notes: ok i'm experimenting with poetry and greek/arabian folklore/mythology so here's part one!
1 – الْهَوَى (hawa) = Attraction
"This is the beginning of love. The root verb هَوَى is used to describe wind, meaning to blow, suggesting that this love can arise suddenly, but is transient, not yet firm in the heart. The verb also means both to rise and to fall, indicating the unstable nature of attraction, and the possibilities for how this love might develop."
The first form he takes is one of a young adolescent.
Light haired, green eyed, perfect human bone structure. He believed, that way people wouldn't approach him with hostility. And, he was dead wrong. One glance upon his face had the city's fortune tellers began screaming that he was the devil; that such beauty can't exist without a price to pay. Their intuition was somewhat correct. Eros never brought anything without certain unforeseen trouble. But, it nearly killed him.
So, he ran. Into the dark crowded market area for refuge with people who wanted nothing to do with him, trying to blend in with the folks.
"Damn," He would curse at his mother's name. He would yell into the night sky hit with cool desert air. "I'm done with this errand! Bring me back to Olympus." No answer. But he knew she was listening. And he could almost hear her reply clear as crystal.
Not until you are done with your mission.
So, he screams in rage, I am so done- and does not pause even when he hears the inhabitants of the city in a far dim light, holding torches and knives. He thinks these people are insane. They didn't believe in the greeks; their gods or goddesses. Fools they were with no mercy to an angel without his wings. He was in the form of a shivering fourteen year old whose legs could not take him as far as he wished.
Then, he rushes into a palace. A beautiful palace withholding consequences of its own. And when he stumbles upon a garden with an abundance of fragrances, abrupt, a woman's eyes on him. His blood pressure rises,
"Are you lost?"
He's flushed in the face.
"Sweetheart, where did you come from-"
Sounds of riots stand before the garden threatening to destroy the carefully cared for flowers. Shouts. Screams. Fire. They reach closer. And she stands before him, protecting him with a motherly gesture he is not familiar with and words he knows have dire consequences.
"Spare him, whatever he has done." And then, "He is my son."
Now, she's cursed.
Shame, shame on you, she'll be told for a long time. It's a lie, it's a lie that saves him. He wishes he had his wings back. Eros looks up and sees something fearless and different.
Her eyes.