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Monday, May 14, 2007

Soloman (cont.)

She reached him, carried on five slaves only. it could have been a thousand if she chose it, but something about the whispers around this man spoke to her dreams. she had to know more about the light.

He stood when she crossed the last dune, unable to help himself. his mind blanked for a second, and he understood what it meant to be mortal, truely mortal, in a way God had not been able to show him before.

She almost gasped in shock.
Her chair. In the middle of the desert ten days away from where she left it. What was the meaning of this trechery?

"There are more things in heavan and earth your highness" said the strange man standing near her throne

the gold shimmered in the desert sun, almost as blinding as the gold headdress if she knew it. then suddenly - it was gone.

the priests and advisors edged nervously together. what was the meaning of this? was this an attack?

"what do my dreams mean? what does this mean. who are you" she whispered

"i am a messenger of the God of all the worlds. Worship him and only him, and be saved in this life, and the after life."

"heretic" hissed the men around her, priests and advisors alike.the guard tensed around their spears.

suddenly, as they stood surrounded by nothingness for miles around them - started up another whisper - "believer" "believer" "mesenger". a thousand voices around them, coming from nowhere. around them inside their head.

priests and slaves fell shrieking to the ground. "what is the meaning of this magic." she shouted

"not magic your highness. more than that. worship my God. i have shown you. your dreams have shown you. belive and be humbled before him before it is too late for your nation. "

the voices in her head screaming, not knowing, not liking being forced, not listening to her heart and soul but her the depths of the inner being as dark as her skin - "never" she whispered

"i have given you ninety eight chances your highness. i sent letters and emissiaries, all of which have been killed or slaughtered. i have shown you signs and given you warnings, but still you do not believe. but believe this, God has cursed you. God has cursed you and your people. their nobleness will not survive. their stature, your stature, will account for nothing. they will be the slaves for a century and more till the end of time and you will be bound to the sand to view the downfall. i will give you one last chance, the ninety ninth, repent now, and God will forgive you, he is oft forgiving and most merciful..."
lahore lahore lahore
how you call to me. you are my adopted city. the city of my late orphaned childhood, the city where i went away and the city where all is green and the roads are clean and the parents are happy and the house has no economic terror and no sex and no happiness or sadness just oceans of comfort to drown in while playing golf and swimming and contemplating taking up tennis again
of teaching and loving it
of gathering pots and pots of money and spending spending spending on anything my heart desired
why did my heart desire this?
sitting, unsated, frustrated, awake, unable to sleep as he snores in my ear, the only caring being a tobasco bottle retrieved from upstairs at dinnertime and much appreciated
where are my promises?
where are my three meals a day?
where are my back rubs and my cuddling and my stolen kisses and unearthly wonderous lustful amarous attempts at my virginity?
where are we? why are we here
why am i here
where did we go and why can i go there too?