In the Memory of Wolves & Gypsies

wolf-moon1

I saw the ancient gods,

majestic and holding their golden rods.

Sitting atop the Bostan mountain,

crowned and drinking from an ancient fountain.

Keeping company with the God of light,

blowing clouds of smoke grey and stark white.

I begged for attention and their laughter froze.

They looked down and beckoned me close.

‘Come sit with us child, let us smoke for a while,

for you have traveled far, a lonely prince in exile.

Your face looks young and your eyes look bold.

Sparkling with curiosity and not the hunger for gold.’

I sat with them and smoked with them,

my smoke rings passing through theirs.

I drank with them and laughed with them,

my hands brushing with theirs.

‘Pray tell me, old gods!

where are the great grey wolves?

The wolves which howled, the wolves which prowled

and the wolves which braved all odds.

I can smell their shaggy fur, I can sense their red hot eyes.

Riding the ancient winds, howling their haunting cries.’

Hearing this the gods grew sad.

Their mirth grew cold, old eyes no more glad.

‘Wolves?…….the great grey wolves?’

The wolves have long gone, their howls silent forever.

Hunted by your kind, merciless and clever.’

We smoked some more and drank some more,

while silence ruled the day.

We smoked some more and drank some more

with laughter held at bay.

‘Pray tell me, old gods!

where are the doe eyed gypsies?’

I recollected my courage

and asked them again.

‘The gypsies who danced, while their horses pranced

and the gypsies who fought all odds.

I can smell their cooking fires, I can hear their strange sad harps.

Tickling my nostrils, rolling down the scarps.’

Hearing this the gods looked down.

Their whispers hushed, they removed their crown.

‘Gypsies?…….the doe eyed gypsies?’

The gypsies have long gone, their music dead forever.

Persecuted by your kind, no tolerance whatsoever.’

Tears filled my eyes and I choked on my own words.

‘If the wolves have gone and the gypsies have left

If the howls are no more and the music is dead,

Why are you still here?

Your eyes full of sorrow, your eyes full of dread?’

The gods fell quiet and silence ruled the land.

Their wisdom lacked an answer,

their crown no more grand.

With eyes full of bitterness and a heart full of pain,

I looked up for an answer but alas!

the old gods had turned to stone again.

4 thoughts on “In the Memory of Wolves & Gypsies

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