The Requiem of Melpomene and Lucien

By Amrusha Acharya

Part 1

When the skies tear open,

And eclipses engulf the moon, 

The Priests kneel and swoon 

"Queen of tragedy, Muse of many,

Oh, Melpomene, save us from this infamy."

Walks She on crumbled bones and knotted veins, 

Holding rabid horses, their slackened reins,

Dying white roses red, quelling rains of fire

Into storms of blood and rue,

Master of magicians, revered by ruinous rhapsodies.

Glances She down, rains rampaging, regret bellowing,

"Oh, Queen of Curses, save us from Him–

He who walks lone, head hidden in his helmet,

He who treads on a hovering horse, reins ubidden.

He feasts on clouds and eclipses, dark and fear, 

Evil trembles at His sight, Scorn finds Him unrivaled,

Light bleaks in His comparison, 

Oh, Queen of Misfortune, He hath arrived,

Now to steal your loathsome throne."

"Speaks He the tongue of no human,

Destiny doth adore Him so, your worshippers

Will whine and pine,

While He sits amidst branches of honeydew and grapevine, 

crowned with Your gilded eyes.

Come down, Melpomene, and see for yourself, 

What your accursed fate brings upon You–

Will you drink and dine on His bones,

Or will your blood flow down the Golden Chalice that

He so adores?”

***

Part 2 

Born amidst broken mirrors, he saw himself,

Lifelessly lucid, eyes born to shelter light, an endless mirage–

Yet the world made of him a play,

One to be staged on Melpomene's finest stage. 

Anguish he suffered in manifold, sorrows his prized delight,

Stared and stared he at the Goddess sneering at his plight, 

Swore he to rip Her wings out page after page.

Walking through wilting lilies, singing to silken streams, 

Skin seared with scorching scars, eyes sunken,

He walked onwards, heart adrift, eyes looking for the Goddess, 

Temple after temple he sought, shunned by druids and priests, for he carried the blame of destiny, her shame. 

She made him that way, and so he'll play,

Along to Her whims, moulded to her twisted way.

Magicians say, "Your sight She shares, 

And plight towards you She ensnares."

Warriors whisper, "Marks She your face that sunlight kisses,

And tangles your Fate, leading you down abysses."

So, blinded himself, he of bleeding cloth, 

And clad his face in impenetrable helmets, made of deer husk and antlers, 

Picked apart by his scythe,

Fight against his Poisoned Parcae he doth.

Ages passed, skies turning from blues to reds,

Feeding on starlings, He held in His hand the head,

Of Parcae, of Nona, Decima and Morta–

Blood glittering down His lips, the Golden chalice crafted,

Of bone and vein of Destiny that sneered at him, 

Now the sky bled, just like they did–

Fate in His hand, light in His eyes

Lucien arose, Melpomene invoked.

***

Part 3 

Under the willow sat Lucien, red draping his shoulder, 

Humming a long lost song amidst crowing screams– 

"Find me in dreams 

Where Ghosts and Gods play,

The ransom of rugged fates night and day,

Each holding a dice too devious,

Golden and red light gleaming vicious."

"Voice of sirens you possess, Master of Light–"

Bells tolled like the heads of Parcae, filled with smite.

Mask of tragedy adorned, She walked on stairs of bone,

The moon shivered in fear, eyeing the eclipse drawn near,

Queen of Misfortune, Melpomene abandoned 

Her temple under willow shade.

"Bears thy the mark of misfortune, the plague of pain,

Must you rebel so, child of my art?" She spoke plain.

"Abandoned I was amidst broken mirrors by Your Grace, 

Shunned I was at my face, 

Embers turning my life to ashes, irrelevant, 

Was it amusing, Melpomene, you Tyrant?

Branding my bones with blessed curses of your name,

I had to live carrying your shame." 

Lucien crossed the shade, eyeing the quivering moon,

The eclipse overhead, like the sun in noon.

Laughed Melpomene at his rage, 

Her divine hands turning to the last page.

"O, God-Slayer– I hand thou the quill of destiny, 

Wear the crown of twisted games, 

I shall see you try playing against infamy.  

You rage at my hand, yet know that I'm bound,

Curses of crows gnaw at my flesh, 

The Parcae have already rolled the dice afresh.

You cannot stop them, all you might try,

I implore you, do not cry." 

Shedding Her mask, she walked to him,

Scythe hanging like a broken noose,

He hurled the final blow, all hell bent loose,

Tragedy's child hollowed Her heart,

Picking it apart like She had His,

Drip, drip, drip, dripped dreary death,

Ichor inking His hands with destitute destiny,

As he drank from the Chalice of the Golden dame,

Melpomene all but muttered his name.

"Find me when the Golden chalice breaks

When the Holy Grail curses fate, 

Find me in the broken corners

Of the dice that you hold,

Toss me into your Ichor-

Let me burn, into embers that feed you.

Let me burn into ashes that raise you,

O, my devious druid, leave me be.

Without you, I shall not breathe." 

Sang Melpomene the final verse,

Like a dying curse.

Lucien fell, eyes bleeding gold,

All Her grief he could not hold,

Saw He a reflection in Her eyes, 

Birds flying in century old skies,

"Do you know why they call me 

Queen of Curses, Master of Tragedy? 

Let me show you my final rhapsody.”

***

Part 4

Born to stars, two broken hearts –

The first a fire, other– an ephemeral spark,

Falling under the Willow tree of Wonder,

The fire grazed the land asunder,

The spark seeded the root of faith,

The ember a light in the dark night.

The temples worshipped the fire, 

Using the spark to light altars of animosity, 

Floundering faith fueled the fire, and all of man's multiplicity

Birthed the bruised Goddess, Melpomene the muse– 

Of the mortal's depravity. 

She bowed before bellowing bells,

Welcoming Nona, Decima, and Morta,

Feeding them souls wrapped in velvety veils.

The spark watched Melpomene of wounded wings, 

Bow to such loathsome beings, 

Discarding Her regal reign, She kneeled.

The spark watched horrors of howling nights, 

Yet none as grue as the one before him now.

Picked apart was Melpomene by Their hands of malice,

Drained till all remained was her heaping bones,

Her blood poured into the Golden Chalice.

Drank the three fates to Their fill,

Waiting for Melpomene to resurrect and heal.

Melpomene, in all Her honourable grace, stood

Back up once again, sparing the Spark a passing glance, 

He understood.

"Leave now, Lucien of Light, 

Before they tear you apart, I give you a final chance, 

To run far away, away where horses graze happy,

Where nocturne nurtures the moon,

Where none can touch you, no shadow no gloom." 

Dismantled She was once more, 

Her power wringed into the Chalice, 

Oh, Will her worshippers ever know they 

Satiated the essence of Malice?

The Spark surged like willowing waves, 

Spark turned mortal, his embers a sword,

Donned in starry metal, he arose without a word.

The Parcae watched stunned, Their hands 

Moving with ferocious fervour to finalise His fate,

Yet before the final page fell, so did his strike land.

The temple trembled, tragedy nearing.

The eclipse devoured the moon, night enveloping all,

Lucien tossed Their severed heads into the altars,

Flames erupted, tearing fate itself apart,

Yet the world recoiled, fearing the God-Slayer's craft. 

The flames circled the temple,

A ritual to rid evil afoot,

The sky coughing and retching soot.

"Sin of gravest guile you have committed, Lucien,

Any God, great or small can see the misfortune 

That will haunt you now, licking your life like lichen,

Melpomene, your immortality will shame He who 

Doth adore you so."

Parcaen voices ventured around them, filling the fire

With regret of desire, and unbridled ire.

Melpomene mumbled, yet her voice was drawn

Into curses that no being could escape,

Her body writhed like flames being fanned by the winds,

Curses stitched Her bones back together.

Lucien lurched, touching the venerable flames,

He was now a part of the world's twisted games.

Blood and devotion mingled, 

Tragedy's ichor setting Light itself aflame,

Tossed was He into a pyre of immortal bones,

Destined to burn with vivacious vindication,

Torn apart He was at the hands of Her fated heart,

Thrown away were His ashes,

Only to be remembered as a piece of art.

"Forget He shall all memories of myself, 

Let Him suffer pain so precarious that 

His hatred will lead him to hack my body and,

Crush my bones till they are sand. 

I curse you, O, Wicked Fate! 

You will not get to me again, 

You will be thrown down your throne, like a 

Cumbersome piece of broken stone.

He will pluck your heads like weeping weeds,

Remember, You have sown your own dying seeds.

Light will nurture the moon,

And He will bring nights of boon." 

Scattered were His ashes onto the Willow,

Were cursed Fate will bring Him again,

To watch the stories unfold, to watch the centuries old sky,

To see His own ashes fly.

Two stars fell from the sky,

One meant to watch, the other– to fly.

***

By Amrusha Acharya