Pallid Mirrors

“Pallid Mirrors”

Pale yellow star-shaped flowers were scenting
the air, the lime fragrance of zest combined
with thyme balm; Zephyr, just orienting
a swarm of bees towards the east, confined
them in its breeze. The tree’s loose canopy
left a dappled shade on the ground below;
the trunk hedged itself with a panoply
of branches growing out of it. The slow,
doddering beams of sunlight were dotting
her legs, wide open, stained with blood spotting.

The sun-God saw the Tillia afresh,
once this tree was a nymph called Philyra.
The cracked red bark on his hand caused a fresh
cut, when he flapped his cloak, the porphyra.
Before Creusa woke, he rushed to vanish;
he morphed himself into a glassy form.
A sudden downpour befell the lavish
vineyard; grapes were reflected into warm
rain drops. A man’s glass statue was found wet.
He refracts white light into violet.

Long ago two girls used to play a game,
they held their hands, ran fast and spun around;
they ended falling down on the soiled ground;
they were divided every time by a
centrifugal force; the very same force draws
the line at scorned steps, too brusquely defends
the victimizing tactics, citing saws,
“Power is given by society”;
“The ones perceived as defiled are exiled.”
Our pallid pretense mirrors the hubris.

In Greek mythology, the nymph Philyra was raped by the Titan Cronus. She gave birth to a son, Chiron, whom she abandoned. Felling deeply ashamed of herself she begged the gods to turn her into a non-anthropomorphic form. The gods granted her wish and she became a linden tree. Cronus was never punished. According to Euripides‘ play “Ion” the princess of Athens, Creusa, was raped by Apollo, the sun god. She gave birth to a son, Ion, whom she abandoned in a cave fearing that her parents would not believe her. She was reunited with her son many years later. Apollo was never punished.