They are a rose-colored symphony, 
these cherry blossoms, 
they embrace the wind in dead hours of the day  
and converse with clouds, 
almost as though exchanging chronicles  
to and fro– I daresay  
there is a passage regarding my muted gold past  
somewhere inside leaf and sepal. 

I was mortal and strangely so, born 
to the primordial Gods, 
there wasn’t an inch of land or sky that didn’t 
recognize me,
I had the unrelenting need to cup beautiful 
chaos of chaste stars in my palms, 
and amble aimlessly in wheat fields after sundown. 

I was told to be beautiful,  
bottle blond wavy hair styled loose, in front  
of shoulders, they were a bit longer  
than I’d have liked, but it was in vogue back then, 
are you listening, Poetess? 
I glance up and smile innocently, “Yes I am, go on.” 

Medusa gave me an icy look and continued with her  
story, I needed to keep her occupied  
so that Pan, god of nature, could finish collecting  
samples from the great black ocean, 
one, which was rumored to be the elixir of youth. 
I wasn’t keen on growing old anytime soon.  

She opened her mouth to speak and for a  
moment I forgot as to why I was there 
in the first place, 
for what followed, could only have been described 
in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, I was mesmerized. 
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be  
different, Poetess? 
Eyes as opium, I was born on the wrong side 
of the algorithm, 
with robes that were made purely of green chiton, 
unlike my sisters. 
I loved the sea, unfortunately which is what led  
me to my misfortune.” 

‘Does it bother you, knowing that Poseidon  
wasn’t condemned by Athena? 
To my surprise, Medusa chuckles and helps 
herself to a few autumn olives. 
“Don’t be so naïve, Poetess! Do you truly believe 
me to be incompetent? 
Why do you think I altered the ocean’s capability 
to revert a human back to youth?” 

And just like that, I am jolted back to my senses, 
the ocean … what! So, was all this for nothing? 
Medusa glares and spits fire, for at that moment 
my tongue betrays and slightly  
Mongolian features give away the plot; 
I hold on to double-edged sword and prepare for 
battle, some things never change.  





Photo credits: Rural path leading to severe misty mountain, Pexels. 

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