O Eru Bereth Rhîn (O Crowned Desert Queen)
By Shonushka A. Sen
Where is the line of ages flown-that scattered ash of Suladân
Wreathed in ropes of sabled ink, brightened by a flaming sun
One who walks the searing sands, fearless mortal hewn in stone
Wielder of the golden sword, the steward of her desert throne.
Faelwen lifts the Eastern curse, breathes a font of scarlet blood
Lovely in her cruel triumphs, fair diamonds of the bitter flood.
She who bears a soldier's pain, born in writhing plumes of fire
Stand before her haunted eyes and wither in her hell-forged ire.
The fading lights of Varda's smiles draw these rabid foes apart
Breaks the blacker twist of fate, dulls the blow of Melkor's heart
Her strength the steel of fortunes past, the mettle of an iron will
The songs that cried her Southron name perish in a deadly chill.
Beaten in the depths of war, the Sunlands knew no bolder guard
Glaring poison drunk in tears, earth by death and peril scarred
The north can bear no word of Harad, where the stars burn white
She dances nimbly in the spheres and follies of her living night.
Tall the heath and sweet the blooms that grow upon her ocean grave
As if they drink the vivid life that Faelwen once to battle gave
Taken from a Heaven's reign, robbed of all that might have been
O stranger, never doubt the jewel that was our Southern queen.
Just a short poem about Harad, because that place has always fascinated me.
