Evening Star

The jaguar's specter, poised to make its presence felt,

The sensation cinched around me like a belt.

That very moment,

curled up next to a hunk of a dude,

I relinquished my life.

as the serpent coiled around my neck,

and let go of whatever the heck.

Never once did I doubt

that eventually my good fortune would run out.

I was spitting out the blushed, sequined, lipstick-stained,

utterly worthless phrases;

a random street thug, with a sack,

ripped the words from my neck

and stormed back.

Who knows his clientele?

Taking in the moss-covered stones of the forest pathway,

I didn't know what time it was;

It could have been the age ancients recounted

or the imperfect past.

I tangled myself in the branches,

the fringes of the forest,

so long were my tresses.

Slithering along, nude, at snail’s pace,

striving to avoid falling into a bottomless pit,

I beheld that tawny-colored fur with black rosettes,

the shadow of a dreadful beauty bestowed upon it.

My tufts of hair cascading over my shoulders,

in that pin-sharp instant,

it was the Jaguar I was ensnared by, eye to eye,

engulfed in the inferno together,

neither holding any desire to flee.

The beating of my heart would not convince him that I possessed a heart.

Never would he believe the crinkles in my eyes,

nor could he believe that I had a heart

unless my tears became a dewdrop on my heart

at dawn, every day.

That evening, after the sky turned raven-dark,

in the wee hours of my rascally night,

what I called my heart

would be nothing more than a scrap of flesh

dangling from the dagger of his fangs.

So white was the sclera of his eyes,

so savage and artistic were all his parts,

intact and unadulterated by human claws,

that I was terrified by his majesty,

and poise

in that delicate point that intersected our lives.

The moment he would ask,

‘Do you have a heart?

Let me see if you have a heart.’

What would I say to him?

Would his and my gaze, like two arrows, be destined to strike?

Neither would I feel antagonized, 

Nor would he straightawaybe galvanized.

His scorching breath drifting across my face,

his claws appeared in a flash.

A tear like melting wax

trickled down my chin

before he struck a heavy blow to my ribs,

twice or thrice.

Feeling his hot breath on my neck,

staring into his burning gaze,

I sensed how heated his body was;

so hot that it could soon reduce me to dust.

Despite being rather more timid,

I was speedier on my feet

than the stray cats of the night.

On the threshold waited the treacherous fear,

but as soon as the treacherous fear set out

to act in the scenes of another's heart,

the doors would swing open.

The treacherous fear would no doubt be on its way to fool another heart,

whereupon I would creep in through the doors or the chimney,

so that Jaguar’s eyes would meet my heart

where his heart’s kingdom was.

His gaze commanded,

‘Describe the pain.’

His weight, like ingots against my flesh,

I told it in one fell swoop,

when those iron sledgehammers,

my nightmares’ warriors and the aides,

suddenly hit my eyelids:

how I'd thirsted for the bullets to die for good,

how I'd leapt into the abyss a thousand times,

and how pain,

which suffered hunger in the midst of plenty,

was no more than a strand of devil's hair.

A huge tongue protruded from his mouth,

like a pink silk rug.

The liver of a hyena was stuck

somewhere in that glorious white sharp fang;

I saw it.

I saw what days, nights, and agony I saw.

How dreary, forlorn, and wretched the sidewalks were

beneath the paws of the cat that skulked in circles

below the streetlight on silvery nights

when the moon was full. 

I saw.

Nose to nose with the jaguar.

He cocked his neck right and left,

many a colt pranced in his heart.

The moment I felt pregnant with chivalrous hearts,

‘This is the last tango,’ a forest nymph called out.

Descending on the wisteria,

an elfin maiden she was.

Her arrow-eyelashes, epic spears on the battlefield,

her face was see-through, her bones delicate as milk.

Two small translucent wings unfurled from her back;

Straight from the devil’s craft she was.

The jaguar slashed at the elf girl,

she shrieked, pulverized, her light died out.

From the depths of the forest emanated the sound of the violin,

so high-pitched that it struck the bull's-eye.

Onto the jaguar's bosom dripped my weeping.

With the watch-birds, the jaguar shared my visions.

The branch where the owl, bat, and swallow were perched,

was where my body dangled from a hook,

they saw.

So much blood, so many veins drained.

With razor wires they stitched up the ripped flesh, I had seen.

Not a single drop of tear had shed from my eyes the whole time,

but why was my heart always torn out by that damn violin?

And why,

while molten lava of pain coursed down my visage

to the skirts of my body,

only did the sound of that violin become a cloud of tears

and rain down on me?

‘Tell me where it stings the most’, I asked:

‘in the flesh or the soul, Jaguar?

Reassure me that agony does not exist.’

The giant feline's wiry whiskers brushed against my skin,

a lick on my spine—I felt his initial taking.

A harrowing tale of trauma on one eerie, gurgling evening,

when the blood had trickled down my chest, my skin ashen,

I narrated for the jaguar.

How poignant the tearful tale was, he roared!

And continued,

‘Every tear thou shedst into the darkness,

shall find refuge in the devil's lone hair,

out of billions,

thus following thee

ubiquitously.

Thou hast a beating heart, my love,

yet I need to see it.’

His mushy paws touched my heart,

a crisp rain pelted the forest.

With a parasol made of staves,

I retreated to my dark lair; I am no leaf-heart!

Never in my wildest dreams, by the dews could I be sanctified.

Can I ever forget?

Face to face, nose to nose, we were,

the pianist's hands gliding gracefully from left to right,

the fangs of the jaguar instantly baring white claviature.

On a stage, our round podium illuminated by a blazing light,

the melody screeching wildly from ears to heart,

I waltzed with the jaguar that night.

‘Show me your heart, and I'll know if you have one.

Let me glimpse your heart if you have one.’

To those who are in denial,

Jaguar, tell them that life is no fairy tale,

nor are fairy tales real.

Tell them over and over, Jaguar,

for they don't believe.

This airborne gold dust is an illusion.

Leaf hearts are fictitious.

There was a time when treacherous fear lurked in another heart,

I passed through the doors and saw.

When a little sunlight filtered into my heart,

in those dark chambers where there is no God,

I saw how forlorn we are,

and the embittered laments of the human flesh, 

like thrashing fish.

On the jaguar I had cuddled, I lingered for a while.

For some reason, I named him my precious Evening Star.