Eyes like the Moon

In the cruel cold of these northern nights

I still hear your voice,

Woman with eyes like the moon.

~*~

Deeper than any of Gondor’s arrows,

Your gaze wounded me,

Woman with eyes like the moon.

~*~

White fingers flying over the handloom

Captured my poor heart,

Woman with eyes like the moon.

~*~

In a voice sweet like the summer melons,

Do you sing for me,

Woman with eyes like the moon?

~*~

How can the nightingales sing your beauty

Under different stars,

Woman with eyes like the moon?

~*~

Should death claim me, under different skies,

Would you weep for me,

Woman with eyes like the moon?

~*~ ~*~

Faramir gazed at the bloodied parchment for a long time. His face appeared calm, his hand was steady, but his heart was troubled. This soiled piece of parchment had been found on one of the dead Haradrim soldiers and his men had brought it to him, thinking it could be a message of tactical importance. The young Captain was the only one among them well educated in the Southern tongues. After reading this, Faramir wished he had never studied the various nomadic dialects.

Somewhere at the South, a young woman gazed at the North, waiting for her beloved to return. Night after night, cold and despair would pierce her heart, for her beloved lay dead under different stars.

Drawing a deep breath, Faramir folded the parchment and hid it under his tunic. Perhaps he could find a fitting place in the library of Minas Tirith for this poem.

As he stood up, he realized that his hatred for this accursed war grew stronger with every passing moment.

*******

Author’s notes:

Apart from that scene in TTT EE, this poem has been inspired from various Arabic love poems I found on the net.