This is my humble commentary on that matchless Middle Eastern and Indian story-book “One Thousand and One Nights”. Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's symphonic suite of the same name is the perfect musical accompaniment!
Tell me, Scheherazade, how you fled
the evil emir like a bleeding lion,
his twisting, vengeful face now full with
requieted lust; your wisdom shines
with light that consumes you in your triumph.
Are you easy in your fantastic finery? Do you
ache for the poor thousand, gone in rage
before you, one each day, twelve seasons past?
Will your poésie, your arts and reason finally betray you,
Oh Queen of a thousand stories?
I see the new day's dawning loom
over the prayer hall's crescent; can this
be an age when all fantasies
coagulate in earthly doom, rent apart
by insanity's aural gleam?
Scheherazade, tell your stories once more
for your worldy servant-dancers;
let the Boléro's artful gifts flood silent
as a sunset into your rich, red soul;
fleet of mind, fragile as silken lace.