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A merchant who exported exotic flowers to the Far East in the Eighties became very rich but a volcano in one part of the globe suddenly erupted. The ash from a volcano in Iceland ruined the merchant in Aleppo.
Al Ahmedia had three daughters. They were Razia and Nafeeza and Ayesha was the youngest.
Ayesha was also called Beauty.
The two elder sisters were counting on marrying some one who was rich and famous. Of course one thought Sultan of Borneo would be her ideal choice. The other wanted one from Saudi royal family. But their father’s sudden misfortune came in a most inconvenient time.
The world and hopes of Ayesha the youngest didn’t go beyond the four walls of her home. Her father was laid low by his reversal of fortunes and he needed all her attention.
Razia and Nafeeza the elder daughters set the trends in fashion and were the darlings of the society. At home they found Ayesha an easy target. So every day they sniped and made her look silly.
They showed her natural beauty at disadvantage, which was taken up by the press. Luckily Beauty had no time for anything else than keeping a home for her father and her sisters.
She was Beauty in looks and in deeds.
One fine morning word reached Hajji Al Ahmedia that he could get compensation from FEIECF (Far East Importer and Exporter Compensatory Funds) for losses he had incurred. He had to go to Malaysia. Before he left he asked his children what they wanted from Penang. Razia wanted a bird of paradise and Nafeeza, an urang utang. Beauty wanted just a rose. Al Ahmedia took the first plane and reached the office in Penang. He met the right people and they assured they would settle the matter. But the matter dragged on over some lacunae in the law of the land.
After days of fruitless discussion it was clear he was wasting his time. So one day he decided to return home. That evening he set out to his hotel. He took a short cut and lost his way.
While walking through winding pathways hedged by lush greenery of some tropical paradise he was straying farther into a wild part of the town. By night he came in front of a decrepit villa that was evidently the mad folly of rubber and tin baron. It was shuttered for some hundred years.
To his utter amazement as soon as he climbed the steps the villa came to life. The shutters opened by itself. The macaques and marmots that ran through the rotting timbers became men. As the tired merchant reached the top of the steps there were men to receive him.
It was as they had orders from high and they fell to their tasks
Instantly. The servants in their sarongs and with headbands entertained the guest with food and music. Silently they brought salvers of fruits and food steaming hot and they served him on banana leaves. While in the background musicians played musical intstruments to rest the weary soul of the merchant. Al Ahmedia thanked Allah for his beneficence and ate. He slept on a cot carved out of rosewood inlaid with mother of pearl and ivory.
Next morning he woke up and as he climbed down the steps he found his magnificent villa reverting to its former state.
He knew he had slept the night in an enchanted villa.
Thanking the most merciful Allah for preserving him from all danger he walked on. At the gate he saw a perfect rose peeping out from a nearby rosebush. He plucked it. Ah the flower started bleeding. From somewhere he heard a whisper angry and piteous. It soon became a low moan and steadily it grew in volume to become a shriek.
The rose went on dripping blood, human blood.
Suddenly the cry stopped and instead a voice asking,’ For my hospitality is this how you pay back?’
The merchant looked around. There was no one. He was still holding on to the rose and it dripped blood. The voice from nowhere said,’ Why kill me when there were millions of rose bushes nearby?’
The merchant stood up and saw it was indeed so.
The unknown host was right. He furiously wondered in what way he could make amends. But how with a dying rose in his hands? Blood was making a trickle along his hands and along the red dust.
‘If I die the curse will be on you and your descendents.’ The voice went on and the merchant heard footsteps coming closer. The Voice spoke, ’You did evil and you must make amends.’
He asked what he wanted him to do. ‘Your life!’
The merchant hesitated.
He heard the voice ask, ‘Do you have people at home?’
‘I have three daughters at home.’
The Voice asked if any one of them would in his stead come to his rescue. The merchant said perhaps his youngest daughter might take his place.
‘What is her name?’
‘Beauty’
The blood of the merchant went cold to hear to disembodied laughter. It was pure fear that hit him.
‘I am the Beast.’ said the Voice. He added, ‘Go in peace but bring Beauty to me.’
The merchant promised to try. Before he left the Voice said that he would be dying inch by inch and if he delayed beyond two weeks his curse would begin to work. The merchant quaked in his shoes.
Al Ahmedia went home and told his daughters of his fearful encounter with the Beast.
Beauty was willing to save her father and also the Beast. Within ten days the merchant took Beauty to the enchanted villa.
The Voice sounded relieved and permitted him to leave. The merchant was glad to have got out of the villa in one piece.
Beauty remained alone in the hall, and she heard footsteps. She turned and saw a man instead of a beast.
He sighed and said she was deceived to think he was normal like others, ‘I am the Beast’ While Beauty stood speechless he said,’ I am damned unless you can love me on your own free will.’
Beauty could not believe. She somehow felt right at home and in control of the situation. She felt pity and as she came closer.
It was the Beast who was in panic. He said, ‘don’t come near me. I am the Beast.’
She saw his eyes were in pain and in tears she felt as though he were a creature as she.
‘Oh Beast, you are crying.’
‘Shall not a beast cry?’
‘But your tears are like mine.’ She was surprised.
She heard him gasp.
‘Oh, you are in pain!’
The Beast nodded.
She asked him to repeat after her. ‘If I can feel pain I can also feel happiness.’ He did as was told. She said many things that they had in common and he obliged her repeating. In the end she said, ‘I am a woman.’
To this the Beast answered,’ And I am the Beast.’
She went closer to the beast. She felt his broad shoulders and saw that everything which, a man was expected to have was there. ‘You are a paragon of manhood’ she said very much relieved.


The Beast suddenly slouched over his seat and wept. He said, ‘Beauty you don’t understand. I have no heart. I am a beast.’
Beauty said, ‘Beast? I don’t understand what you mean. And I have a heart for the two of us.’
‘How do you know?’
I grew up, Love, among those had no hearts either. They were not called beasts’. She was sure that as far as she could see he was in no way worse than her sisters and other people with whom she had to live.
She drew him to her side and kissed his hand in reverence.
‘What is your name?’
‘The Beast.’
‘No it is not!’ she was emphatic.
He replied’ Sultan Razak al Bashir.’
Something snapped then and there.
Lo the whole enchanted villa became a mansion on stilts. The rot and rack of two hundred years of neglect had been erased. In its place stood a mansion meant to be made a home. Ayesha said,’Razak, you and I are going to live here and give a try to raise our children. In this very spot.’
Razak the Beast had a glint in his eye, ‘You make it sound as though it is possible.’
‘You don’t?’
‘Beauty, you make me also believe it is possible.’
They settled down to make a home straightaway.
benny

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My version:
Desire and Love

Desire is bound as free an idea love is,
As free to go as the earth anywhere as wind;
But bound as she is to solid earth there is
Desire shaped something solid
And always dreading the void;
It’s at loss for abstractions, of love for its sake:
The roiling mad sea to its depths would shake-
Love must be what runs it, lo and behold
Through very pulse of low and high tide.
(Love winks in the waning of the moon
And leaves the sea to tumultuous distraction.)
Desire the oil when dropt calms the sea
Though it has lost the hold, the rede.
benny

Bond and Free

Love has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about–
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Thought has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

On snow and sand and turn, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With straining in the world’s embrace.
And such is Love and glad to be
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,
Till day makes him retrace his flight
With smell of burning on every plume,
Back past the sun to an earthly room.

His gains in heaven are what they are.
Yet some say Love by being thrall
And simply staying possesses all
In several beauty that Thought fares far
To find fused in another star.

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In a painted outline I could paint
With crimson red,vermilion,- and
My bleeding heart is still paint
A likeness for my love, a sign.
Love that we shared for each year
Isn’t something you daub and make
Almost a clever jobbery of love!
Be my valentine,wife and lover
My companion at arms.
You made the bed and I plumped
the pillows from sacrilege
Of a snooze gone haywire;
You made the dinner and I heaped
the plates rinsed and dried
In their places just as you called
neatness isn’t something
A man need be ashamed.
Your foibles became my own
suited you rather fine
With no rancor or jibes
You walked your hand in mine
Through sleet snow, and grime
And we thought the wind did something
A passing halo of lightness over
the relentless chime of hours
To give us certain lightness
In spirit,- an afterglow.
Be my valentine my love
Of two hearts making a go
Of their lives under blankets
And by the kitchen sink
the color of a painted sign
Can hardly match, be my valentine.

benny

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chorus:
Nine muses are we here and shall we
Follow the god’s errands too closely
Or dismiss man’s unceasing toil
As raking the muck, not worth our while?
We hold golden hours and our graces
Though pared to days, hours, minutes
Is whole and complete in itself:
Numberless combs add drops from hive
Honey fit for the gods and yet for the bee’s fame,
Never was it intended but for itself.
Poetry of the earth, Oh music, man pieces together
As history, make-believe world of theatre
Everything, are our invention pure and simple
But all these he makes his own from example,
Nature, the wise Counsel has it decreed.
We see ourselves in his mirror as altered
That keeps our immortal fame sure.
His whole existence from words, phrases-
We muses in turn with fame adorn;
And we are this moment on the wings
Awaiting Priam’s son who has had
The messenger god and how shall he attend
What gods themselves have failed?

Paris:
This whole business of presenting the golden apple
Is feigned as this shepherd’s crook, a royal son
Who must strike a pose a humble rustic before all.

(The Three Graces reveal themselves and in one voice:)

This apple is pure gold: we note with delight
The mighty Zeus has found your youth apt
To choose one of us than we over it fight.

Paris:
If Supreme God has youth as his Councillor
This world would wear green in and out of season
And old age over fate, or their lot complain never.

Hera:
Come youth, your rustic form and speech please me;
I who overlord the hearth deign for the price of the apple
The nod from gods as equal for your sagacity.

Athene Pallas:
I am wisdom complete and from Zeus sprang full blown
To raise you for the price of this golden orb
Above every artifice of war that man may call his own.

Aphrodite:
Need I speak more than show this ear lobe
That under touch gives more than any worldly pleasure
you may possess or recall, accord me this fruity orb.

Paris:
Of the Three Graces I am sure to win undying disfavor
From two, of which one is enough to damn me.
Hera, O Keeper of the hearth, Power like the fire
Left to itself shall end in ashes,- and mightly
You must keep at it and for what? Such Might you favor
Shall prove the soot and grime beneath man’s dignity.
What Glory makes one master o’er another or speak of service?
I know the lie of mortal existence where the lord
Is caught in the gin with his varlet, his fame is his vice
Become with death: each pay Charon the same, by accord;
So I shall leave Mastery to the lesser mortals and choose
Love that conjures up an antidote to our servile existence,
Laughing at Death and Pleasure over glory or Power
I a Man must hold the power of love that flows out o’ itself ever.

Chorus:
What followed is Judgment of Paris
In that a kingdom lost not for loveliness
Of Helen or of wanton lust of the blood
That made the Priam’s son lose his head.
Judgment of Paris was the way forward
When three Graces tempted the son
And lo dispossessed by a vision-
Cassandra spoke too well, and Love
Was not his downfall but men who strove
For glory and Power were too violent.
benny

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These days have been trying for me. A good friend of mine of some 50 years standing lost his only son. He was 38 years and suffered from autism, – a severe case at that,and was put in a group home which he seemed to like. Weekends he would come home and splurge on things he had a yen for. I know how his disability put demands on the entire family and my friend was life long concerned for his well being. He is devastated and in this it has affected me as well. I know he shall pull through from his bereavement but till he is able to give a place in his heart for the loss he will have to deal with it as a father losing his only son. Love means the ability to suffer and if it is a good thing or bad thing I do not know. It is a sign of our strength and also our humanity that we are not proof to shocks and taunts of our mortality. Friendship also is bare and vulnerable.
benny

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This day happens to be a special day for me. So many years ago I sent on this day a letter to my pen pal with whom I was corresponding in my school days. In the first instance my pen pal from Netherlands wrote about her country and her friends, farm-life. I wrote about books, films and usual things about my country college life. Soon it progressed from there to speak about personal things- what I want in life; and we soon were talking such things about love and soul. It came to a state I was all eager on the day her letter was due. My days in school or at home for holidays were emotionally built around the day. Postman was our patron saint. During my final year I was thus looking forward to the day I could tear open her letter read or look at the enclosed snapshots- read it all over and over again. My love-sickness must have been so loud and clear that alarmed my mother. Anyway she got the crucial letter in which we had written our plans. Next morning during family prayer my father clearly vetoed my idea of going abroad or meeting my ‘girlfriend.’ In his eyes I was harboring foolish notions!
The upshot of it was that we went separate ways and I made a disastrous marriage with the blessings of my parents. It reached a point I knew it was beyond salvage and I wrote to my pen pal on the address I knew from memory. Some 23 years ago I sent this letter to the winds so to speak. After that I forgot about it. She did send me reply by return post. Her reply was however confiscated by my ex. It looked as though history was repeating itself!
Luckily my pen pal wrote second time, her address and phone and four months later when I came home for lunch I found it on my table. ( Who did it my servants or my daughter or some assistant in the beauty salon ex was running from home. I never tried to find it out.) The same day I sent a letter to my wife who was free for so many years. We could chat for long in long-distance. I got a chance to go to the USA so I made it a point to meet her on my return trip. From the day one it was as though we were meant for each other.
I could turn my life around and make a soul happy and also find happiness.
On thinking back I realized one can never hold back love or happiness. Both were in our hands. My pen pal, wife and companion had matured as I was from experience. Making love in our case was physical as well as each day making love work in so many things. My old age is a dream come true and my childhood not a nightmare-but- somewhat-near-abouts.

benny

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‘Life is full of riches, and of sweetness that in giving flows back to who shall care to possess it, and of love that in giving without strings attached, grows exponentially and surrounds the giver and the given as one. It is all ours. How come then we want to make riches as our be all and end of our life’s expectations?’
benny

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Sick Love- Robert Graves(1895- 1985)

O Love, be fed with apples while you may,
And feel the sun and go in a royal array,
A smiling innocent on the royal causeway,

Though in what listening horror for the cry
That soars in outer blackness dismally,
The dumb blind beast, the paranoiac fury:

Be warm, enjoy the season, lift your head,
Exquisite in the pulse of tainted blood,
That infirm passion is not to be despised.

Take your delight in momentariness,
Walk between dark and dark- a shining space
With the grave’s narrowness, though not its peace.
benny

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Lullaby-Y.B Yeats

Beloved, may your sleep be sound
That have found it where you fed.
What were all the world’s alarums
To mighty Paris when he found
Sleep upon a golden bed
That first dawn in Helen’s arms?

Sleep, beloved such a sleep
As did that wild Tristram know
When,the potion’s work being done,
Roe could run or doe could leap
Under oak and beechen bow,
Roe could leap or doe could run;

Such a sleep and sound as fell
Upon Eurotas’ grassy bank
When the holy bird, and there
Accomplished his predestined will,
From the limbs of Leda sank
But not from her protective care.

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