At the hour when daylight loosens
its grip
and the sky bruises itself purple,
I find Hades seated
upon a throne of silence.
The dead drift around him like ash
in slow water,
yet, his gaze settles on me alone.
He tilts his crown of darkness
and says, “So. You are the one whose name
keeps reaching my halls.”
I give him my name. He rolls it
over his tongue
as though weighing a forgotten oath.
The underworld hushes to listen.
A thousand shades lean from their forgetting.
Then he smiles—
a small, dangerous thing.
“I expected something grander.”
“And I expected a taller god,” I reply.
The dead gasp.
A ferryman drops his oar.
Somewhere in the distance, a Fury laughs.
Hades rests his chin upon one hand, amused.
“Bold.
What do you know of the underworld?”
“I know it’s overrated,” I say.
“I know your rivers smell of old grief,
your judges enjoy the sound of their own voices,
and your shades
spend centuries perfecting the art of sighing.”
A murmur sweeps through the crowd.
One ghost looks personally offended.
His eyes gleam. “And what do you know of me?”
The question settles between us, heavy as lead.
I study him:
the keeper of endings,
the lord no one prays to until it is too late,
the one who wears loneliness
like another layer of royal clothing.
“Enough,” I say.
“Enough to know you pretend not to care
that every story paints you as a villain.”
His smile disappears.
Then, unexpectedly, he lets out a chortle.
A deep sound, ancient as the roots of a mountain.
The dead shuffle nervously.
“You are either wise or just plain foolish,” he says.
“The distinction grows thinner each century.”
I bow with exaggerated elegance.
“Then I am immortal already.”
His eyes narrow. “Careful.”
The word strikes like iron against stone.
Yet there is mirth in it.
A challenge.
The sort that rises between two blades
before either one leaves its sheath.
I smile. “You ask what I know of
the underworld.
I know this much: the dead are watching,
your court is bored,
and if you keep insulting my name,
I will meet you
at dawn beyond dark waters—
sword, spear, or wit— your choice.”
For the first time in centuries,
the underworld holds its breath.
Photo credits: Pinterest
I will be reading this one on Saturday 🍵
Posted for Open Link Night #410 (with Live Edition) @dVerse Poets Pub
10 Responses
Love the storytelling here, and how you end by leaving us wishing for an end that never comes.
Thank you so much, Bjorn 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
You kept me enthralled and that description of his laugh: “ancient as the roots of a mountain” – wonderful!
I love that you wrote such an engaging narrative poem, Sanaa, the way you set the scene in the opening lines, and the creepiness of the image of the dead drifting ‘like ash in slow water’. I love the exchange in these lines:
‘Then he smiles—
a small, dangerous thing.
“I expected something grander.”
“And I expected a taller god,” I reply’
and the reactions from the Underworld. I smiled at ‘one ghost looks personally offended’.
Thank you so much, my dear Kim 😍 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
Oh for such a champion to take the beast on with whatever weapon of choice. Right now I rely on laughter to vanquish the rotting corpse that sits on the throne.
Great storytelling of an epic showdown, Sanaa!
Thank you so much, Lisa 🥰 so glad it resonated with you! 💄❤️
Wow!
I like the way you take it to him, proper. Well done and amazingly beautiful story and poem, such great work!! 🙏
What a lovely and fantasical exchange. I got caught up and got goosebumps in the end!