~~~ Vengeance ~~~

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine…

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree...

~~~ Venom ~~~

Words that need to be spoken should not accumulate inside.
The hurt, pain or jealousy a person feels cannot hide.

Sorrow and anger can be and will be suppressed.
But this only leads to a person feeling depressed.

Anger is a deadly toxin in which the body it flows.
When it takes over limb by limb, everyone knows.

The body…the mind controls and manipulates.
As the poison enters the veins and circulates.

When the poison reaches the heart it's too late.
Disastrous emotions take over such as revenge and hate.

The antidote to cure these emotions is not so hard to find.
We must search to learn to control our spirited bodies and minds...

~~~ Crimson ~~~

Crimson words
On ivory parchment
That pulse and bleed
Technicolor insanities;

With tainted thoughts
And antiphonic whispers
Comes the artistry
Of a morbid poet.

Ink is blood
The thought, an artery
As psychotic razors
Slash his creativity,
Gushing a story
On a winter white page

Ancestral spirits
Guided these hands,
Touched gently their wisdom
To my hungry lips
That I should guide you
To life eternal, and for this
Still you mock me…
And I shall not forgive...

When the fruits of my labor
Have withered and died
And everyone moans deep
Its fear of genocide
I will summon the voracious scavenger
To rip and feed of my flesh,
Suck the blood of mine dry.

She bleeds ink,
Drips psychotic rivers
Of rushing lost-words...

Its crimson soul
On ivory parchment
...and somewhere far
A throat opens, swallows deep
Her poison poetry…

~~~ Imprisoned ~~~

The pain I feel inside
These words cannot describe.
The bleeding of my breaking heart
Is wreaking havoc on my mind.

There used to be a time
When I could share this pain,
But anymore that time is gone
And I just keep it locked inside.

By now I've thrown away the key
And I can see it lying there
Just outside my reach.
Lying in the light.

Just outside this darkened prison.
I used to believe in the goddess
But no more… I've lost my faith.
There’s nothing here but darkness,
Encompassing my heart.

Love is the only redemption
I need someone to bring me the key
To free me from this empty cell
For this life is choking me,
But I fear the lock is rusting shut.
Soon to remain forever unopened.

So if someone is waiting to give me their heart
Please hurry, hurry and save me I pray…

~~~ Rain, rain, go away... ~~~

Rain, rain, go away,
Because of you the pain will stay.
Slit my throat, cutout my heart,
Leave me here, tear it apart.

Poison tears stream down my face,
My heart beats at a steady pace
As I try to stand again;
Alone and standing in the rain.

I don’t need you anymore…
Is what I think while tears pour.
I hate you like I hate my life;
But love is what cuts like a knife.

Love is death and death is you;
Its pain stains like a black tattoo.
Those memories come back again
And bind me in the chains of pain.

Crimson blood streams down my head
Like a long, silk ribbon, tied by a thread,
To a platinum bullet, a hole in my skull…
...Now just a memory that’s faded and dull.

Rain, rain, just go away,
Because of you the pain will undying stay…

~~~ Sonnet to spring lovers’ fidelity ~~~

It needs to be renewed or, say, to have
Its scab picked off to expose again the raw
Wound; love needs its pain revivified.

When does a mother feel more intensely her?
Love for her child than in the night's dark hours
When the innocent infant burns with fever?
Pity, if it does not curdle, anneals, making love stronger
Returning to a wife, what brute would not?
Adore her, pity her trust, and adore her more?

He feels the original ache, his ardor vivid
As in the beginning.
Merely to stay home is to dare dullness, to settle.
But this more active choice is refining,
The instant's honesty, even, perhaps, a kind of fidelity.

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins…

And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green under wood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
A happy wife and a content husband momentarily…

~~~ Compromise concert ~~~

This is like that.
A modest claim a child could make, and did,
And admiring faces beamed brighter than suns
At their son's promise.

This is like the spring an amateur turning pro,
And the eyes rove, searching further
Occasions for praise, acquiring dirty
Habits of seeing and saying.

Performance and the hankering after applause,
Distort vision and skew the mind.
The world dislikes such preening;
The smart-assed kid,
Gets sent to his room, rebuffed to sulk and suffer…

There, looking out of a window
He may find solace in how a branch
Of the oak tree quivers after a squirrel
Has made its leap -- like the twitch of a nerve.

At it again? Now, however,
Only for private comfort,
Another compromise, another distraction.
From the thing-in-itself.

Even to glimpse it
Requires reluctance, narrowed lids
And tight lips on which untruth's unlovely taste lingers,
A taint one learns to loathe.

Up in the sky,
The only beaming now is from
A pale moon long ago talked to death,
But this is redeeming,
Recognizing that there's
No gain, no advantage,
Still he feels sometimes an impulse,
Even the need, irresistible, to break
A decent silence and admit
Something even better,
That rare clarifying, satisfying, significant similitude.

It cannot beguile his old losses away,
But the small satisfaction
One takes in considering and seeing through
Is like a new stamp on the visa
Pages of his limp passport,
His permit de sojourn extended
At least for awhile.
A minor but vital triumph,
It perhaps deserves a cognac with his evening coffee...

~~~ Daydream birds ~~~

A secret came a week ago,
Though I already knew it,
Just beyond the bruised lips of consciousness.
The very alive souls of a zillion dead birds
Are harbored in my body.
It’s not uncomfortable. It feels magnificent.
I’m only temporary habitat,
For these not-quite-weightless creatures.
I offered a wordless invitation
And now they’re roosting within me, recalling
How I had watched them at night
In fall and spring passing across earth moons,
Little clouds of black confetti, chattering and singing
On their way north or south.
Now in my dreams,
I see from the air the rumpled green and beige,
The watery face of earth,
As if they’re carrying me,
Rather than me carrying them.
Next winter…
I’ll release them near the newly found fantasy land.
I can see them perching
On undiscovered tree tops.
We’ll say goodbye…
And I’ll return my dreams to earth…

~~~ Twins ~~~

Born from the same womb
Spending nine everlasting months together
Gulping the same amniotic fluid
Till they learnt suckling their mother’s own blood.

Everyone thought "What a wonderful Bond
Inseparable from birth
You couldn't find one without the other"
But the moment they made their first cry
They were torn apart forever.

Taste and appetite accommodate,
But barely, the one too ready with its “No, thank you”
And the other's eager “Yes, please”
Always shining on blazing lips.

Taste deigns to nibble while appetite gnaws
Until, at the end, the yoke is lifted and each
Freed, flies off to its separate heaven
To grow to its perfection, or to dwindle.

Don't they miss how it was, the constant persuading?
Seducing the sulky twin, overcoming reluctance,
Each meal and morsel another bargain
And new balance?
Not a bit they thrive…

Empress of the jungle, sovereign of the desert,
Each supreme in fullness or emptiness,
And both killers, as we always knew they were…
With still no reflection to uphold…

~~~ Infringement ~~~

I must keep from breaking into the story by force
For if I do, I will find myself with a war sword in my hand,
And the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun,
Your nation dead beside you.

Now is the time of year when bees are wild and eccentric.
They fly fast and in cramped loop-de-loops,
Dive-bomb clusters of conversants
In the bright, late-February out-of-doors.
I have found their dried husks in my clothes.

They are dervishes because they are dying,
One last sting, a warm place to squeeze
A drop of venom or of honey.
After the stroke we thought would be her last.

I keep walking away though it has been an eternity
And from each drop of blood
Springs up sons and daughters, trees,
Mountains of sorrows, of songs.

I tell you this from the dusk of a small city in the north
Not far from the birthplace of great warriors.
Geese are returning to mate and crocuses have
Broken through the frozen earth.
Then they outside, and lay down in the snow.

Soon they will come for me and I will make my stand
Before the jury of destiny.
Yes, I will answer in the clatter of the new world,
I have broken my addiction to war and desire.
Yes, I will reply, I have buried the dead
And made songs of the blood, the marrow.

Ten years later there is no other way
To say, we are waiting.
She is silent, teary and light
As an empty hive, and she is breathing...

~~~ Scars ~~~

She wears her scars with honor
No beauty there
No flowers of fragrant grace
No shinning memories airborne and beaming
Her pennant colored by each criticism
That reduced her size bit by bit
The stains left by tears of her past
Tattoo her heart...
Like medal after medal…

~~~ The ME of me ~~~

When my life hurts
I imagine my other life
On the road forsaken...

But, my mind wants to know
If it is the road not taken
That determines my life
Or ME...?

Would I be a different ME
If I chose a different road?
Would the ME of me
Change with the seasons
The colors or the geography
Just because a diverse path...?

Or is it a trick
I play on myself
To explain away
My choices
Good and bad
Right and wrong
Smart and stupid...?

Even in my imaginings
I seem not able
To remove ME from me
Untaken road or not...
No matter where I travel
In cars, on foot, in my mind's eye
The ME in me is always there...

~~~ Fashion ~~~

I don't disguise
my depression
I wear it proudly
and with defiance…

It is the only
thing in my closet
that always looks
good on me...

It revolves
around the fringe
of my life…
and I wear it pompously
my despair…

~~~ Pulse of my soul ~~~

Lately,
my soul wonders
if it still has
a pulse.
And I...

Breathe...
through every turn
of the knife
that cuts into
the spirit

Grimace...
at the pain
and smile to the
one who seeks
to hack away
the ideas

Dance...
away from the granite
hearts of smaller minds
that do not see
what is in front of them
and calling
their names

Defy...
the dark and coldness
that will not live
in the light
of beautiful things
that spring
from my
imagination...

~~~ Lesson ~~~

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life...
It goes on...

~~~ Silent whisper ~~~

Resting beneath the tree of life.
Silent. Enlightened.
Seeing colors spur and spurn beneath. Surround and engulf.
Tears flow.
Questions dissolve and slide in grassy shadows.
Violins play. Horns to the heart. Conquering peace.
Until reality returns.

Frost appears giddy and inflamed.
Laughs taunts and teases about his Road.
Take the Road Not Taken, take the road not taken!
And that will make all the difference!
Eyes open. Tree of Life lifeless.
Death. Black greens. Darkness.

How? How? How does one let go of it?
To travel the path of dreams and lose my soul,
To walk over love? Stop a smile for a potential laugh?
How? How? How do I let it go?
And until what? Until when?

No ear to lean. No one to confide.
Only me. And poetry. No one else to hear.
I close my eyes once more. A silent yogi.
Waiting. Asking. In dream. In trance.
Who will I be?
What do I choose?
A silent whisper hear, see, confides.
Says forget the crap, just shut up and decide...

~~~ Decisions ~~~

We make thousands of decisions everyday and many of them change the way we experience and perceive the world. However, there is a rare decision or series of difficult decisions that change the course of our lives forever.

These decisions are usually difficult because no action usually is the “worst” decision, and they split the very things in life that make us happy including career, love, dreams or home.

Whether it is to sacrifice the safety of home to move countries for a dream or career, lying to a loved one to protect them or ourselves, or finally quitting the mundane job to go traveling. These decisions alter the course of our lives forever, and for this reason, can be the hardest to make.

But eventually, we must decide which Road to Take...

~~~ The Road Not Taken ~~~

Two roads diverged in a wood and I -
and I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.
~ Robert Frost

~~~ Ivy ~~~

The sirens will be shrieking their sorrow any moment, so I don’t have long. I just wanted you to know why.

She was a parasite. From the moment the seed of her burst into existence inside me, she fed off me. Slowly, but with purpose, eating her way into my soul. Eating it right out. Like the ivy that killed mama’s greenhouse. Creeping and clinging and choking first the building, and then the innocent plants inside.

At first I thought the numbness was left over from the needle they stuck in my back just before they wrenched her out of me. I didn’t ask for it…the needle I mean. Sure it took away the drawing, clawing, and discomfort. But I wanted the pain. Welcomed it. It was the pain that made me think everything was going to be alright after all. But the needle only pushed an icy chill into my spine. One that spread right through me to become an indescribable bleakness. A bleakness, I still carry with me today. This moment.

None of this is your fault, so please don’t feel as though it is. I realize that I was never enough for you…hell, I’ve certainly proved that now, haven’t I? You wanted a continuation of yourself. I understand that. But like mama said. Things don’t grow properly in contaminated soil. That, of course is not something you had any way of knowing. How could you?

For a while, your joy at what you’d done to me was liberating…you know? I even thought it might change things between us. I basked in your presence more often. It was nice, even though the only part of me you ever touched was the growing mound beneath which she blossomed and bloomed.

For a while you even stopped playing your little game, and the clues disappeared. Oh yes, the clues. An occasional errant earring in your coat pocket, a smudged lipstick stain on your shirt every now and again. Unaccountable charges on the bank statements, motel receipts left lying around with careful carelessness. Flaunting your cruelty. Cruelty carefully planned like a mathematical equation. My inadequacies equal your indiscretions.

Perhaps you didn’t think I was savvy enough to realise what you were doing. But then as it turns out you’re the one who’s going to need all the savvy he can get. It’s all such a surprise isn’t it? I’m sorry. I know how much you loathe surprises.

I hated her on sight. Not her appearance, mind you. She was actually the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Like a seal pup. Chubby, pink and loud. The paradox of her beauty was the most perfect irony. A flawless specimen.

But then how could she be anything else? She’d fed off me. And fed well. Voraciously. Drawing from me everything she needed to flourish.

She possessed me, and I was powerless to do anything but let her. And I was powerless against her violent entry into the world. She left my body in tatters, like some snake discarding its skin. But you know…there was a moment, as brief as a dying whisper, just as they severed the rope that attached her to me, that I sensed her vulnerability. If only I could have hung on to that. If only I could have.

I shed so much blood for her.
And while they sewed me, your tears mixed with my tears. Then they put her between us. She pounded at my heart with tiny fists, trying to beat me away, just beat me away with such savagery, and the pain of it was worse than anything I’d ever experienced. It was then, when you took her in your arms that I realized. I’d been nothing more than a body she’d been using to get to you. A host. A victim. And I knew it was something you’d planned together.

You and she. I watched her meld into you. Fuse herself to you with her eyes. Fuse herself to you like the ivy that killed mama’s greenhouse.

I knew that I’d have to do something, otherwise she would destroy you.
Ironically, it’s me who will pay the price for saving you.

No-one at the hospital seemed to notice that she was different to all the other pink, fat, loud babies. If they’d looked really closely they would have seen it in her eyes. In those first days, I spent hours gazing into them. I wanted to know her. I wanted to take back what she’d taken from me. But all I could see in those eyes was you. It was the real reason I freaked out at the hospital that night you came to visit. When I looked into your eyes, all I could see was her.

“A common occurrence”, said the pudgy disinfected nurse. “These things often take time. It’s an adjustment. Nothing to worry about. Quite normal.”
Hollow platitudes.

So we left the hospital. The “quite-normal” three of us. I didn’t want to go… I didn’t.
And I pleaded with the pudgy one, not to make me go. Not in words of course. But even if I had spoken the words I know she wouldn’t have heard me. No-one would have heard me. They have to hear me now though… don’t they. They have to.

We brought her home. And I knew that nothing could save us.

I’m glad she refused my breast. I’m glad she refused my touch. I’m glad she had no further use for me.

She would only allow you to carry out her needs. She fed off you, and I was helpless to stop it. I could only stand by and wait for you to come to me. I would have soothed you and told you that I understood. After all, she fed off me for nine long months. But you didn’t come to me. I wish you’d have come to me.

Then you started the game again. I was tired and I wanted it to stop. I knew I could never win this game of yours. I knew that the only way to end it was to play the game too. So I left you clues of my own.

I changed the equation… didn’t I, my love? My inadequacies plus your indiscretions finally equaled the point of no return.

And just like you, I carefully planned my cruelty. I made myself immune to your concern.
Why haven’t you changed her? Why are her bottles still in the fridge? Don’t tell me you haven’t fed her! What’s this rash?
Perhaps now you can figure out that these were my clues.

As one day liquefied into another, I found myself drawn further and further into the bleakness. Despite me and in spite of me, she continued to thrive. She still refused me, and through this refusal she fed off me, even though there was nothing left to take. It was as though she existed solely for you, and because of you. And through this existence she began to eradicate me little by little every day.

Still I continued to leave clues.
What’s this mark? She didn’t have it yesterday. She’s filthy why haven’t you bathed her today? What’s the fucking matter with you!
What’s the matter indeed?

Then you sent the nurse. She was like an angel of mercy. She opened the curtains and walked right into my bleakness. I welcomed her. The faint disinfectant smell of her reminded me of the hospital. I needed her humanness. I waited anxiously each day for the sunshine of her arrival. Oh how I loved the warmth and light she brought with her. Do you have any idea what it’s like to look forward to something with such desperation? I suspect that you do.

The nurse let me dare to hope that my wounds would heal. I should have known that to hope for such a thing would be futile. And gradually it happened. As deep down I knew it would. First me, then you and then the nurse.

I watched her creep into the nurse’s very essence. She fed off her, draining away her glowing warmth until all she could do was gaze into those bewitching eyes. The eyes that contained you and you alone. Once again, I began to fade into dusk until no-one even noticed I was there.

The bleakness is still with me, yet I feel a strange serenity. I didn’t plan this. Not in the way you must think. I don’t want you to think of me as some kind of monster. Think of me as a gardener. Remember…the soil was contaminated.

She would have fed off everyone who came in contact with her. Creeping and clawing her way into their soul until she destroyed them. Like the ivy that killed mama’s greenhouse.

Do you hear the sirens shrieking their sorrow? Perhaps they already know it’s too late…

~~~ Breakthrough ~~~

When you let go everything, you find freedom.
When you lose everything, you find yourself.
Now that she had nothing to lose, she was free.
~ Paulo Coelho

~~~ Terror…overcome it ~~~

Freedom is nothing but freeing yourself from the ties of fear in your domain…liberate yourself and enjoy free will…

Are you in FEAR?
Fear of moving ahead in life
Fear of loving others
Fear of doing things that you love to do
Fear of freely speaking
Fear of living the life you want
Fear of facing world or reality
Fear of failure or combating back.

Life is not about living within your limits. Life is all about overcoming your limits!

~~~ I free myself from hatred ~~~

I free myself from hatred
through forgiveness and love.
I understand that suffering
when it cannot be avoided
is here to help me on my way to glory!
~ Paulo Coelho

~~~ Freedom ~~~

Freedom, what a word this is. We endeavor for it. We battle to gain it. This is mankind’s ultimate unachievable goal. And this is the theme of my post.

Living in a society where you are judged by what you wear, what your color is and what affiliations you have it is sometimes hard to break through the norms and let your true colors shine. It is so hard to become the person you think you are and want to be when society shackles you to certain stereotypes and bind you with their expectations. No one is immune to this binding of souls but there are those who break away and unbind themselves. The beautiful ones, the truly beautiful ones who live their lives the way they want to live and not letting others make decisions for them.

I am not part of the few that broke away from their cages but I am slowly unshackling myself from the binds that stop me from being who I want to be. I'm slowly becoming the person that I aspire to be. I'm slowly becoming a person that can carry myself and be proud of myself in whatever that I do. I'm still not totally free but I'm gradually getting there.

One of the most important things to begin with when seeking freedom; is to not judge others. Judging others only shows a weakness to self. The need to observe weaknesses in others, only determines that we are avoiding being aware of our own. Eventually we have reached the understanding that we are human and that we are weak (despite all blabbers, motivating speeches and descriptive age old scribes of knowledgeable and revolutionary populace.)

I hope that you are happy in whatever you are doing in your life and that you are not forced or manipulated to do what you are doing. Never let others become your master. We as people live in norms and customs but we must never be afraid to go outside the box and live life the way we see it fit. If your friends think that you're crazy for loving the same sex, f*** your friends and get a new one. Be with people that accept you no matter what the consequences and no matter who you are. We need to be happy in order to make others happy. We can't pretend forever that we are happy, I know that. I've tried pretending to be happy for such a long time that I don't even know what "happiness" truly feels like. I just hope that by the end of this journey we can all finally say that...

I think I'll end this post here...and let you think awhile.

~~~ Instinctive Drive ~~~

As life bled, martyrdom flared its buds.
Repression, red from irritation,
Rendered chinks and cracks; but thuds of
Armament, in cowardice, accomplice of the
Dictatorial blight through countless years
Wreaked its retribution…
Yet hope began to bloom a colored carapace
Enshrining their allegiance against the
Terror in their tears.

And on! Splits yawned…breaches in the stratocracy,
Flesh fought fanatical minds -
Bullets welcomed into open hands
And blessed with yearnings for morality.
Chiseled man-toys of death and mutilation
Couldn't repel the might of freedom
Surging at the bright horizon.

Crepuscular rays of purpose, body,
Flooded pandemonium with
Overwhelming clarity, direction,
Burdened clouds drifting wayward as the
Light channeled out a vision,
Intensifying focus on tomorrow…
Deepen their stride
As they home in to
What is theirs,
Rightfully theirs…!

~~~ Beginning ~~~

By the time Trisha sat down to order a café Latte’, she was perspiring lightly. A whole day to herself. Bliss! Three hours in the women’s wear and lingerie department. Picking up this and that, holding barely wrought pieces of fabric up and giggling, albeit a little enviously.

In the eighteenth century, painters would have fallen over themselves to paint her. Now it was all slim and trim and tight butts. Skinny girls with bony shoulders and teeny tiny tits in tube tops. Of course that wasn't what men really wanted. Brainwashed! She wondered if the designers did it on purpose so they could earn more money for less material. Probably. She smiled a little ruefully. But there had been a few sexy things for the 'fuller figure’.

Ohh how twee! The fuller figure! Not that she was fat. Every ounce....well, not everyone, but nearly everyone was proportionate. Trisha felt comfortable in her body. White silk cami-knickers. She just had to buy them. Gorgeous lacy half cup bra's that would make her breasts spill over the top of a low cut gown.
It didn't matter what people said...the media said, she had seen the appreciative glances of men unable to cast their eyes away from two great snowy mounds billowing ....billowing! Now there's an erotic word! She mused.

Another stunning blonde long-legged, long-haired California girl strolled by in jeans so tight that the seam disappeared into her groin. What's got into me? She thought, feeling her own sensations, and knowing what the girl was doing to herself secretly. A little bomb burst low down in her belly, and a wet thrill colored up her cheeks. She squeezed her thighs together, enjoying the warm squishiness down there.

It was that shop! Not the K Mart...The other shop. Lord! How had she ever had the nerve to go in there? But she had done it as brazenly as could be. The man behind the counter was quite obviously effeminate, but until he spoke there was no way of telling. Muscles on muscles, thin waist, and a hard body trying to burst out of a size too small snow white t-shirt. She was glad there was no one else in the shop. Faced with a cornucopia of strange delights, Trisha felt a bubble of panic. I'm only looking! She told herself severely. Now don't be silly! These shops are here because lots of people want them to be! Anyway, she was curious.

The manager smiled at her. Not a sleazy smile, but a wide open friendly one that lit up his tanned face. She almost laughed out loud when he spoke. "Hello ma'am. Ith there anything I can help you with?" His voice was gentle and feminine, and the lisp was genuine, and not affected.

"Umm..." Trish looked around quickly. She didn't know what to say to him. But he was good. Intuitive. Something told him she was a first timer. A middle aged woman feeling a bit old and perhaps a bit frumpy. Perhaps widowed a year or two. If that's what he thought he would have been almost spot on.

"I'll leave you to look.” He said. "If you need anything pleath don't be afwaid to ask. There'th lonjewwy (he meant lingerie) and twy on rooms at the back...but I don't wecommend the lonjewwy. Men buy it for women, and ith's always tacky. Better to buy good thtuff in a clathy lonjewwy shop." He laughed and showed white teeth. It broke the ice, and Trisha said "Well that's honest anyway! Thanks."

"Oh... men can be tho tacky!" He breathed.

Trisha didn't believe she had said it until it was out, standing there shocked at her own words. "Tacky or not, I could use one". Did I just say that!!? The manager just giggled. "Me too!"

Loneliness had been stalking Trisha for a couple of years now. She had felt old at 47, but now 50! It felt like old age. Old and lonely. Damn the man! She hadn't been ready for it. Youth spun away on golden wings. Most of the time she felt nineteen in the head, but the mirror dashed any hopes of really believing it. And who wanted...who wanted a marriage…damn it! Who wanted an old woman anyway? That's it. She had said it. Not aloud, but said it anyway. She'd said it every day for last twenty-six and a half years. Why she lived that long anyway? And for Gods sakes today she felt...the word wandered around in her head, bouncing around like the steel ball in a pinball machine. Not horny, but she wanted a man. Wanted to do everything all happy couples did. Lots of things...anything. She wanted to be loved and wanted. That too!

Steel balls. That's what they looked like. Two steel balls, but lighter than that, strung together on a red silk thread. She held them together in her hands. Inside there was something else. Some heavy liquid. Trisha swilled them around in her palm, fascinated. She laughed, like a child. "What on earth are these?"

The manager left the glass display counter and wandered over. He smelt of cinnamon and musk. Even knowing he was terminally gay didn't stop the thrill of his sensuality close to her. He was just such a perfect specimen. What a waste!
"Duo balls." He said, taking them from her palm and swilling them around in his. "Put them inthide yourself, and you can walk awound all day with a thmile on your fathe."
"Outside?" Trish gasped, coloring up again. "Outhide or inthide. No one would know. You can have orgasms all day."
She giggled. "Do they really work?"
"Twy them" The manager said, pulling a fresh packet from the shelf. "If you think they're no good, there'th no charge."
"Here?"
He laughed again. "Ath you can tell, I'm gay…and I've theen everything there ith to thee. Ith my job.... And if ith any contholathion I love thexth...thyamlethly. Come on, twy them. The twy on wooms over there." His impediment , though pronounced was rather bewitching.

Trisha hesistated. She wanted to flee, quickly and never come back. She should never have come in. She'd only intended to look, and even that intent had been more subliminal then intentional. But here she was and the shop was redolent with sensuality and sexuality. She no longer felt any real guilt at being here. In fact when she considered it, she felt positively sexy. Her skin felt silky and sensitive. Oh and the thoughts milling around in her head! Something was consuming her with want. It was both pleasant and an ache. An ache of absolute longing.

She took a breath, and made a decision. "Alright! I will!" The young man smiled again, so easily that it made her feel happy inside. He wanted her to be happy and have some pleasure. And she would.

She closed the little cubicle door, and dropped her plastic bag of packages on the seat. Full length wall mirrors on three sides, and on the door, a smaller mirror. The effect was that no matter where she turned she could see three of her. Were they trick mirrors, she wondered. The woman gazing at her was big, and soft. Full bodied and actually...attractive. She smiled into the mirror and waved a silly girlish little wave. And even that looked attractive. On the back of the door, below the mirror a tiny glass cabinet held a selection of scented creams, jellies, and perfumes. She slid open the panel and took out a blue and white tube of jelly. I'm really doing this! She thought, a delicious thrill bursting in her heart. She looked at the jelly. God! I'm not going to need this!

With a shudder of pleasure she reached down and rubbed herself through her thin summer dress, then turned, and watched herself slowly hitching the hem up. Staring in disbelief at the wantonness of this other woman in the mirror, teasing. The woman's panties, sensible white lacey cotton. She blushed.

Trisha sat down, legs weak, and leaned against the mirror on the back wall. There was no coyness now in the way she spread her legs. She wanted them wide, almost 3 feet wide. Wide so that she could see herself in the mirror, like they show in movies. Trisha turned to her side, pulled her dress a little higher; most of her thigh was visible. She had never really looked at it like this before. It's beautiful! She fanned her hands like an open butterfly. “Pretty”, she whispered aloud, unaware that the thoughts had been vocalized. She felt her tummy, right up to the womb. For a few moments Trisha had forgotten what she had entered the room for until she spied the little metal balls.

The woman in the mirror rolled the duo balls in her palm. Surprisingly they were warm, not cold metal. Something seemed to swim inside them pushing tiny waves of commotion through her. Trisha watched, fascinated. In the mirror this big, beautiful, soft, blonde woman with sparkling eyes, and full blood -filled lips melted into ecstasy. The woman was perspiring through her thin dress. She blushed further. She has never seen herself so attractive. It seemed as if the one in mirror was someone else. Trisha thought.

She pouted her lips. Small mewling sounds escaped her throat. Her eyes tried to squeeze shut, but she had to watch. Watch the woman in the mirror, the big, beautiful, sumptuous earth-mother bringing herself to a billowing...billowing!

Trisha sat for a while, weak kneed and quivering. She felt good. She felt desirable. Like the woman in the mirror. The woman in the mirror had seduced her. And she had enjoyed it. Every second of it. She stood up, hitched up her dress quickly, slipped her hand through her hair and dabbed some gloss on her lips. The duo balls rested comfortably and sensuously in her palm. With a smile...her own secret smile, she opened the door and stepped out into the store. Turning she looked at the woman in the mirror. She winked! Of course she didn't.

The manager smiled a knowing smile, of course misinterpretated but Trisha took it for what it was; their own conspiracy. "I... I think I'll take them. And....you won't need to wrap them up" The man giggled, saw the duo balls clinched in her fist and touched her arm lightly. He was close and that smell of cinnamon and musk met her nose again. A clean, spicy smell. Impulsively she leaned and kissed him quickly, briefly on the cheek, thankfully. For a moment something else entered his face. The smile almost but not quite, dropped away, and his eyes glistened, but so quickly it could have been an illusion. He touched his hand to his cheek. Then giggled again. "I've been touched in a wot of pwaces, but that'th the nithetht kith ever! Did anyone ever tell you you're a vewy beautiful woman?"

No. Trisha thought. No one ever did. And as if reading her thoughts the man answered. "Well you are...vewy"

Now, sitting at the sidewalk table, dipping a plastic spoon into a fresh café Latte’, she was aware of the looks. She was being appraised... admired, and some of the admiring glances came from young men half her age. And a few women too.

A whisper of cool air played around her hair whisking her cheeks. And the little balls rolling in her hand gently. She smiled soothingly!

A good looking man, perhaps in his mid thirties passed her by with a quick glance, and having passed her did a graceful three-sixty degrees to stare quickly, smile, and wave with an air of slight embarrassment at his impulsive action. Trisha smiled back.

She sat for a half hour more drinking in the street, before picking up her bags to go. But she couldn't resist a last look across the street to the little shop with its nondescript entry. No neon lights, no garish advertising. Just a painted over window with the name of the business on it, and a few other words. She had passed it by a thousand times and not really noticed it until today. Also today she had discovered her new self, an absolute new stance, a new beginning... She felt like Aphrodite. For sure it was the consequence of the “Aphrodite’s Mirror"…

~~~ Vanity prospect ~~~

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and wrap my arms around a monstrous mound of belly. I look huge. The bright red top I picked up from the down market this morning does nothing for me…nothing special. It's comfortable though. It doesn’t make me look like a sexy siren, but yes, it does help look my bulge big and cute. And God knows, a girl in this state needs comfort!

I feel the urge to pitch forward, so I lean back, and stick my belly out to compensate for the weight. My back aches with the effort. I practice different poses in front of the mirror. Then I pile my curly black hair on top of my head and pout seductively. Sophisticated, sexy pregnant woman is the look I'm going for. Instead, hairy beach ball is the result.

Then I mess my hair, let my shoulders droop and I lurch and heave from side to side. I practice walking up and down with a firm, springy step, head held high. That’s better. Feels good…

When I’ve perfected my walk, I shower and dress. I struggle into a pair of sensible black leggings with a stretchy front panel. I pull the tent-like top over my head and step into black sandshoes. A splash of bright red lipstick and voila! I look like Roseanne on a bad day.

Over a cup of brewing coffee, I consider the direction my life is about to take. I’m supposed to be feeling excitement, but instead I feel trepidation. I should be looking forward to the next few months, yet I feel sick with anxiety. Maybe it’s because I have no-one to share it with.

I’ve been living alone since Raayo left. Within a week of telling him the news, he decided he had to go and “find himself”. Two thousand kilometers away! After 3 years of knowing eachother, he says that he "needs time to know me, and that he himself doesn't know what he wants". Disgusting. Bloody hypocrate.

“You’ve changed Karolina” he told me. “This represents commitment and security to you and I understand that. But it’s going to change things between us.”

Thinking about this now, it makes me laugh. My best friend Shirley tells me she’s heard that he’s married with some dancer in Perth. And guess what? She’s expecting his baby!

I could have moved back in with mom I suppose, but I think I was born with this independent streak. Mom worries about me. “How are you going to manage all alone? And the early mornings? You’ve never been a morning person Karolina” she fusses. I tell her it’s going to be okay. I'll manage.

I finish my coffee. It’s early but I don’t want to miss the bus and be late for my appointment.
It’s a crisp, golden morning. People glance at my belly as I make my way down the street to the bus stop and I feel a little conscious.

It’s interesting to watch the look on their faces and I wonder what they’re all thinking. Maybe they think I look a little young to be pregnant. Perhaps my jaunty walk and radiant smile reflects the excitement I feel about what’s to come.

Half an hour later, I arrive at the office of Blake Jones, whom I’ve come to know well over the last few months. The receptionist scrutinizes me as always through little square, wire-framed spectacles, perched on the end of her nose.
“He’ll be with you shortly. Please take a seat.”

There are two other young women like me in the waiting room. They also look uncomfortable as they half sit, half lie on the lumpy waiting room couch. We exchange nervous nods. Then Blake Jones appears at the door of his office. He points to me.
“Come on in Karolina.”

So I follow him in. Uneasily. I remember what my drama teacher once told me in school. Whenever you’re nervous, take a deep breath and focus on any object in the room. Block everything else out. It helps you relax.
I focus on Blake Jones’ head. Wispy little strands of remnant grey-black hair have been combed creatively across in a vain attempt to hide the section that is so conspicuously unadorned. It helps. Soon, I’m relaxed…

Later that evening, I sit cross-legged on my bed and sip chilled champagne. It’s an extravagance in which I don’t normally indulge.

The phone rings…
“Well?” says Shirley.
“Well what?” I ask innocently
“Don’t DO this to me Karolina. How did you go? What did he say? Did you make it through the final audition? Did they do the screen test? Did you get the lead for heaven’s sake?”
My smile fills the empty room.
“You mean the lead part of a young girl who agrees to be a surrogate mother in Blake Jones’ latest tele-soap? The part that will earn me $130,000 for three months work and skyrocket me – I hope - to fame and fortune? Is that the part you mean?”
Shirley shrieks.
“You GOT THE ROLE!”

We talk for over an hour. Afterwards, I fumble with the tape that holds on my padded belly and I toss the thing on the floor. Even though I’m supposed to wear it for as long as possible each day, it’s a relief to get it off. I wonder how woman who are really pregnant cope with what must be constant discomfort.

I think about my day. The most wonderful day of my life, till date. I feel ecstatic. It’s a very special pregnancy...And I read the contract I’m now under to Blake Jones Productions. Perhaps it’s the champagne, but I just know I have that special beaming glow…

~~~ Free until today ~~~

Is love really beautiful when there are secrets involved??
Do secrets make a relationship grow better??
Or does it make it worst??
Is love like a bed of roses??
Is love as painful as the thorns on roses??
Can love draw blood??
Does a rose really represent love…and not drops of blood??
Do pearls really symbolize purity…and not drops of tears??
Are tears only for a weak soul??
Is suffering only meant for the unfortunate??
Does death really do apart the lovers??
Do all this questions have one answer??

Love, its hideous secrets, its playful mischieves, painful like bed of thorns on roses, yet precious as pearl… Love with its fights, tears, pain, joy, laughter and sweet nothings…Love is passion....and passion is love...
What will a lady do when she is stopped from showing her passion?? How will she show her love?? What happens when she is forced to hide her raging passions within herself and never be able to let it out??

Must she wilt like a rose?? Must she cry for her ill fate??
Love...the greatest passionate emotion of all times...
What if she believed that her soul and her beloved’s were made from the same mould and made into two different people...They shared the same soul in two different bodies??
What if she believed that even though she is dead, she must haunt her beloved, stuck in some time, until he joins her in death...and blessed with eternal union…??

Is it really true…?? Is it possible that even death will not be able to separate a love so great, a love so passionate... a love so deep...and even tears cannot express these timeless feelings...??

~~~ I AM BEAUTIFUL ~~~

I wish I were a butterfly...short lived, but remembered, and always loved...
A butterfly so shy, that when you chase it, it will flutter far away, but when you stop chasing it, it will fly to you and sit softly on your shoulders...
That exactly is the same concept of love...I want to stop chasing it, instead feel it coming to me...gushing like waves towards the shore.

Love is true and eternal only when it’s unconditional.......
I read somewhere that when you want to see your face in the mirror before seeing your someone special, then you have fallen in love. When you become happy in your someone special’s happiness then you have fallen in love. If you start smiling without any reason seeing your someone special’s happiness then know that you have fallen in love. If you get tears on your someone special’s pain then understand that you have fallen in love.

I realize that is unconditional love, without any expectations or conditions...Is it true…? If that person you love is not happy being with you, would you still want to be with that person??? Knowing that you are hurting that person, and in return he is hurting you back?? NO right...?? So if partners start laying rules, conditions and expectations to so called LOVE in their lives, that love doesn’t remain unconditional any more. It becomes stale, rotten compromise. And who wants that?

If roots start rotting, leaves turn yellow and fall, no flowers bloom, the tree doesn’t fruit. Instead it stands lifeless, as if waiting for some miracle. It’s all visible to our naked eyes. But what about humans, the so called evolved species on the planet? What happens when their relationships start rotting? A very miniscule percentage of beings put an end to it and give their life a second chance. The rest just cover it up, like some makeup and polish over the anti-blemishing cream. What are they scared of…? What runs in their minds like windmill, sucking them into some whirlpool?

I have often heard one of my friends say this repeatedly to me:
“I did not mean to hurt, so why must I be hurt??? Is this why they say, life is unfair....???
Then I really want to go...far away, a place where nobody recognizes me ....and never return...”

And I often end up repeating her the same monologue:
Because it proves that opposite attracts like MAGNETS...
♥ It proves that there need no be perfectness in love...The flawed one is just as good
♥ Love comes knocking into your heart at the time you least expect it, sometimes with the person you least expect....
♥ You don't have to talk and say it all out... Your eyes can do the talking, the expressions can to the talking...Behind those smoldering eyes, you see a world of dark passion brewing, simmering, and just waiting for the right time....
♥ Importantly, love is, or teaches you that...the person you want to be without the most is the person you need to be with the most....
♥ It’s not important to be with the person you love, but, with the person who loves you. If your love is returned by the same person you love, you are the luckiest.
♥ You don't need to say it, just show it...
♥ And if you are ready to love unconditionally, TRUE LOVE will find you somehow...

After saying all I would recur myself saying that I wish I were a butterfly...short lived, but remembered, and always loved…because I AM BEAUTIFUL…

~~~ What is the color of love? ~~~

Love is like a delicate bird.
If you hold it tightly it dies.
If you hold it lightly, it’s sure to fly,
Away right in front of your eyes.

Love is like a rainbow.
That falls far away into a pot of gold.
We find ourselves searching.
But the adventure can surely become old.
Unless we search within ourselves.

Love is a story.
Awaiting to be told.
Love is a river.
Flowing between the hill.
Gentle and calm, current almost still.

Love is a rushing water fall.
With tremendous currents busting at freewill.

Love is the definition of triumph.
The synonym of pain.
The joy of a broken heart.
To know that you once loved.
The sorrow of a young woman.
Who’s spirit never rose above.

Love is the warmth.
You feel from your glove.
It is the battle of your life.
That only few seem to win.
And the majority that seems to lose.
Never mostly wants to begin again.

You’ll never know love,
Until you experience it both ways.
The joy and happiness.
And also the horrible gloomy days.
Don’t Love…no I won’t say that.
But don't love two,
Love only ONE who always loves back YOU

Coz…God colored the sky blue.
God colored the grass green.
God colored the love true.
Darling, God colored true love for ME and YOU.

~~~ Liberate ~~~

Through your love, I found myself
Through your sorrow, I got hurt
Through your pain, I found never drying tears
Unchain me, unchain my heart

I thought…
I held on too long
I held on something strong
I held on something sincere
I held on something special

I am in a prison…a prison of love
Finding the key for unknown locks is complicated
Setting me free is the last option my confused mind
For all the pain, I went through
For all the love you found hard to return
For all the times you took me for granted
For all the times you cheated on me

O Lord, please give me the vigor
To unchain me and my heart
A heart that loved once
A heart that waited for someone
A heart that is bleeding
A heart that is almost losing its beat

I pray, unchain me and this wounded heart of mine
And let the healing conquer the patches
And let love flow through its crystal clear veins
I pray, unchain this “ME” off this wounded soul…

~~~ Witness ~~~

I have seen the moon loiter by my window,
In pensive quiet…

I have seen the sun open many a door,
On the spread eagled beach…

I have seen rain enter the domain of silence,
To start up a chatter…

Yet, your touch remains elusive,
For which I still yearn…

In the future of a pamphlet,
Asking and questioning society…

I have seen myself tired and fading,
Against the rebel order,
Against the tyranny,
Against the mutiny,
Of words for the sake of lost and betrayed love…

~~~ Devastated...not yet ~~~

At a distance he was at a mile I would run.
But that was a past…a lie…
Now,
His cold glance kills my soul
His phony embrace makes me hate him even more.
He became a stranger when he conned to be my love.
He became like a puzzle, complicated to uncover.
Even at close, he's still remote.
At a distance he is at a devastated mile I could run.
Towards a love that is an unfathomable vacuum in his eyes.
But no more…I give up…
On you…not on my pious love…

~~~ Rose ~~~

You are a rose, only with thorns.
You are a beauty, only dimmed by lies.
You are a jewel, only to be admired.
I should list it all: but my heart has hidden it all
Blinded by love, can’t walk away.
A stagnant swamp is what I became.
A rose that pricks the good is what you are.
With nothing is what the hopeless are left with.
You are the rose that turned my life into a barbed bush...

~~~ Light ~~~

You know that I,
Couldn't find my way back home,
Set in stone,
All that went wrong...

But I pray,
To myself,
To find another,
Reason to touch life.
Alone on a lost road,
Looking for my destiny.
I light my way,
I light my own way...

~~~ Butterfly ~~~

Butterfly…
I like the way you wear your wings.
Show me all their enchanting colors...
For the sunbeams are going,
Spreading out its edges of gold.
Before the death puts me to eternal sleep,
And evening murmurs by…

~~~ Dream ~~~

Now it is dusky,
There is sweetness in the trees,
They are singing and whistling together.
And fireflies are counting the leaves,
The flowers are all folded now
And the dark is going by.
The evening is arising...
It is time to rest.

When I am sleeping,
I find my pillow full of dreams.
They are all new dreams.
No one told them to me...

I had a dream…
Before I came through the cloud.
They remember the sky, my little dreams,
They have wings, they are quick, they are charming.
I want to tell my dreams
To the other children,
So that their bread may taste whiter,
So that the milk they drink,
May make them think of meadows and rainbows.

In the sky full of stars.
I wish I could count them all.
May all have courage to dream.
May their audacity help their dreams come true.
So they will remember what they knew,
Before they came through the cloud.

So, let me hold their little hands in the dark,
A brighter tomorrow for the lonely children.

I like this country,
Though I like a very few things it has,
But I can’t forget the gleaming dreams in those innocent eyes.
And I can’t forget my reverie I had of the sea,
The gulls swinging and calling,
And the foamy towers of the waves.
Thrashing against my dead body…

~~~ Silver pour ~~~

Once upon a time at evening-light
A little girl was sad.
There was a color in the sky,
A color she knew in her dreamful heart
And wanted to keep it blue.

She held out her arms stretched
Wide...for a long time,
And saw it flow away on the wind.
When she feared it was gone
She did not love the moonlight
Or care for the stars.
She had seen the blue in the sky.

The world turns softly
Not to spill its lakes and rivers.
The water is held in its arms
And the sky is held in the water.
What is rain, that pours silver,
And can hold the sky?

And when it poured,
She kissed it gently,
A smile played on her lips.
At least, for a while…
She was yet to know,
That when she is sad, it downpours,
And not that it rains when she is sad…

Sometimes I am sad
Because I often contemplate
Of this little girl…but it doesn't rain...

~~~ Love Story ~~~

Psyche (in Roman mythology) beautiful princess loved by Cupid, God of love. Jealous of Psyche's beauty, Venus (Aphrodite), Goddess of love, ordered her son, Cupid, to make Psyche fall in love with the ugliest man in the world. Fortunately for Psyche, Cupid instead fell in love with her and carried her off to a secluded palace where he visited her only by night, unseen and unrecognized by her. Although Cupid had forbidden her ever to look upon his face, one night Psyche lit a lamp and looked upon him while he slept. Because she had disobeyed him, Cupid abandoned her, and Psyche was left to wander desolately throughout the world in search of him. Finally, after many trials she was reunited with Cupid and was made immortal by Jupiter, king of the Gods.

Let’s have a detailed version of this beautiful love story.......

Long ago a king and queen had three lovely daughters. The two older ones were just a bit above ordinary. But the youngest, named Psyche, was the fairest and brightest girl in the kingdom. People began to desert the altars of Aphrodite, the Goddess of love and beauty, and worship Psyche instead. In fact, some were even beginning to call Psyche the second Aphrodite.

Aphrodite, furious about Psyche’s fame, ordered her son Cupid to wound the princess with one of his arrows. “Avenge your mother!” she cried. “Make Psyche fall in love with the vilest of men - the most miserable and meanest beast you can find!”

Cupid set at once to do his mother’s bidding. But when the God of love laid eyes upon the fair maiden, he accidentally pricked his own finger with one of his arrows - and he himself fell in love with Psyche.

Tormented by his sudden passion, Cupid immediately flew to Apollo, the God of light and truth, and asked for his help.

Soon afterwards all of Psyche’s admirers mysteriously vanished. Her father couldn’t understand why his daughter’s suitors had stopped calling. Fearing the gods might be angry with him, he asked Apollo for advice.

“Perhaps it has been decreed your daughter is to marry a God,” Apollo said. “Leave her alone on top of a mountain, and soon you will find out if a God wants her for a wife.”

When Psyche’s father returned home and reported what Apollo had said, a cry of grief went up from the kingdom, for they all knew they would soon lose their beautiful Psyche. But since the commands of the Gods must always be obeyed, the king and queen prepared their daughter for her lonely exile.

The whole city lit torches. And to the sound of a lonely flute, people chanted a funeral hymn as they escorted the beautiful princess up a steep mountain. When they reached the topmost peak, Psyche spoke to her family and friends, “Fear not. Do not torment yourself with grief, but leave me now to meet my fate.”

After her brave words, everyone bid her goodbye; and as they filed down the mountainside, their torches were nearly extinguished by their tears.

Psyche also cried until she finally fell asleep on the deserted mountaintop. But while she slept, the gentle West Wind lifted her up and bore her down to a flowery plateau.

And in the morning, when she woke, she found herself lying in a bed of grass before a great palace that had a roof of ivory and columns of gold. A chorus of sweet music filled the air, and the soft voices of invisible beings whispered in her ear, “All of this is yours now.” Psyche wandered about the golden, gleaming palace. She bathed herself in refreshing spring waters and ate a wonderful dinner, which invisible hands placed before her.

During the night, Cupid came to her. “You are my wife,” he said in the dark. “I love you more than anything. But I must ask that you never try to look upon my face. I will only visit you in the night; but our nights will be glorious and filled with joy.”

When Psyche asked why she could not look at him, Cupid only said, “Honor my request, for if you look upon me, we will be separated forever.” Actually Cupid was afraid that if Psyche discovered he was the son of Aphrodite, she would adore him as a God, rather than love him as an equal.

Psyche loved her nightly visits with Cupid, though during the day she was sad and lonely. One night, she asked her husband to allow her to send for her two older sisters.

“If they come here, it will be the beginning of our doom,” Cupid said.

“Oh, no! Please, let them come!” Psyche begged. “If you won’t allow me to see you, at least allow me to see my sisters!”

It saddened Cupid to hear these words, so he ordered the West Wind to bring Psyche’s older sisters to see her.

When the sisters arrived at the palace, they were overjoyed to find Psyche alive and well. But as soon as they began to look about and note the splendor in which she lived, they grew envious. By the time they returned home, they were in a jealous rage because their own husbands were not as wealthy as Psyche’s.

On their second visit to the palace, the sisters demanded to meet Psyche’s husband.

“I’m afraid I cannot let you see him,” she said.

“Why? Is he so ugly that you are ashamed?”
“No, he cannot allow himself to be seen. Even I have not seen him in the daylight.”
"What?” her sisters screamed.
“I try not to mind,” said Psyche. “He’s very gentle and kind, and he seems to love me more than life itself.”

The two sisters grew more envious than ever when they heard how much Psyche’s husband loved her. When they returned home, they tore their hair and wailed with sorrow because their own husbands were cold and unkind.

The sisters grew so jealous of Psyche; they decided to spoil her happiness. The next time they came to the palace, one said, “We don’t believe your husband is so wonderful after all.”
“Oh, but he is,” said Psyche.
“Oh, but he is not!” said the other sister. “We’ve been to an oracle, and she said your husband is a loathsome, horrible monster! And, that’s why he won’t let you look upon him!”
“No! That’s not true!” cried Psyche.
“It is! And what’s more - he said he’s just waiting for you to have his child, and then he plans to kill you!”
"No! No!” Psyche wept.

But finally her sisters persuaded her that her husband was indeed a horrible monster; and they convinced her that in the night, she must hold a lantern above him - and then cut off his head.

In the dark, all was quiet, except for the sound of Cupid’s soft breathing as he slept. Psyche trembled as she slipped from their bed and fetched the oil lamp and knife she’s hidden earlier.

When she returned to bed, Psyche lit her lamp, and then slowly lifted it above Cupid’s head. She was stunned to see the flushed, shining face of Aphrodite’s son. Even her lamplight burned brighter with joy as it beheld the beautiful god.

In a daze, Psyche gently touched Cupid’s golden curls and his white, shining wings and his quiver of arrows. When she touched one of his arrows, she pricked herself - and fell deeply in love with the God of love. Psyche felt such rapture she nearly swooned to the floor. As she caught herself, a drop of oil fell from her lamp onto Cupid’s shoulder.

Cupid woke up. When he saw Psyche staring wide-eyed at him, holding a knife in her hand, a look of sadness crossed his face. “My love, were you afraid that I was a hideous monster?”

Before Psyche could answer, he said, “There can be no love if there is not trust. I will never come to you again.” And with those sad words, he started to fly away.

Crying out in grief, Psyche grabbed onto Cupid and clung to him as he soared high into the sky. But soon, overcome with weariness, she fell to the ground. Then she lay alone in the cold dark night, wishing she could die.

Thereafter, Psyche wandered the earth, searching for her lost husband. She didn’t know that Cupid was as sad as she; and that he lay in bed at his mother’s palace, wounded by his love for her. He even asked his slaves to torture him till unconscious; as he wasn’t able to bear the pain of Psyche’s separation.

Psyche desperately sought help from all the Gods and Goddesses, but none wished to incur the wrath of Aphrodite. Only Demeter, the Goddess of grain would give her counsel.

“Seek Aphrodite and beg her forgiveness,” Demeter advised, “for her son now lies in her palace, mourning for you. And Aphrodite tires of caring for him. Beg her to unite the two of you again.”

But Aphrodite let out a wild shriek when she saw Psyche humbly standing on her doorstep. The great Goddess ordered her handmaidens Trouble and Sorrow to fall upon the girl and tear her clothes and pull her hair.
When the dreadful attack was over, Aphrodite smiled at Psyche who lay trembling on the ground. “Now, you want to see my son? Don’t you know he loathes you and wishes to never lay eyes upon you again? Really, you are such a plain and unfortunate creature; I almost take pity upon you. Perhaps I should train you to be more fitting for a God.”

Aphrodite then gave Psyche a task to perform. She led the girl to a store house filled with grains of many kinds. “Sort all these by evening,” she said. And with that, she disappeared.

As Psyche stared hopelessly at the piles of barley, lentils, and poppy seeds, an amazing thing began to happen. An army of ants assembled; and within minutes, waves of ants crawled up the piles of grain. Each ant carried one tiny seed at a time - until all the seeds were sorted in three different piles.

When Aphrodite returned at nightfall, she flew into a rage. “Someone has helped you!” she shrieked. “In the morning I demand you complete another task!” Then Aphrodite threw Psyche a piece of hard black bread and left her to sleep on the cold threshing floor.

The next morning, Aphrodite pushed Psyche out into the rosy dawn. “Go to the pasture beside the flowing stream!” the goddess said. “There live the fierce rams with the golden wool. Gather some of their fleece - and then you might be a person worthy of my son’s love.”

Psyche stood by the flowing stream that bordered the pasture where the wild rams grazed. As she watched the beasts fight with one another, she knew she could never get near the wool without being killed. She felt such despair she wanted to drown herself in the stream.

But then a green swaying reed began to whisper melodically, “Do not slay yourself, Psyche. Nor approach those terrible sheep. In the noonday heat, when the sheep are napping, slip into the pasture and pick the golden wool that clings to the sharp briars and thorny bushes.”

At noontime when the drowsy rams lay down for a nap, Psyche crossed the stream and crept into the pasture. And within a short time, she had gathered all the golden wool that clung to the twigs and briars.

When Aphrodite saw Psyche’s wool, she smiled bitterly, “Someone must be helping you,” she said, and gave her yet another task. This time she wanted Psyche to fill a crystal goblet with icy mountain water from the mouth of the Stygian river.

Psyche took the goblet from Aphrodite and began climbing the craggy rocks of the mountain. But when she got near the top, she realized this was the worst task yet, for the rocks near the mouth of the river were hopelessly steep and slippery. Just as she decided to fling herself off the mountain, an eagle flew over.

“Wait!” the eagle cried. “Give me the crystal goblet, and I will fly to the mouth of the black river and get water for you!”
Psyche gave her goblet to the eagle and he held the vessel tightly with his fierce jaws as he flew to the mountain peak. After he’d filled the vessel and returned it to Psyche, she carried the dark water back to Aphrodite.

When Psyche handed the goblet to Aphrodite, the goddess accused her of being a sorceress. Then she gave Psyche the cruelest task of all: she ordered her to carry a box to the underworld and ask Queen Prosperina for a small portion of her beauty.

Psyche knew this was the end, for she would never gain the courage to descend to the underworld, the terrifying land of the dead. With great despair, she climbed to the top of a high tower and prepared to hurl herself to her death.

But just as she was about to jump, the tower spoke: “What cowardice makes you give up now, Psyche be kind to yourself, and I will tell you how to reach the underworld and how to succeed in your quest.”

After she promised not to kill herself, the tower told Psyche how to travel to the land of the dead. “Take two coins and two pieces of barley cake,” the tower said. “A lame donkey driver will ask you for help, but you must never refuse him.

“Then give one coin to Charon, the ferryman, and he will take you across the river Styx to the underworld. As you cross the water, the groping hand of a dying man will reach out to you, but you must turn away. You must also refuse to help three women weaving the threads of fate.”

“When you come to Cerberus, the three-headed watchdog that guards the palace doors, give him a barley cake, and he will be friendly to you. Do all of this again on your way out. But most importantly, when you carry the box of beauty from Prosperina back to Aphrodite, do not open it - whatever you do, do not open the beauty box!”

Psyche did as the tower told her, until finally she had secured the box of beauty from Prosperina, queen of the dead. Then she repeated her actions as she left the underworld. She gave Cerberus a cake on the way out of the palace; she gave Charon a coin to take her across the river Styx; and she refused to stop for any who tried to ensnare her with cries for help.

But when Psyche was close to Aphrodite’s palace, a burning curiosity overtook her. She was dying to open the box and use a small portion of Prosperina’s beauty.

Psyche gingerly lifted the lid of the box. But she did not find the beauty inside - instead, she found a deadly sleep; and as the sleep overtook her, she crumpled to the road.
Meanwhile Cupid had escaped out of the window of his palace room; and as he was flying over the earth, searching for Psyche, he saw her lying unconscious beside the road.

Cupid hastened down to her and quickly gathered the sleep from her body and closed it back inside the box. Then he woke Psyche with a kiss.

Before Aphrodite could catch them, Cupid lifted Psyche from the ground and carried her high into the heavens to Mount Olympus to the home of Zeus, God of the skies; and he bid Zeus to officially marry them.

After Zeus got Cupid and Psyche married, all of Mount Olympus celebrated the couple - except for Aphrodite, of course. She raged about for weeks. But within a year, the aging Goddess became the grandmother of a beautiful baby girl named Bliss.

Yeah...that’s a charming mythological love story worth knowing....is it not…?

But does it really happen in REAL life…? Guess NO…