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The tamarisk tree shelters a sleeping form whose slumber is deep,The afternoon sun causes dark shadows about him to eerily creep,A peacock calls out a warning and it leaps up high onto a roof,Looking down warily towards the scene yet remains calmly aloof.

The shining plumage green and blue dazzles against the stone,An imperial bird with no known home and claim to no throne,How like the young Prince whose turban is of the same hue,And whose mountain city is forgotten to all save a silent few.

Warm rock soaks in the heat and makes a shimmering humid air,Pungent smells of cooking with spices vivid entice and snare,They pull you towards them promising mouth watering delight,Floating on the breezes from dawn till dusk and into the night.

The Prince in his dreams smiles at the odours that reach him,Herbs blending with the gardens oleander and sweet jasmine,His stomach rumbles faintly and he turns over and wakes,To find that the ground too from its stupor suddenly shakes.

The tremor causes dust from the walls to float in eddies now,A thousand tiny whirlwinds that sweep up anxiety somehow,They are happening more often but his city is resilient and true,It has weathered worse and when enemies fell it slowly grew.

His palace with its golden roofs and temples to most unseen,Crumbled last year and fell down the cliffs into the ravine,So he sleeps in what is left of the grounds and buildings old,There is enough to keep him safe from the heat and cold.

His dark eyes are like the blackness of the caves close by,There is little of his soul reflected in the window of his eye,But his mouth speaks volumes with the curve of his smile,And his voice is as deep and hypnotic as the flow of the Nile.

Dark skin gleams as if oiled and kept in perfect health,His body is sleek and perfect for both love and stealth,

And he relishes both with equal abandon and playful zeal,For he values life more precious when it makes you feel.

He has read copious volumes from the ancient library crypt,Been taught the stars and histories and enjoyed all of it,But to him life is about experiences and seeing for himself,And he yearns to travel and not lay idle like dust on a shelf.

So you may wonder what keep him anchored to this spot,If you think its family or honour or even duty it is not,For it is the root of all joy and pain this thing called love,His prayers pay homage to it as he looks to clouds above.

Her lips kiss the cheek of her father who depends on her,Wisps of her unique long pure white hair billow and stir,And play on the hearts of the men she loves forever,A guilty parent and a lover as relentless as the weather.

The Prince has left again a tiny red flower upon her pillow,She has hung another prayer on a cloth tied to the willow,For she cannot leave her father behind as he is too ill to go,If only answers would come before the next quake or snow.

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Bound to the duty of caring for the man who gave her life,Passing up the opportunity to seek new places and be a wife,Having love tear her slowly as surely as if from limb to limb,Knowing if she goes one half lives and another dies with him.

She is a beauty once seen only enhanced with her absence,A young woman with pale skin and aroma of frankincense,Golden eyes show the glint of her inner resolve and strength,Despite her gentle pace she will for love run to any length.

Her hands are blistered from hard work and long hours toil,She tills the small plateau beds with their rich dark soil,Cooks and cleans and turns to any way to make her way,She has no time for regrets or worrying what others may say.

The Prince shares with her all he has and all he can make,But there is little on the mountains left to give or take,Only those who travel can make their fortune and leave,He cant bare to leave her behind as each would sorely grieve.

So they are pressed to each other wrapped in eternal embrace,Beneath the pomegranate tree with tears on their face,And kisses of forlorn passion and hopes to comfort them,Whilst butterflies swirl from weeping heads of every plant stem.

And her father feeling the shame of guilt and burden of love,Repeats over and over a mantra to give her a final shove,And set her forward to her own destiny better than this,He prays for courage and sees in his heart what she will miss.

A tear rolls free and he feins strength he does not possess,Hes been posioning his own meals slowly so she wont guess,And he can feel his veins trying to cope with the stress,Until one day he falls into her arms and bloodies her dress.

The crimson trail from his mouth spills onto the floor,She runs from the house in alarm and trips at the door,

Her head hits a rock and a crunch of splintered bone falls,And is lost to the warning of the frantic peacocks calls.

If he had gone and left them then they would have been spared,If she had gone with him then they two as one would be paired,Now one survives and two die for the lack of making decision,His life is tortured by a love that will not come to fruition.

Hawks saw on the currents and look resplendent in their flight,And the Prince gathers his belongings and takes to the night,Each footstep harder than the last he presses ever on,Every heartbeat taunts him he survives but she is gone.

Can you live the dream for two when only one heart feels it,Or see the flame of love grow strong when still not lit,Can all seem as real when only one lives the dreams of two,Or share the warmth alone when embers are but residue?

Time is the healer and mender of hearts though all changes,The Prince walks the lower valleys and high mountain ranges,He follows his heart where it calls to him to go and to see,It brings him solace and heals the hurt of what was never to be.

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And as he lays sleeping years later as the sun bathes him,He remembers and smiles at memories less painful and dim,Recalls the good parts and surpresses the heartache of bad,Smiles in his dreams at a love that made him happy and glad.

In a crack on the rock by his face shining in the light,A handful of tiny red flowers bend to left and right,And brush against his cheek as if to kiss him tenderly,A pillow for his head the gift of love returned gently.