Ladies in black ensembles from days of old,
Faces covered young and old,
Perfumed with Oud, Sandalwood and Musk,
Gather to exact their revenge at dusk.
Floating, flaunting, preening, attracting souls
Who know not the perils to which they capitulate
As though transported from Serium Scopuli to the houses of the Greats
Beside Gucci, Armani, Cavalli. They wait.
Daughters of Achelous & Phorcys
Floating on the soles of Louboutin, Manolo and Choo
With destinies determined, they decide to choose. But who?
An unknown he ambles the marbled halls, hands in pockets.
Passing glances into shinny panes, he does not see.
For winged maidens fill his sight.
Lured and seduced by their perfumed bodies and their dulcet accented tones,
His treacherous feet lead him
The fallen approaches
Watched. But unaware.
He advances. Makes contact. Smiles. Laughs. Touches.
The final touch.
For in the flicker of an eye he is doomed.
Dreams, aspirations, realities, his being, destroyed.
Mutawwa’in! Mutawwa’in! The Committee! They hurriedly whisper.
He protests.
Too late.
“Promotion of virtue and prevention of vice” is the last thing he hears.
He whimpers.
The darkness descends.
His story ends.
Rene X
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