THE UNBITTEN FRUIT

THE UNBITTEN FRUIT, written and read by Oliver Smith

 

In the desert’s empty heart, it whispered,
“I am the wind who wore smooth the tomb.
Yet, still fair Aždaja, whom you loved
and who loved thee, came to search
the musty, statued halls; among the mould
of skulls, forsaking her golden crown,
for pages written in unhallowed dust
in the darkness, lost among the dunes.”

And a humble shadow rose up before;
“I am the torch extinguished in the deep.
I am the knowledge that ends all sleep.
Yet still Aždaja the Golden brought to me,
the emerald-skin of the serpent-god,
the dagger, the heart, and the thrice cursed ring.
Aždaja came seeking me among lost spires
of sorcery, sapphire, and verdigris.”

And it rested its eyes of burning fire upon
my hand, in which a bloodied sword I bore.
For across the world, for Aždaja, I fought.
“Oh, spirit of the night, where is my love
who for ten years or more I sought
in this lonely land, with mourning heart?
Where is Aždaja, who promised that she
should leave her golden throne for me?”

It replied “Aždaja was lost far beyond
the mundane realms of men and djinn.”
Then this shade, spread out unholy wings
across the desert sky in an arc so vast
the very earth was lost to waking dreams
that rose in ghostly ranks from the ground
and greyly gnawed upon the minds and hearts
and flesh and souls of every living thing.

The great cities crumbled before their flood,
ruins in the sand. Warrior, hero, and king
were as straw in the wind in the onslaught
of the damned. I, seeing the world was lost,
wondered , did Aždaja rot upon some shore?
Lie in her slave-sculpted tomb? Her sweet head
in her sepulchre upon a marble pillow rest?
Did her raven hair cling only to a fleshless skull?

Did her dark and loving eyes grow blind?
Her alabaster skin grow grey and slack?
Did our love fade with her life? I begged
the Demon,  cease, and leave the world.
I raised my hand to slay the beast or die
along with all the rest of humankind.
But with one glance the sword was rust
and the Demon cried “Aždaja awaits!”

When all that was left was dust and bones
and not a fly remained to crawl upon
the glass, it bid me pour some scarlet wine.
Upon bended  knee, it  kissed my hands
and sweetly whispered, “I have travelled far
in stranger lands and suffered much to be free,
as you asked, from chains of worldly power.
I was Aždaja, I made this world for thee.”

 

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Oliver Smith is a writer from Cheltenham, UK. 

His poetry has been published in ‘Abyss & Apex’, ‘Lovecraftiana’, ‘Spectral Realms’, Star*line, and ‘Strange Horizons’ and has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

His prose has been included in anthologies from, among others, Flame Tree Publishing, Ex- Occidente Press, and Broken Eye Books. He has published two collections of short fiction: Basilisk Soup & Other Fantasies and Stars Beneath the Ships.
In 2020, Oliver was awarded a PhD in Literary and Critical Studies by the University of Gloucestershire.

For more information see his website