began the work of scrubbing her skin, the gilt powder floating

lazily on the curdling milk.

The queen began to tell her tale, quietly at first, of the day she dreaded,

And then a mishap, she talked of the poet, his eyes on her

How they burned into the very heart of her soul.

Ayesha rejoiced, knowing this could bring trouble,

Asked the queen if she would like her to speak to him, grant an audience.

Knowing that penalty for betraying the emperor was a gruesome death,

The empress hesitated. But in her eyes the truth was there

That stare, those eyes, beyond compare. She had to know him

She had no choice.  She had no voice.

Ayesha could see that lust burnt in the heart of this woman

who had never been any thing more than adored.

She agreed there and then, to talk to the page

Her secret lover. And deliver the poet under cover.

Hopefully I’ll be able to translate the pages tale for you over the weekend 🙂

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