National Poem Writing Month 2021: Poem xii: Filk

Inspired by … “Past and Future.” This prompt challenges you to write a poem using at least one word/concept/idea from each of two specialty dictionaries: Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary and the Historical Dictionary of Science Fiction.


Parthia, a celebrated city, from Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary (Page 584);

Filk from Historical Dictionary of Science Fiction meaning … a type of popular music, commonly performed at fan conventions, characterized by the use of familiar or traditional songs whose lyrics have been rewritten or parodied (usually on themes drawn from science fiction or fantasy literature)


Night nigh to mid. Stars are shining diamonds on blue velvet-sky. Picking up the ancient harp the siren ascent her voice a little bit Stirring the pacific sleeping environ. She starts the filk.

A jaunty and gay tone it has. Washing the tiredness of the battle away and evoking a spirit light and lively inside us. The lyrics is of some ancient old forgotten language or may be composed up by alloying numbers of local and colloquial words. The harp imitate the sound of drizzle on some summer evening. The maid closing her eyes keep on singing as we gather guests surrounding us.

Those are not the spirits of the soldiers or some ghouls or ghosts from wars and battles past. Those are the fairies that were sleeping in the shade of the dunes and stones woke up, and rubbing their eyes start dancing circling us who are around the bonfire. The air smelt of flowers from the Eden not of the desert and battlefield. The vultures slipping on the gray stones around us, flapped their wings before turning to some burnt-mud statuettes, fire in color.

The wall of Parthia stood not-far in front of us. The dots of flambeau can be seen–it is a new moon night. The guards are awake, ready for a night attack. The song travelled to them guised as lullaby and make them dreamt of the world a different one they are living in. We also dreamed of some unknown world, an alternate version of time.

We, when, wake up found ourselves back in the sea. No where the sand or the maiden could be seen. We pick up the oars of our boats and continued to sail to unknown. Nor did we speak of the night neither thought of it and if we’ve search around with long glance the stone on which the maiden sat and hear attentively if she could be heard. Never we know what was that as we never know how we came to the sea being an astronaut.

By Sangbad

A poet, an author, a reviewer--in one word I'm a literaturist (means one who is trying almost everything that Literature is made of). My books are available at Amazon. I'm a Bengali, born and raised in Kolkata, West Bengal.

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