A Ballad to Beauty

Dedicated to a woman who personifies beauty like none other…


In the city of mountain meadows,
In the city of deserts, desserts
In the city of ecstasy, shadows,
Where loving is found, deserted…

Met a Summit of past and of future,
Of the present, gal;xies and stars;
T’was a meeting of fusion, illusions
Where minds have amassed from afar.

Sat philosophers – ancient and present,
And the scientists fretted and thought;
Priests of stars and of crosses and crescents
Talked of ultimate beauty, and sought…

In the city of lights and of meadows,
Where marriage is flippant and quick,
Where spirits are fallen, or mellow,
Where the lesson is: how to quit –

Met a Council - beauty describing -
From the planets, the stars and beyond:
“Beauty means the most charming and finest
Words and poems, and faces and songs,” -

Spoke a senator, not of our planet…
Stood a man, both emphatic and young:
“Beauty means you abandon the planning,
That you sacrifice riches and life

For a woman who stole your soul…”
He was none, but a poet so young,
He was none, but a poet of old,
He was Orpheus, second to none…

Next, a lady of grace and of stature,
Eyes and anklets - with gold adorned –
Answered: “Beauty is simply an echelon,
And a measure to love and adore:

How much of a stake would they wager?
What will emperors lay at your feet?” –
Cleopatra, the Empress of Treasures,
Cleopatra, seductive and fleet.

So they argued for days, and forever -
Sipping water, and air, and wine.
The seductresses – artful and clever,
The philosophers, studious, wise.

Einstein ventured: “The beauty is ageless,
If it travels with light and beyond,” –
He was German, and very engaging,
When he looked at the stars in the yonder.

“All is relative, Damen und Herren,*
Beauty does and it doesn’t exist;
Beauty squared quadruples inherently…”
Someone answered: “We captured the gist.”

Said an alien: “Beauty is ugly,
All it’s black - it is white, and it’s red.
Beauty thrives in the murderers, smugglers,
Beauty’s horror, and terror and dread.”

“Beauty’s ice cream,” – spoke a boy and his sister, -
“Neopolitan, chocolate, mint…”
After smiling, enchanting and whispering
Brought a sorceress ice cream, and winked.

Thus they argued for months and for years,
Who’s Miss Universe, pageant and all…
Art was lit in the tedious air
When a woman had entered the hall…

Hushed the scientists, looking and thinking,
The philosophers sipping on tea…
And the audience hadn’t and inkling
If she thousand was, or sixteen…

Every woman (and beauty) are ageless.
“Who are you?” – someone ventured at last…
“I am someone who’s not for your pageant,
I am simply a lady, you guessed…

I’m a writer, a mother, a woman,
Femme fatale, femme vitale, and the rest.
I’m a muse, and a Goddess, a human.
On this planet: a hostess and guest.”


Glances shot, whispers traveled the air,
There she stood – so graceful and tall;
Waves of poetry rolled through her hair,
Winds of wonderment ran through the hall.

Every color was part of her soul:
Black and white, the inspiring, the blue;
She was wife to the peasant and soldier,
Or a mistress of Hell and Balloons.

A creator, destroyed, conserver –
She would smile, and flowers bloomed;
She could thunder, the lightnings– her servants -
Took their toll and collected the loot.

“Are you Hera, Athena, Delilah?” =
Asked a young and a curious youth.
“Hardly so, just me, no lying –
I’m a lady, in spirit and truth.”

Sat in quiet the warriors, poets,
And the senators hadn’t a word;
The magicians, with formulas potent
Were awaiting the pageant’s award.

Then, the Congress, the summit, was silent –
No sips of Bacardi, or juice.
Spoke the chairman quietly, finally –
He was bearded, clever and Jewish:

“All dismissed, to your planets and duties.
Beauty isn’t to measure in ohms,
Seeking formulas here is futile,
We had better set out for home…”

So, once in the City of Meadows
Gathered delegates, all from afar -
In the City of Scarlet Shadows,
In the Town of Desert Fire.

And the lady? – She smiled and whispered:
“What a curious summit, indeed,
But it’s cold and windy - it’s winter,
I am off for some coffee or tea.”


And she sipped on a chai – so simple,
So graceful, the world in her eyes;
She was mistress of metaphors, similes,
And a Goddess in human disguise.

Did she win the incredible pageant?
Did she master the world and the stars?
Well, for sure she won on these pages,
In the rhymes of a poet’s guitar.

Who would know if she conquered the crown? –
But she conquered the artist, his pen:
That’s a feather, a wand of renown,
On which worlds and the future depend.

Ends the story of beauty, its grading.
So simple the moral, to wit:
There is nothing like woman, a lady,
No prize is more worthy to win.

There is nothing like rhyme of a feather,
Nor the rustle of dress in the wind;
No beauty can rival the weather
Of a lady – her kindness and whims.

Let this modest, melodious ballad
Be a present to art and to youth,
To the grace, the impeccable elegance
They is timeless, and real, and – you!


* Damen und Herren: Ladies and Gentlemen, in German