The realms of night!
O,
Who can attest the depths of her sins?
'Say not that the skivvy maid triumphed over you with her charms!'
'For woe, my lord!
What length your royal father wouldnʼt sacrifice to subdue this Trojan fetus?'
Borne in the womb of she whoʼs base born
They're slaves, and we—masters!
In Spartanʼs court, her insolence
at last, shall be paid in full!
Mark these words sung in ancient ages
With wise men sweet secrets perished
Over gullied landscapes words died
And ashes of their breath vanished
Skeletons of co-conspirators lingered
Beneath cold depths where Davis Jones
Battles three headed sea serpent!
The lost lordʼs fetus was born a boy
Beyond the realms of night
he travelled, frolicked, seeking wisdomʼs old
Not afraid to venture out
To reach precincts of fine palaces
Where his mother still scrubbed,
floors, walls and backs of princesses too
So soft, he tiptoed, snatching clarets
from baby dives; in hour of trouble
he clung to the selvedges of his motherʼs petticoats
And through the rain, her skirts his refuge
Yet always praying for papa to see him now
The boy thus grew; half bold, half cold
Sweet brown eyes with unknown hair
Ringlets, wafting through the air
Chestnut in hue!
Lithe, with unbecoming curiosity
Black folks cried—Lo!
That dimpled pearly-eyed fella—
who fathered that?
At twenty-five, a sullen man
Despite the torrid heat,
Toiling, toiling, toiling…
Clad in tattered gabs,
Always, leathered-peak caps
No cravats
Even lacking the refinements of polite society
Yet, all maidens and hoes
Beguiled by his neoclassic appeal
Beauty to behold!
His strife born gorgeous!
Before him, all of us, lined up
Till an invisible line was formed
We gave him our virgin lots
Praying the seed be planted
To blossom and hold
a replica of his beauteous God!
I blush to think,
One day, he arrived with a sack of limes!
Beneath a pair of red orbs of light
We kissed!
Mother knew his name, the face not yet
Three weeks on, dowry paid
On the day we wed
Mother came, trembling
Death at the tip of her tongue
Crying—wedding be stopped
That day, King Somerset
made a public appeal
Claiming my betrothed his son!
His cries rent in the air, so were my mother's
She said, no!
They cried no—to both of us
For —he was my brother!
I ceased to exist!