The Nymph And I (Warning: It's Kinda Long) Poem by Samah Khan

THE NYMPH AND I

1.

It was a time, all beauty lost,
Not to age, but in utter grief;
Upon this epoch, what had me engrossed,
Was a nymph who lived by the creek

Day upon day, I saw her rise,
Like a fallen angel from the leaden sea;
Which hardly e’er moved, save for in disguise,
As rain or as mist, but forever with insularity

I would stand next to the large oak tree
Strewn with leaves and grass and tears;
There she would swim from underneath the tree
Shadowed but yet unblemished and clear;

Walked I to her on one such meet,
Said I to her, in place of greet,
‘What, nymph, speak, is the secret of thy beauty?
What, speak, nymph is the secret of this, thy beauty? ’

No modest bridal blush she shewed,
Nor any sign of discomfiture I kenned;
I took upon my palm a leaf and some coal,
Vigilant to see all her words penned.

‘Speak now, dear nymph, what is the secret of thy beauty? ’
Here she gave pause-her hair cascading over her shoulders in waves of gold;
Her eyes alight with mythical sight,
I, like the hidden bud of a flower, she like the petals all do wish to behold;

‘Dear mortal being, dear daughter of Adam,
Why do you envy me?
My beauty is naught but a word and a glance,
But you, dear mortal, you are free’.

I did not comprehend at first as my eyes began to wet,
‘Go sea’, I said, ‘take more tears from me, and find yourself manifest;
For it is almost as if it was I who wept
In the river you call thy home and thy nest’

‘Dear daughter of Eve’, she said in compassion,
‘’tis not that I wish to lie or deceive;
’Tis only that I am not built with your fire or your passion,
I am but a picture to behold but not to perceive.’

‘Yet’, I persisted, ‘you must have some counsel,
For your words are wise and you speak the letter;
You do not sing of oddities, nor speak of the world in frill,
But you sing of truth and pain, which is better.

‘Many an eve have I heard from you sung,
The songs of Odysseus, Achilles and Jung;
The songs of myth and veracity and all that lies betwixt,
Before the dusk wanes and you disappear into the faint mist.’

‘Ah’, she declares, I do not know, whether in lyric or in speech-
For by her, both sound melodious and saccharine;
As if sweetened by the honey of the yellow jackets, and seen over by the mythical songbirds-so sweet,
Like a child’s throaty laughter, tears of joy, whisper of the leaves, the broken-hearts voice and all that lies therein.

‘Ah’, she said (I digress, pray pardon me)
‘You wish to know of some magic, I gather,
Some witch’s stew made of herbs and hexes
Boiled just right and rinsed with butter to lather? ’

I nodded, eager, keen of ear,
Willing to comprehend and fervent to hear;
She took from her hair a burette made of shell,
And in her palm she bared not an oddity, nor a spell

There it sat, between the ring at her thumb and the littlest one,
A rock the size of a heart, smooth as a babe’s head be;
I stared not, gaped not, nor did I poke fun,
But cried out in agony, ‘Why doth thee taunt me? ’

‘Nay’, she said. ‘This be no ordinary piece of boulder,
This is a gem, that makes one’s beauty grow bolder,
I used it to call back Poseidon when he fled,
Yea, many a virtuous man has this gem misled’.

Her eyes then took a shade of reminiscent mahogany,
Where before they were dark and animated brown;
And I could see the past flicker dimly between each eyelid,
And thereupon the ferry of relief did my craft of doubt, drown.

I took it in my hand and she, ran away quite readily,
Swam below and disappeared into the fog-
Where once the sound of dusk did heat my blood,
That night, it spoke in rather pleasant brogue;

2.

Went I on my way, in the aisle of the lost,
Next to the house of dearth and misplaced rot,
In mine own I spied the usual clutter of my gaucherie,
Now to be replaced by an elegance my heart did foresee

I slept upon my bed that night, the stone tucked away under my quilt,
One hand I did place upon its face, the other on mine own,
And that night, ah the dream I dreamt!
(It could not be for it to be known.)

The sun did come in no haste out of norm
And the mirror stood by its usual place,
I brought it forth and studied my form
And then slowly I studied my face.

Ah! What beauty I beheld! At first sight it seemed not mine,
But yet the face and body belonged to me!
It seemed unchanged in some ways and in others
It seemed transformed unequivocally.

I took to the streets in a brazen pace,
My head held level, eye to the sky
And the sun throwing shadows off my face.
No passerby looked, but better yet, none scorned,
And some even did so much as to accolade,
Not sycophantically, but quite genuinely,
For once I knew what it was to blush at praise;

My kith and kin all noted the change,
My friends and foes for once thought alike;
Many a flower was given; many a kind word was taken,
‘Oh my, dear child, you look warm and alive! ’

I was allayed of grief for that one day,
But grief as ever with life does return,
And after twelve days and twelve nights,
Restively my heart once again did turn;

So I went back to the very same place
And stood my once devout vigil beneath the same oak tree,
And there I waited upon the nymph who dwelled therein,
In the silent sad reflective sea;
‘twas almost the morn when a flawless form
Jumped up to the bank and shook hair free from her head;
She noticed me not, so I did not inform
Yet I watched as from her locks the sea she did shed.

‘Dear nymph, pray, what is the secret of thy beauty? ’ I whispered,
‘What is the secret of this-thy beauty? ’
‘Do you not have the gem I had bequeathed? ’
‘Indeed, that is the secret of my beauty.’

‘Aye’, agreed I, ‘but now I am done,
I feel as if I am the moon who had set for a while,
And made way for the rising of the glorious sun,
But if the gold can enchant, so can the night’s blue well beguile.’

‘What say you? ’ the nymph befuddled inquired,
‘Do you mean you would rather be the moon than the sun?
Do you not know that people play in the day,
And by nighttime do not they all run? ’

‘’tis true’, said I to beget a short truce
‘They seek their hearths at the end of the day.
But had it not been for the night’, steadfastly I mused,
‘Would they not have spent all their years in foolish play? ’

‘Had it not been for the night, would they have prayed?
Had it not been for the moon, would they await the day?
Had it not been for the darkened hue of the hour, would lovers meet?
Had it not been for the night, would the trees ever sleep? ’

The nymph, astonished, looked awry,
Then smiled with joy I did not recognize,
‘Seems you have learnt the lesson I wished to teach’,
And with that she took the gem and threw it well out of reach.

‘Why do you throw an object of such use? ’ I cried,
‘Nay, ‘tis no more than I stone which had you entranced
I believed you would find yourself more favorable, so I,
Deceived your begging soul with the gift of (self) assurance.’

‘Cruel nymph though you are’, I said, but not harsh,
‘Your lesson I did take and placed deep within my heart;
I have learnt that if I can face my reflection with ease,
Then it doesn’t make a difference who else I can please.

‘Your words have had a bearing upon my weakened convictions,
But now that you are no longer threatened, be open with me;
What is the secret, dear nymph of the deep, of thy splendor?
Dear nymph, what is the secret of this-thy beauty? ’

‘Tis but a nuisance in the guise of a boon,
I feel it a hump on my back-bone;
I cannot live under the sky when ‘tis the charge of the moon,
I can endure life in the bright morn alone.

‘Unlike you, mortal, I am cursed to rove the earth for many centuries,
When death does come, it comes slow and leisurely.
I cannot feel pain or grief, but neither love or gaiety,
Only the sporadic exploit of a warrior who craves naught but my beauty.

‘You are free, dear child, while I am not,
As it is my secrets you seek, yours are what I have always sought,
Do not fret for what you do not own, but rejoice rather in what you’ve got,
For with every mourning human of the night, ten drowning nymphs are lost’