AMPAT VARGHESE KOSHY

AMPAT VARGHESE KOSHY

A Window Story

Part 1

The mirror cracked but the lady of Shalott

Did not die, she rose anon

She walked to the window and leaned out

Passing by was the bold Sir Lancelot

Part 2

"She made three paces thro' the room

....

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot"

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

.... down from Camelot."

....

She saw him from her window there

"'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

Sang Sir Lancelot."

"...Lancelot mused a little space

He said, "she has a lovely face.

'God in His mercy' has 'lent her grace'

The Lady of Shalott"

Part 3

She waved at him as he went by

In her hand, a wisp of lace

Sir Lancelot slowed down his steed's pace

The extent of her interest to trace

Her body leaned out from the arch

He could see her to the waist

Her cheek was pink, her blush no waste

Upon the air it fell, so chaste

'What' chivalrous 'heart could' her 'despise'?

He blew her a kiss, that softly fell

She felt, upon her bosom's cleft

"A sight to dream of, not to tell"

"I wish I was that window, fair

Maiden of this town," he cried

"I would have thee ever led

To lean on it and thus be wed

To a picture, fair as a dream

Ever, thy black hair fluttering."

She who had just escaped her dread weaving

Felt alarmed, was there no escaping

Up the stairs came Sir Lancelot

Behind her, as she looked down

From her sight, he had gone

His arms embraced the maid lovelorn

Forlorn for all these many years

Weaving her web, watching in the mirror her tears

His plume tickled her neck and removed her fears

She turned back from the window's frames.

Part 4

He gave her wings, she learned to fly

Far into the distant sky, through the window of delight

Away from the mirror, and bold Sir Lancelot

Away from the town of Camelot

The Lady of Shalott.

Note:  have used 13 lines, a half-line, and a phrase lines from Tennyson to rewrite a story that I felt should have been, long ago. My words are the frame and Tennyson's lines are what you see when you look out through that window. This was written on a prompt given by Agnivesh Mahapatra in TSL

(References also to Gray and Coleridge.)

Proud To Be All Woman

She stands before the mirror

She lets her clothes fall

She lets her hair loose

Rich clusters of black snakes

Tumble down, open

Her shoulders are shapely

Her skin glows in the light

She hefts her bust to hold it straight

Her hands go to her thighs

She turns sidewards to see herself

Her back, her bum, her legs

The clothes lie in a heap from which

Out peep her two soft feet

She is altogether petite

She is altogether strange

Her eyes look back at her, smiling

She is a ripe orange

She stands there, moving now and then

She is her own star

She is her own universe

The moon, the earth, green grass

Spellbound by her self

She forgets all her cares

She loves herself just as she is

Naked as a child

She wonders at the power

That created her

She wonders at her own power

Pulsing at her sight

Not in her reflection

But in her flesh and bones

That is mutely echoed

By that silver door

That is there in front of her

She caresses her self

For one last time, and she sighs

Then stoops to pick up her clothes

Even then she is smiling

Watching in the mirror

Her cleavage and her fruit-like paps

When suddenly, dark falls

Then all she sees is a glimmer

A glimmer and a shimmer

All she sees is her beauty

Veiled, in the mirror again

In the light of the dark

In the shining night

There is no single stutter

Nothing in her falters

When the dark swallows her

She is still whole

She is always whole

Based on a prompt given by TSL’s Lopa Banerjee on the Mirror

Hear My Cry

(Based on Donatello’s Sculpture of Mary Magdalene)

Hear my cry, O Lord

Attend unto my prayer

I came from Magdala, a city a bit far

to Capernaum, where the lilies grow

By mischance, I fell into the hands of a rogue

who took my virginity, promising marriage

and then, sold me for a whore to a brothel

where I was made

to sink into the pits of all debauchery

Men came and did to me all they wanted

to, in their perverted minds

and my heart

dark grew, I cursed them

You know one such as I

feels that she is to blame for their acts

for permitting it, for some bread, and some wine

to bring forgetfulness, as to what they the next day will do to you

I have lost all

and am lost now

lost my beauty, youth, lost everything to men

They say I am possessed and oft I fly into a rage

and no one can control me

then weep like one demented

Then I become depressed and speak no word

but after a while they come and rape me again, shamefully

Lost and wretched, I tried oft to end my life

but they keep me alive for their filthy profit, vile

I heard tell of thee, Rabbi, that you are one

who accepts all

the sinner and the damned

so I have come

with nothing in my hands

to give to thee my all

with nothing but these pangs

Will you also turn away

or are you also bad?

I stand before thee, frightening

to look at, that I know

but you do not know how frightened

I am that you will go

You also will leave me

You are my last hope

They speak of me with dread

They speak of you with hate

We are well met

Don't go, reach out, touch me,

forgive me, make me feel

at least once a human

as when I was a child, again

heal me, and I will follow thee

Though all men forsake thee

I will not, I am a woman

I will be your shadow

And in it, you will gain

the strength you've never known

I know you are the one

who will become more than most

If you will take me in

I will be found, no longer lost.

Inspired by an ekphrastic prompt given by Sunita Singh of Donatello’s sculpture Mary Magdalene

AMPAT VARGHESE KOSHY

AMPAT VARGHESE KOSHY: Dr. Koshy A.V. is presently working as an Assistant Professor in the English Department of Jazan University, Saudi Arabia. He has many books, degrees, diplomas, certificates, prizes, and awards to his credit and also, besides teaching, is an editor, anthology maker, poet, critic and writer of fiction. He runs an autism NPO with his wife, Anna Gabriel.