Red Sands Poetry
To my Ashake
How clever my love is with a lasso
She'll never need a kept bull
She lets fly the rope at me (from her dark hair)
Draws me in with her come hither eyes
Wrestles me down between her bent thighs
Branding me hers with her burning seal
(By Ptah, the fire from those thighs)
Rath, Scribe of Thebes
My Heart
Why just now must you question your heart?
Is it really the time for discussion?
To her, I say take me tight in your arms
For god's sake,sweet lady, my sister
It I coming towards you
My kilt loose at the waist!
Without Peer
This poem was written after Rath saw Ashake dance in the market place of Armana for the first time. Or when he introduced her to her mentor, Pentsuru. The translation is unclear.
My sister, my love, is one and only, without peer
lovely above all Egypt's lovely girls
On the horizon of my seeing, see her rise
Glistening goddess of the sunrise star
bright on the forehead of a lucky year
So there she stands, epitome
of shining, shedding light
Her eyebrows, gleaming darkly marking
eyes which dance and wander
Sweet are those lips, which speak
but never a word too much
And the line of the long neck, dropping
to young breasts firm in the bouncing light
which shimmers that long russet Ra shadowed side fall of hair
And shapely are those arms, over toned with moon kissed gold
those fingers which touch like a brush of lotus
And (ah) how the curve of her back slips gently
by a whisper of waist of god's plenty below
Such thighs as hers pass knowledge
of loveliness known is the old days
Dressed in the perfect flesh of woman
hearts would run captive to such wondrous arms
She ladies it over the earth
Schooling the neck of each schoolboy male
to swing on a swivel to see her move
He who could hold that body tight would know at
last perfection of delight
Best of beloveds, first among lovers
look you, all men, at that golden going,
the embodiment of Hathor-Isis-Maat made flesh,
like our Lady of Love, without peer.
Astray
One of Rath's song for Ashake. Translation is hazy but his gentle esteem is apparent.
Astray or captured all bear witness
to the skill consummate skill of the lady
Shrewd at her craft and perfected by heaven
her hand has the feel of new-blown lotus
Her breast the delicate scent of ripe berries
her arms twine like vinestems and tangle
And her face is a snare of fine wrought
silver moon kissed by Thoth
And I? Who am I in this recital?
The proverbial goose and my love it is lure me
tricked by her tasty bait
to this trap of my own ingenious imaginings
One and Only
This is one of the few surviving love poems Ashake wrote for Rath.
My always love, believe
desire is measured out to me as much as you
So let me do, dear heart, my heart's desire with you . . .
And I am in your arms
(But let me paint me eyes . .I beg you, to see you is a
shining dazzles them and I crave shade and shadow)
I curl against you, for I would know again the mastery by
which you prove
How well you love, past master of my heart
Remembering that hour--hushed and holy--
out of eternity a moment streaked to mark me
the night I slept with you
My eager heart leaps towards you now, Yes I'm the one
For him I love, in the night that belongs to us!
Darkness
This is the only entry Rath made in his journals after Ashake left Armana. No word on where she went exists. Nor why she left.
I love you through the daytimes, in the dark
Through all the long divisions of the night, those hours
I spend thrift, waste away alone, and lie and turn awake till
whitened dawn
And with the shape of you I people the night and thoughts of hot desire grow live within me
What magic was it that voice of yours to bring such singing
vigor to my flesh?
To limbs which now lie listless on my bed without you?
Thus I beseech the darkness: Where gone, O loving lady?
Where has my sister fled?
Why gone from he whose love can pace you, step by step to your desire?
No loving voice replies. And I (too well know) how much I am alone.
The papyrus ends here
poems E. Strong