Troubadour-Conquistador (A Fairy Tale) Poem by Eli Spivakovsky

Darling, you're a troubadour-conquistador,
a colonising poet,
the shores of elegance call to your smallest bone -
your 'anvil' resting on the 'oval window' in your ear -
and you answer it with your voyage.
Reading from the scrolls coated with nacre,
you make the horizon stand up,
a pearl on each finger,
determining the direction.
On the second day, the Firmament was separated from the Ocean. On your second day you convulse,
see the angels in your contractions,
and the crew laughed and called you an air-borne fish.
'Oh, toss me over board', you cried,
'for I have seen the ending and I'll become a seraph.'
Gold dust caught in your eyes,
your fit has awoken the deep waves:
it is like a moving origami, folding and refolding.
And it welcomes you, welcomes you,
with colours of cyan, ale and azure.
Read aloud your declaration,
read aloud your manifesto,
its stanzas linked by your sharpened feather.
'It is I who have come to implore you,
give me your peace and I will take it in my mouth
like a rare bird's egg is treated when it's being moved.
Then I will have nothing I can say against you
and I will be gentle towards you...
Let me be your dove cote
and you can rest in the nest holes.'
At this, the Mer-folk
appeared.
'And what of us? ' they cried.
'I will cast back my nets, ' you replied
'And speak of your disappearance.
None will know of your being here.
I haven't much time to dissuade my fate,
and I need your song to confuse the angels.'
There, you unrolled the scroll
and the signatories marked their name
and you put it underneath your arm near your heart.
There was just enough space left
for the name of your maiden
whom you had left on a little isle before you begun.
Quietly, you had conquered her, sweetly you had sung to her.
Missing her fresh kiss in the salty air,
your embracement,
the warmth in her enveloping,
makes you consider what it would be like to dive into the sun.
Following the dorsal fins of the dolphins
you set a course to the Inner-Palace
your seizures guide the way
the waves continue to replace each other
and the ending is abrupt with a new beginning
you are free from your fate
mermaids sing their goodbyes to you.
You have their names in your scroll.
Later, when your body convulses -
North and South and North again: -
you realise you may be a found man
but look like a dying one
begging for a chance, rapture, and ecstasies.