[ Ego, Orpheus, lapsam suis mendaciis feminam liberavi. ]
It was a cloudy, early morning wonder that drew
Orpheus closer to the river. He was staring very still at the sight of a blue
flower near the edge of the black river, at a place where the petals seemed to
whisper the strangest tidings to the water.
He had paused his flute, as if waiting for the tearful
music of the water to wander within his heart, knoweth in perfect melody with a
distant nightingale, a bird singing of secrets that the river yearned for. The
birdsong alighted on the petals of the Phlox like a white butterfly, whose fairy
wings were reminiscent of memories yet unheard of.
He was thinking of Sandhya, how beautiful she
is, and how she had held his hand like a prayer. She seemed to mesmerize his
thoughts in a spell that was true of the soul, yet doubtful of his heart. He could
sense the river was deceitful at its wild turns, maybe warning him not to come
near anymore. The lonely phlox was poised on the edge of a turn like a silent
witness to his rendezvous with Sandhya, her bluish-mauve presence held sacrosanct
in the purity of the poet’s heart.
Sandhya had looked him in the eyes after she had
gently taken away his mask. Her own eyes were of a misty blue hue, and he could
see eons of desire reflected in them, memories that she herself had forgotten.
She had asked him in a desperate plea to love
her evermore, yet she could not ask him to release her sons from his paradox.
Instead, she had ventured to ask Orpheus why she could not love any other men
before him, as she had hoped to love him.
Her confessions were true, as she admitted to having
loved other men with the same devotion, but had found her heart betrayed every
single time. She had begun to wonder if there was something wrong in her, in so
much as her ability to love was concerned.
Orpheus could sense the sorrow of her heart, a
strange sadness lamenting less at the fall of man, and more of her own forbearance.
He had held her naked waist with a bold embrace, while her tears touched his black
garment like the evanescence of blood from the heart of a dying man. The lover had
kissed her gently, yet he had allowed her to cry, while her black hair rested
on his chest.
Thus was the despair of Sandhya, as she felt
she could trust Orpheus with the sanctity of her heart, like the river trusted
the distant ocean.
O sancte, e nobis tollatur sanctus amorque;
Discessisti, at non tristia me retinent.
Oro te, signis reseratis, triumphus sit tandem;
Te credens, ipsi mystica mortis patent.
Captivitas discedit, nova iam lux admonet
orbem;
Non te decipio, dum te, mea vita, amo.
हे पवित्र, प्रणश्येत पवित्रः प्रणयोऽपि नः ।
यातस्त्वं तु न मां शोका बन्धनस्थां प्रकुर्वते ॥
द्वारामुक्तेऽद्य मार्गे ते, विजयोऽस्तु प्रसीद मे ।
त्वयि विश्वसतीं मृत्युरहस्यं प्रापयत्यसौ ॥
बन्धो गच्छति, भूलोकं नवं प्रबोधयेन्महः ।
न त्वां वञ्चयामि क्वापि, जीवने मयि रागिणि ॥
* Latin and Sanskrit are written with the help of AI.
