Woman of Ishtar

Many years ago, I had a woman. She bore my child. Both the woman and the child had fine black curls. I did not think of her highly. Despite her love, I treated her like a nuisance, and supported her only out of duty.

Ah! How I want, wish, and desire now to brush the black curls off her ivory brow, and to kiss her on those rosy lips turning pale. I would look into those almond eyes, and whisper: " I am sorry. I love you."

Alas, I have those slender olive fingers no more.

Some love takes seven thousand years to realize. Too late. Way too late. All that can be said remains this verse.

( Detail of the Ishtar Gate)

Sweet nights of Tigris,
Seven gated fortress,
Guarding that flying paradise.
My pink woman of Ishtar,
Wherest art thou now?

Ornamented windows,
Gilded buttress.
Desert breeze,
And your Sirius bright gaze.
My Babel woman of Ishtar,
Wherest art thou now?

Mother.
Mother Nile,
Upon thy amber breast I suckle,
In thy blood red sunset I soak.
Please,
I beg thou.
Carry this thousand apologies
To my rosy woman of Ishtar.

Father,
Father Osiris.
My eternal king,
In thy sage scented smoke I swirl.
Please
Hear your son,
His heart ripping regrets,
For his tender woman of Ishtar.

Woman of Ishtar,
My raven curled woman.
Please,
Close your eyes.
So I can kiss you
Sorry and love,
With these lips,
No longer bronze.