Lufian, 3 Lais
The Knight
Born in a village, was a knight:
there was no equal, he was might.
His father declared, “Kazimir!
Kazimir punctures like a spear!”
Striking eyes sharper than a sword.
Blinding blue, the damsels were floored.
“Rise! Rise! Bare witness to my son!
Send! Send! The King! He is the one!”
With each coming blossom of spring,
weary skies replaced by white wings;
he rose and grew, rose to the sun.
Just as they thought the spurt was done,
spring knocked on the door with more gifts:
one lone finger to push whole cliffs.
Soon his village could no more hold,
a man so big, a man so bold.
They packed for journey: bread of crust
and warned him of weakening lust.
“Do not steer away from the throne,
remember son, you are alone.
There is room for one, on the chair,
do not scootch over, do not share.
Make your father’s dying wish true
for our glory is overdue.
Do what I failed to fulfill,
flourish the fire, do not kill”.
Because he did not need much force,
because he rode on a swift horse,
not before long there was the King;
acceptance like a lover’s ring.
Loyal was he, dedicated,
this need not to be persuaded.
No longer was spring required,
only what Father desired.
Reputation was consistent,
though the throne seemed a bit distant.
On sight, the damsels remained floored,
offered their beds to be explored.
Though he was always accepted,
he left them dry, dry: rejected.
You see since he was a mere child,
since he was taught to tame the wild,
his Father had said, “Drop the lust!”
His Father had said, “Don’t dare trust!”
Curiosity you can’t end
and it became his closest friend.
He caught the sight of her walking,
he heard the wisp of her talking.
Her hair spun of the softest silk,
her skin mirrored the whitest milk.
Her eyes blue only seen at sea,
lost in them, “She must come to me”.
Perhaps! The King’s daughter was key?
For all to bow instead to thee.
But he no longer seemed to care,
about the throne he should not share.
“My oh my! Who cares for the throne?
I do not want to die alone!”
Those damsels would stay on the ground,
she was the bone, he was the hound.
Kazimir followed her close by,
demanding answers to his whys.
His ears were perched to any sound,
making note of everything found.
Certain that she would love him back,
for it was he whom she had lacked.
Surprised not was the King to find,
that the knight had entered her mind.
She started being late to call,
distracted, looking at the wall.
“My child, my dear, do not fret,
a finer man to see I’ve yet.
Let love loose, lull it like a lamb,
sincere this suitor, not a scam.”
The knight overheard every word,
tweeting was the messenger bird.
He stood by her door, high up top,
until the talk had come to stop.
He trickled down the long staircase,
with an overtly faster pace.
Kazimir was flowing with joy:
the joy of the most little boy.
Possessed by this lively spirit,
He almost found himself near It.
The It he wondered why was kept,
who was now curled as he wept.
Since he was such a kind, kind, soul,
Kazimir kneeled down to the troll.
“Worry not! I’ll make sure you come!
You can dance, kick, and beat the drum.
Because everyone will be guest,
you must certainly dress your best!”
The Princess
Thumping loudly in the Queen’s arms,
born was she, protected from harms.
Thaddea, their one and only!
Thaddea, you won’t be lonely!
But promises are yet to last,
and as time past, and past, and past,
Thaddea accepted the truth:
she should have realized from youth.
When one is present in the court,
you’re either gossip or report.
Though not everything was taken,
birds still chirping as she waken.
She grasped the mere moments she had
to tell herself that she was glad.
Glad that spring was a loyal friend
who would return after the end;
to make the castle feel more bright,
to rock her into sleep at night.
Their hearts would thump into one song
so her days did not feel so long.
As Princess, she was known by all:
kingdom a dollhouse, she the doll.
The Queen would pick her up and steer,
following her father, “My dear”.
Thaddea thumped because she knew,
knew the conversation was due.
“Who shall sit on the throne with you?
Who will replace me? Time is due.
Dear let lust take you, call its name.
Do not feel fret, do not feel shame.
You are a lady, where’s your knight?
Call his name, sing into the night.”
“I will, I will, I will, I will,
climb atop a towering hill.
And sing like a sparrow in spring.
And hope he will knock with a ring.
I’ve promised you that he will come,
for the bird I have laid the crumb.
Soon he will peck to enter gate
embracing, expecting the fate.
Father dear I ask you to trust
that I am buoyant, I’m not rust.
Dust, dust, dust, will be tidied up.
His kettle will fill in my cup.
And I shall have not one but three,
sons to fill our family tree.”
The King had heard enough to sleep,
trusting the promise she would keep.
Have they not learned from their mistake?
Why Thaddea’s heart thumped with ache?
As she was crying to the moon,
melody sung, melody swoon.
Was this the made up chevalier?
The lie she told her father dear?
That there was someone on their way,
to distract him from his dismay.
She whispered as she lay in bed,
the thoughts kept quiet in her head,
“Spring, is it you who sings to me?
Although I love your company,
it would be cruel to act as love;
to trick me from there up above.
I wish someone would understand,
that I wish not to rule the land.
I simply want to read and write
and recite to the moon at night.
And if it's not too much to ask,
perhaps have arms where I can bask;
bask into without hearing clang
for I hate armor and the bang.
The bang of those who joust around,
expecting damsels on the ground.
The court has driven me away,
but my duties beg me to stay”.
The melody had come to end,
she knew it false: she knew pretend.
Only one month left of full bloom,
back to reeking of castle gloom.
She awoke as she had before:
blurry with tears, eyes thudding sore.
At least the birds were chirping loud,
ushering away the dark cloud.
But this was not another day,
a deer: a victim, she was prey.
For there was pecking on the gate,
she now had to accept the fate.
No not now! She was tired, too ill!
She wanted pen! She wanted quill!
She heard the King shout out with joy,
“There was a man, there was a boy!”
No, no, no, she needed a mask!
To appear busy! Find a task!
As she walked back 3 steps she found,
the jester there playing a sound.
“Jester please, as we stand here two
act like I am busy with you”.
Flustered was he, his skin a flush.
She did not word it right, in rush.
So instead, she started to speak,
“My chambermaid is feeling weak,
she is whiter than my bed sheet.
Since you bring laughs, since you are sweet,
follow me I shall lead you there.
Your amusement will give her air”.
For now she avoided the knight,
disappearing from father’s sight.
But as she led the jester out,
she heard his steps, she heard his shout,
“Dear, dear, dear, your promise came true!
Look who’s come, he’s in love with you!”
Behind him; though the armor shown,
thump, thump, thump, her heart turned to stone.
It appeared as if he did try,
to wash his hands, to hide his lie.
Red oozes and trickles on page.
Red flares up in eyes, bursting rage.
She found in him no good intent.
Not spring! God! He was devil sent!
His eyes were ice, numb of feeling.
His voice pierced, rats rummaged, squealing.
His skin a map of all his sin.
His stature large, a filthy grin.
Thaddea shrunk as father cooed,
“Thaddea this has burst my mood!
I thought I’d die leaving the throne,
with only you to sit alone.
But I’m sure you don't mind to scootch,
now give the chevalier a smooch!”
“Father, father, father, listen”
blue waves crashing, causing glisten,
“You and mother promised at birth,
protection on this planet earth.
But instead mother played the game,
to woo the kingdom, bask in fame.
Thaddea with your silly books!,
Thaddea mend your hair, your looks!
And you just sat atop your throne.
And you, I’m not a treat or bone,
for some hound to sniffle and bite,
to earn me in some jousting fight.
So if you want me to forgive,
keep the promise or I won’t live.”
“Now, now, now, I know this is new,
wedding day is long overdue!
The promise me and the queen made,
he has offered to have it paid.
Kazimir punctures like a spear!
No danger shall come close or near!
With every step he made to gate,
the castle walls shook from his weight.
With each obstacle I had set:
the ones no knight had conquered yet,
he walked through fire without pain.
He bent the metal of the chain.
And then there was the army, strong
but they did not hold up for long.
With one finger he knocked them down,
this caliber deserves the crown!”
Once father had spoken aloud,
a perfect princess would have bowed.
But Thaddea thudded away,
this was not the game she would play.
As she walked closer to relief,
thud, thud, thudding, panging of grief;
she recalled earlier that day,
she’d left the poor jester a stray.
Though she had lied about the maid,
maybe his songs would give her aid.
She would not mind to hear him sing,
lyrics pretty, lyrics of spring.
But the devil had other plans,
a fire burnt across her hands.
Behind her stood Kazimir, tall.
His stare causing her skin to crawl,
“From the very day I was born,
I made a promise, heart was sworn.
Fulfilling father’s legacy,
was all that was asked, begged of me.
Little bird try to fly, to flee,
but I’m a hound who’s mastered hunt.
Always the beast, never the runt.
To keep your father’s head in tact,
turn the prophecy into fact.”
The warning sunk into her skin,
as he turned with a crooked grin.
That night the King returned for more,
the news was awful, worse than war.
She tried to warn him of the beast,
the devil that could kill a priest.
But there's no use when he is blind,
for once she had not hoped to find.
As she stared blankly at her wall:
lifeless, no longer a new doll,
“My child, my dear, do not fret,
a finer man to see I’ve yet.
Let love loose, lull it like a lamb,
sincere this suitor, not a scam.”
What hurt her most, what hurt her best,
not the false promise nor the guest.
Was now when she would think of spring,
she would cry loud, no longer sing.
The Jester
“Lufian the looney, look there!
a ghost of man without a care!”
Who birthed such a lonesome creature?
No mother, father, or teacher.
I heard they dropped him by a lake.
I heard his mom was burnt at stake.
Lufian walked strumming his lute,
leaving the folk to their dispute.
Their voices were his background noise,
he was another of their toys.
You see the kingdom and the court,
had a way of treating his sort.
And by his sort I don’t mean fool,
towards the most brightest they were cruel
They loved to dampen any spark,
to dress their land in cloaks of dark.
What truly made the matters worse,
what tainted every line and verse,
the most foolish of them all sat
on a chair with a shiny hat.
Yes he! The King! The King! The King!
Useless! A bird without his wing.
You may as well bow to the Queen,
for she hummed with the ruling gene.
Not to gift her people glory,
she only cared for her story
She drowned in riches, swam in deep,
every promise she failed to keep.
Even to her daughter, her child.
Alone in the kingdom wild.
How did Lufian know this much?
Even the veal they ate for lunch?
He lived and breathed the castle walls,
saw all the rises and the falls.
But the only thing that mattered,
why his heart had not yet shattered.
Thaddea sitting by her sill.
Thaddea with paper and quill.
Writing, writing, writing, away,
to spring, to moon, at night she’d pray.
He wanted to answer her cries,
look into the seas of her eyes.
Who would ever love the jester?
Made to taunt, to laugh, to pester.
In her shadow he chose to blend,
the moon and spring their only friend.
The crowd was not so cruel this time,
cheering and clapping at his rhyme.
Finally the sun set its way,
the horse had chomped up all the hay.
Like an angel who’s found in sky,
Thaddea’s room was very high.
He liked to think she made the choice,
to be close to the sparrow’s voice.
He would fill in blanks quite often,
he found it made his harsh life soften.
He lay close by so he could guess,
the thoughts Thaddea might address.
Lufian was so close to sleep,
her hums had made him count the sheep.
But before his dreams could play out,
he was startled by the king’s shout.
Knock, knock, a familiar sound
of asking her to get around.
Where? Why? When? Will the chevalier,
choose to unmask? Choose to appear?
Though the words came from the King’s lips,
The Queen had written all the scripts.
Because she never bore a son,
the game she played, she hadn’t won.
To keep the painting in a frame,
the King was easiest to blame.
Tired of his daughter’s dispute,
the lack of bloom, the lack of fruit.
He held the crown as he went down,
he might as well have been the clown.
Sometimes there bursts a rare feeling,
when your head may hit the ceiling
Lufian felt inside him might,
a bird who had discovered flight.
Spring would gift them with her flowers,
now she gave Lufian powers.
“Oh Thaddea I hear your tune!
Thump, thump, thumping beside the moon.
I too await for spring to come,
I am the bird pecking your crumb.
I hear your pain and your sorrow,
yesterday, today, tomorrow.
Those promises you hold so dear,
those trickles of your flowing tears.
The moon has ears, it hears your call;
Whether it's big, whether it's small.
The moon has eyes that yearn to read,
the poems that your quill will bleed.
The moon has lips, so hear it say,
it promises love everyday.
Fall into the bask of my arms,
protecting you from all the harms
Do not fret for I am no knight,
wearing armor or sword in fight.
The only weapon that I hold,
a scepter, nowhere near a sword.
And though some may prefer a flute,
I sing this song with my own lute.
Oh Thaddea! Look down to see!
That you are right in front of me!”
But the princess did not believe,
her heart was tucked inside her sleeve.
He heard her shift into her bed,
and clutched his chest now stained of red.
“Lufian I could barely hear!”
He swore he’d aged a hundred years,
the minute she had turned her head
and plopped her body on the bed.
The heavens never chose to side,
the red mark on his hand had dried.
“Lufian, play your silly lute
or else I’ll kick you with my boot”.
“Kick me! Kick me! I do not care!
Spit in my face, pull out my hair!”
He was not even worth to beat,
God never gave him full defeat.
His pain was never their matter,
a new distraction, new chatter.
Clomp, clomp, clomp, shook the castle ground,
the smell of blood, a thirsty hound.
“I heard he stacked the bodies tall,
like dominoes, one push to fall!
He did not even use his sword!
He says he was sent from the lord.
That God had granted him a gift,
there is no cliff he cannot lift.
You won’t believe what I say next,
it must be written in the text;
he met every challenge and won!
Using his finger! Only one!”
The men and women squawked like geese,
“Kazimir, destroyer of peace!”
Lufian, to avoid stampede,
he followed Kazimir and steed.
As a shadow he kept by close,
and witnessed how the royals rose.
They praised him and bowed to their knees,
“You are the answer to our pleas.”
What was this nonsense that he heard?
Another gasp met with each word.
But then to interrupt the pang,
there was her voice: to whom he’d sang,
“Jester please, as we stand here two
act as I am busy with you”.
Busy, busy, busy, busy
the words spun round, made him dizzy.
He’d never seen her from so close!
Oh God! His heart had no remorse!
He tried his best to comprehend,
to be a jester, play pretend.
But crimson was he: an apple.
Ring, ring, ringing, like a chappel.
He was certain she saw his hue,
so she proposed another clue,
“My chambermaid is feeling weak,
she is whiter than my bed sheet.
Since you bring laughs, since you are sweet,
follow me I shall lead you there.
Your amusement will give her air”.
He was momentarily mute:
an owl who forgot to hoot.
From deep inside him came a nod,
like he was a puppet for God.
Thaddea’s next breath was relief,
following her in disbelief.
The bravery that spring had sent,
was used to sing, now empty: spent.
Oh how he yearned to sing aloud!
As she led him far from the crowd,
“Thaddea, Thaddea, it’s me!
The key! The one to set you free!”
He knew exactly how it felt,
to feel like all your cards were dealt.
The cruelty that came from court,
that corrupted and killed their sort.
That decay had followed them near,
their presence punctured like a spear.
“Dear, dear, dear, your promise came true,
look who’s come, he’s in love with you!”
The crowned fool did not speak of him,
it was about death, the new grim.
The grim whose name was Kazimir,
excited for his daughter dear.
The King was reaching for his head,
throwing her like a prize to wed.
And why did he deserve the throne?
How did he manage all alone?
“With one finger he knocked them down,
this caliber deserves the crown!”
The King, the fool, had made the choice,
that only made the Queen rejoice.
But not only was he a beast;
worth no wedding, no toast, no feast,
Lufian had one single look
that left him startled, stiff, and shook.
His eyes wicked, a witch’s brew.
His skin, splotched in purple and blue.
His stature left them in the dark.
His lips snarled, about to bark.
To look at Kazimir for long,
stirred inside a feeling so wrong.
He saw the pain in his amie.
He promised her to set her free.
Of course the voice was in his head
but they were connected by thread.
Lufian fully lost her then
as the crowd pecked him like a hen.
Perhaps it was best not to see,
how even with a family,
that should have loved their daughter so,
watering the flower to grow.
She was abandoned just as he,
a boatless sailor in the sea.
Lufian thought and thought and thought
for an answer he sought and sought.
How would Thaddea see him true?
What's a Jester supposed to do?
He knew he had to sing, to try.
Now truly open, with no lie.
But how would Thaddea respond?
Would she love back? Would she be fond?
She was not one who sought a knight,
she only yearned to read and write.
The two souls inside a castle
left astray, no lord and vassal.
That was enough for him to push,
no longer bent behind a bush.
No longer would he hide in shame,
merging with her shadow in vain.
So he closed his eyes, held his lute
to save his amie from the brute.
He ran, he ran, he ran, he ran,
a jester with a single plan.
Soon enough he was by her door,
a jester destined to change lore.
He felt upon his back a fire,
a sudden dread, sudden dire.
Kazimir had lifted him up,
the devil came to interrupt.
Lufian’s dream had been to fly:
him and Thaddea in the sky.
Of course God had made him the fool;
never the horse, always the mule.
“I am not sure why you are here”,
Kazimir snarled upon his ear.
“It must feel funny all alone;
never the hound, always the bone.
Living, knowing your lifes a waste.
Dying, buried without a taste.
The damsels never fall to ground,
instead they laugh when you’re around
Where is your home? Who’s your father?
Eh, why would I even bother?
The King has called me up to talk,
I will drop you to join your flock.”
But Lufian’s wings did not spread
a sparrow shot, a sparrow dead.
He lay crumpled, curled in a ball;
weeping for he had lost it all.
No mother, father, he was right
No bride awaited him in white.
No place for him to call his home,
truly, and utterly alone.
Kazimir wanted one last bite
as he knelt, to the crippled sight,
“Worry not! I’ll make sure you come!
You can dance, kick, and beat the drum.
Because everyone will be guest,
you must certainly dress your best!
But I am not fond of the lute,
I much prefer the sound of flute.”
Kazimir cracked the lute in half,
and left him lying with a laugh.
Oh but Lufian did not know!
That though it felt a final blow,
inside that lute there was a note;
one his beloved father wrote.
He rubbed his eyes not once but three,
the jester had a family.
“My dearest son, however old,
whom I wish to forever hold.
It has come time for you to learn,
why your fate took a sudden turn.
Your mother and your father dear,
lived in a village very near.
I loved her son. From start till end,
from morning sun till night we’d spend.
Even though I’d write everyday,
her beauty had a certain way.
Where all the words could not come close,
I tried with poetry and prose.
Oh if only you could hear her voice!
So lovely, spring clasped in rejoice!
Son, though it may sound like a dream,
the moon would shine the brightest beam
for her to sing into the night.
Son, you would not believe the sight”.
Lufian chose to stop, to think;
the moon and spring were still in sync.
Lufian knew of another,
who they loved just like his mother.
“It is still difficult to say,
you’ll only meet her in this way.
We did wed and she wore a ring
and I still wrote for her to sing.
But it could take a single day,
for all the harm to come your way.
Born during spring, of course our boy
loved music: loved a lute for toy.
Your mother saw the weather bright,
delighted by the birds in flight,
“Take him out, teach him how to fly.
lift him up, introduce the sky.”
We basked in sun, we lay in grass.
It was easy for time to pass.
But as we stood atop our hill,
through me I felt a sudden chill.
An urgent need to get down fast,
in order for our love to last.
Our village came into full view,
except no longer me and you.
Reflections of armor, lances tall,
their presence made our village small.
They set a fire just for fun
to make us scream, to make us run.
These were the knights sent from the court:
the chosen men, the best of sort.
Bodies were scattered on the floor,
a sturdy steed stood by our door.
I held you close but out of sight,
because my sense of dread was right.
My beloved was forced to lay,
in our bedroom she was his prey.
The knight who I assumed most known,
the filth who served and breathed the throne.
“I simply found who suit me best,
for I am on a special quest.
From every village I have torn!
From every woman I have worn!
Your wife reeked of great, great, beauty,
so I’ve blessed her with the duty.
To bear a treasure, my first son,
so in a way you both have won.
When he is born during next spring,
we all shall rise for our new king!”
My dear son I had failed my wife,
I’ll live in grief for all my life.
Banished was I, sent far away;
never to see her from that day.
I heard amongst the people talk,
you know how geese love to squawk.
My amie did give birth to child:
a brutal beast born from the wild
All that had kept me alive then,
besides you, my poems, and pen;
the day I would see her a new.
But my pages were ripped, torn through.
He was so vile for her to birth,
your mother’s last day spent on earth.
“Kazimir, destroyer of peace!”,
was the last outcry from the geese.
I could not bare the truth, the fate,
to live without a love so great.
Son, promises don’t seem to last,
as I fell victim to the past.
I wrapped you in the only piece,
that stayed of her, your mother’s fleece.
And in your lute I placed a note:
the hardest piece I ever wrote.
I could not raise you, falling ill.
My only wish. My single will.
That you would grow to realize,
that as you looked up to the skies;
the birds who sing to you each May,
the moon that comes after the day.
Your mother and your father dear,
are always present, always near.”
Lufian kissed the note he read,
removing the hat from his head.
His mother had given him might,
when he had sung to her that night.
He knew now in those days spent dark,
his parent’s love had gifted spark.
“Thaddea, my love, my amie,
I am ready for you to see.”
“See what?”, replied a voice up top.
But she kept talking, did not stop,
“Jester I’m sorry for today,
I left you abandoned. Astray!
I lied to you about the maid,
so you could come to me of aid.
You see, my father does not know,
I ought to leave! I ought to go!
I will never marry a beast!
My misery is not a feast!
I’m only packing page and quill;
they have given me all my thrill.
Lufian saw that she looked down.
Could the princess fall for the clown?
“Thaddea I’ve come to reveal,
the letter torn: the broken seal.
Every night I have heard you sing,
to the moon as you wait for spring.
One night I sung to you, replied;
to accompany you I’ve tried.
For I too detest all the court!
For I too am the writing sort!
And though I may not look the part,
I promise you with all my heart,
I am your secret chevalier;
but not a knight like Kazamir.
The only weapon that I hold
a scepter, nowhere near a sword.
And though some may prefer a flute,
I sing this song without my lute.
Oh Thaddea! Look down to see!”
“That you are right in front of me!”
Thaddea! Had finished the line!
he felt a spin, a glass of wine.
She came down quickly, down to ask
if he would lend his arms to bask?
He promised her now in his hold,
that he would love her then till old.
She held his hand, led them outside,
to go where they need not to hide.
“You must join me now, in my quest”
she whispered to his beating chest.
A nod like then was his reply,
except now he had wings to fly.
“Oh please at least tell me your name”.
“Lufian”, said he without shame.
You may now wonder just as me,
“Where did the lovers choose to flee?”
I’ve heard some whispers here and there;
the squawks from geese I've ought to share.
“The princess had not one but three
beautiful sons from her amie!”
“You’re wrong! She lives a top a hill,
where she teaches the art of quill.”
“No sir! You’re leaving out a part,
about the man who loved her heart.
A jester who bested a knight!
Now that's a story worth to write!”
I cannot tell you what is true,
from the whispers about the two.
But if you look up to the sky,
observe the moon with your best eye;
my last promise, not a pester
princess singing with a jester.