“I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain,
Its ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever.”

~Rabindranath Tagore

50 years acting defensively,
A shield against the attacks and abuse,
Barbed words, scorn and contempt.
Lashing out inappropriately,
The only path known,
A form of protection
A semblance of normality,
Instead ending up
Disconnected,
Lonely,
Alone.

Now discovering another way to be,
Dragging myself from the enticing
Well-worn familiar slippery path
Of melancholy and self-flagellation,
To flower filled meadows
And babbling brook
And choosing my own way
Through the long sweet grass,
To as yet undreamt
And unimagined,
But long overdue,
Pleasures, delights, and food for the soul.

He noticed her as soon as she glided purposefully, yet gracefully, in to the centre of the extravagant feast, her elegant wrists and ankles adorned with tinkling bells and colourful ribbons, her vivid costume embroidered with decorative beads, sequins and coins.

The men were gorging on the remains of the sheep’s head which had been slaughtered, as was the custom, to celebrate the successful return of the sheikh from his latest raiding expedition.  The silver trays laden with sumptuous dates, grapes, almonds and watermelons.  The camel hair tent covered with exotic, lavish furs to keep the bracing desert winds at bay.

The desert dweller was hosting important guests from a nearby clan, keenly trading news and enthusiastically discussing the breeding of his famed Arabic stallion.  Yet his conversation ceased mid-flow, the words left hanging in the air, enthralled and captivated from his first glance of her.  Her elegant ****** features, high cheek bones, blood red luscious lips, and jet black hair, she was striking to all who gazed upon her.

"I must have her" he muttered under his breath, even as his four wives and six concubines were waiting in the wings to pander to his every need, anticipating which one would receive his undivided attention tonight.  However, they all paled into insignificance next to this manna from heaven, this visceral feast upon the senses.  Though this did not pass unnoticed under the watchful scornful eyes of wife number one.

The haunting Arabic music began.  The opulent dancer moved slowly at first interpreting her emotive gestures to the sound of the three-string rebab, coyly, coquettishly, teasingly.  Yet, she was anything but coy.  You could sense her wildness, her passion, her animalistic instincts simmering under the surface. She was untamed, and determined to remain so, yet aware of her allure on the hot blooded males.

The Bedouin stared at her, could not take his eyes off her, just as she captivated them all with her beguiling beauty while weaving her magic throughout the room.  All but one that is.

The mesmerising melody picked up, her hips shimmying to the Badawi beat, skirt tassels swirling, slender arms accentuating evocative gestures, creating sensuous shapes, texture and depth to the melodic mystery unfolding before them.

As the music paused so did she, directly in front of him as he reclined on the cushions, defiantly, passionately staring straight into his eyes, as she grabbed his just refilled wine goblet.  He watched the droplets enticingly trickle down her exquisitely defined chin as she devoured it in one, and ached to kiss those ruby red lips.

And with that she was off again, twirling and swirling, twisting and circling, tossing her head in synch with the frenzied beat, holding the whole room in the hypnotic palm of her hand.  The stirring rhythm rose to a crescendo and so did she, spinning mesmerisingly round and round, heart thumping, wild eyes blazing, and as the last beat of the darbuka sounded and faded away, she paused one last time, and so did the breath of everyone present, enchanted as they were with her captivating spellbinding performance.  Only he noticed the fear in her eyes, the pallor of her skin, the tiny beads of sweat above her top lip, as she slid silently yet elegantly to the floor.  Everyone was on their feet, applauding madly, demanding an encore, while he rushed over and held her in his muscular arms.  "My love" he whispered, passionately kissing her and thanking her for that all too fleeting moment of pleasure, ecstasy and bliss.  Too late.  Her last precious breath ebbed away from her forever.  Unknowingly, unwittingly, her life for his life with that one innocent sip of wine.

He was incensed.  His unfulfilled lust transformed into outright fury and rage.  His animated roar "I will find you, whoever you are and avenge her.  An eye for an eye.  You will not rest easy in your bed until you have a dagger through your heart" ringing in the perpetrator's ears as she, hidden in the shadows, slinked away silently into the cold dark night.