The Weeper Glass

Which smile could compete with a smile accepting love? Goodbye wins a wedding

Warning: Forced/arranged marriage, emotional neglect, death/cremation, grief, and childbirth pain (mentioned, not explicit).

I.

Eighteen years of age, two boys found courage
To pursue love, they hurry to spring dance
Red dusk, blue stream, an oasis took a stance
Lanterns hung like fruit for summer forridge

The drums beat fast across emerald mile
Both eyes on her, plum cheek, and gown of plume
“Lady Fany, your father seek a groom,”
Talking less, they dance for her angel smile

He buy her feast and paid to gesture love
But she sees the younger one, free of guile 
They dance and smile for hours, two souls above
Firstborn, first time lost, he can’t admit of
But gold is king; the merchant set the style
And bought her youth to crown his bitter love.

II.

The worn gold survived his bitter hourage
Her heart’s locked, faded to distant desert miles
A bought bride who gave a ghost in her smile
Still, she walked the halls and served daily porridge

Through trade and blood and years of silent forridge
He sought the truth across the sand for a while
To mask his doubt with wealth and hollow style
And to pay the debt of their unhappy hourage

Three sons she bore through agony and love
Three faces—smiles, pouts, and glare like him in the glass
Three vendors offering, but one he deems worthy of
Weeper glass, for his funeral will show ultimate love
Alas, the dice for their unhappy life were cast
“Saruk et tuk,” shall complete his final dreaming of.

III.

On the casket of flower, first fire licks his pyre
His wife, barefoot, hollowed cheeks, white plume gown
Black crown under her eyes, furrows on her brows
Body still, but his spirit’s free, seeking the love and the liar

Say the words, and I shall be free, he whispers,
You should have forgotten him, forty years’ a while
Three boys and a fortune, I left, but you never smile
One true, to mend arranged marriage’s fissure

“Saruk et tuk.” The obsidian glass folds and glows
Three sons were his, faithful, but her love—
shines where his brother is—as above, so below
Saruk et tuk, he accepts what he already know
“Saruk et tuk,” she speaks again, content, and with love
He turns to ash, for the weeper glass finally shows.

So this is me trying to learn/adapt to Italian sonnet form. A lot of lines couldn’t follow the pentameter, and the rhythm scheme is a little breaking from the form. I do: ABBA CDDC EFE EFE in part 1. Then in part 2 & 3: ABBA ABBA CDC CDC… but breaking the pentameter.

My other dark/gothic poem: The Bent Nail

Photo by Milad Fakurian on Unsplash