Heart of a Thrall (Poems, Dances, Pictures, and More)

[Sjira]

Poems and song by 'jira who knows that path of a serving shadow very well.

In the lands of barbarians, from those living at the blacksands and gales, to the deserts and plains.. even to the great mountain range of the northern tribes, thralls work, live, and dance in the grand shadows of the peoples.

[Sjira]

The Bond
(Posted: Fri Jun 08, 2007 6:11 pm)

Within the depths of sleep I felt him call.
Not a sound was heard, nor a nod seen, but I knew he had beckoned me.
A soft strangeness tugged at my waking consciousness..my body already moving before I was fully awake.
Hand brushed across sheets to only find pillows in the bed with me.
In that moment, my heart shuddered and rousing mind groggily wondered.

"Master?" It was my voice that spoke, thick with the sound of a full night's sleep. In the predawn darkness I strained to listen, but couldn't hear a thing. Soft worry fluttered across my soul, my naked form rising as I gained my footing to stand a moment next to the bed.

Cool air sent the rest of me to shivering; gooseflesh running rampant over me. Hands hurried to swiftly warm myself. Only in afterthought did I consider covering my body and tugged a coverlet from the bed even as I moved through the house.

"Master?" Worried tremble was embedded in my throat. I heard it clearly. Every room was searched, but nothing. How my worry grew until I passed a window to see him standing outside.

Strength, honor, and power. And it was all in the form of a man. He stood outside, bathed in the light of the moon, leaving a whole side of him cast in shadow. Not a word, not a sound from him but I could still hear him calling for me. How strange. And how utterly wonderful.

Drawing the blanket tight about about me, I stole outside and closed the door quietly behind me. When my hand met his arm, he did not flinch. Instead, he smiled down at me and slowly drew me into the warm protectiveness of his embrace as a few kisses breathed heat sweetly about my mouth and face.

"You were in need of me, Master?" It was still questionable on my part, left wondering still amidst the wonder and gentle peace I was standing within so close to him.

"Always." Came his singular reply, causing any worry or wondering of mine to completely dissipate and dispel completely.

And.. as I hugged him tightly I knew that words at times were not necessary when a true bond between hearts and souls existed.

[Sjira]

A Little Shadow
(Posted: Fri Jun 08, 2007 6:28 pm)

Silent, silken shadow.
What is your name?
Who is it that you follow?
Do you hang your head in shame?

This name is 'slave', 'girl' and 'chattle',
And other callings over the years.
He is the one served without much prattle,
With honor and hopefully without tears.

The head that you see lowered
Is done so with respect.
Sometimes a girl is seen as a coward,
While others know what to expect.

In his eyes, a jewel is seen,
Though just a lump of coal is here.
Imperfect in grace and sheen,
But still kept safe and dear.

[Sjira]

Hunting with the Warriors (aka "To hunt with silks and bells")

[Performed by Ghetra (NPC)]


Drums near and low beat... beat... slow the pulse of a distant, rolling thunder.
The great tent was full of men and women, with a penchant to take and plunder.
Braziers glow, and torches sputter. Zarin berry wine and steel root drink flows.
Warriors at rest and play, though the night was never had that there were no blows.

Stronger rhythm came with the thick drum sticks striking.
Wood flute and metal pipe mingled to twine a melody to Llothgarian liking.
Beneath the surge of music, the bells could be heard.
One step, then two. A sensual touch of toes then heel, the next step was a third.

From shadows heavily cast by ruddy light of fire and flame,
Toes bare and a foot bare, were the first of what was to be seen of the dancer -- untame'.
With the next thud of the drums, the girl drew forward -- as if being pulled by invisible cord.
Her spine curving, shoulders and hips drawn back to grab the attention of a familiar horde.

Bells she wore, soldered fast in a circle about each ankle, were alive with song.
She pushed her hip out and smoothly down; round she smoothly turned to steal a dark-eyed look of the throng.
A leather halter vied for attention with the low-riding band of leather about curves of hips;
Silk panels flowing downward, her entire form alive in that dance from toes, to head.. even lips.

Had any not paid attention, they would have missed the moment of that show,
When she dropped to her knees and hands smacked so hard to the dirt, like to an enemy delivering a plow.
Hair spilled and head turned, a form then writhed with an inner fire that burned.
Masters great and chattel low, none then missed the next... her spine at the waist slightly turned.

Hips teased as the vision of silks and bells pulled a few warriors up from their sprawls
To better watch the thrall in her dance for them all, complete in motion until upwards she hauls
That slender form, darkened by nature and sun, to crawl to the head of the tents; lord and king
And from him begged a weapon she was not allowed... so that she could with it dance and sing.

Fingers did not touch his cruel blade that was dragged from its sheathe,
Pounding drums, bells and flute called in such a guttural way that it was hard to breathe.
He placed the dagger on its side, balanced at her neck, to lay against that lock-tressed nape.
Subtle movement, then more she curled upwards and gained her feet; silks scandalous in their drape.

Sudden slip of the dagger, it seemed it would touch the sand and earth.
She hit her knees and caught it for a breath of time by its leather-braided girth.
Not by her hand, not by her touch was it caught...but in the cradle of a strip of cloth,
That blood-red panel of silk her savior and the crowd had women gasp and men shout.

Her heart thundered to their cheers in how unique and deft she had kept ahold of his weapon
No true touch of flesh to leather and metal to risk anyone one of them to shun.
The dance continued with not fire, but ice with woman calling out and men to pound.
Freeborn were not the only ones enjoying the dance, but also the bound.

Thunder rolled and people raved, in ways that were in Llothgar a norm.
Building slow until the harsher winds brought with it the wonderful storm.
Twist and turn of breasts and hips, toes made circles deep in the sandy pit.
Beneath the all that brought warmth and caused the place to be lit.

One, then two! heavy and abrupt blows to the drums and all fell quiet. Not a bell heard to ring.
The girl fell too in a way that had her on hands and knees before the the warrior king.
To the delight of all who witnessed, she had pulled a portion of silk from its belt
Ensuring that tearer of flesh rested atop fragile cloth on the ground before him, where she now knelt.

A roar of laughter, cheers and cried shouts burst forth from all.
The dancer prone and breathing hard with her head down listened to the call'.
She shivered with knowledge of triumph accomplished to steal a look
Of the holder of her ways and shadow, of chain and hook.

She had not once pulled back, with no need for shield or armor.
By silks and bells and by flesh and breath, she had brought his tent honor.

[Sjira]

S'jira Visage

(Note: All, but three, pictures are of actress Gemma Arterton)


2009 Snapshot of S'jira on at the inn on SecondLife


In the dress often worn






S'jira's Cloak


S'jira & Trygg

[Sjira]

'jira practicing dances taught by Althea

[Sjira]

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. Yeats

[Sjira]

“Any woman can weep without tears,” she answered over her shoulder, “and most can heal with their hands.
It depends on the wound. She is a woman, Your Highness, and that’s riddle enough.”
― Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

[Sjira]

The Panther
(2022, by S'jira-mun)
(OOC Note: My meager attempt to pay homage. RIP Panther-mun. Enjoy! )


When came The Panther, none seem to know.
But the stories give rise to legend and grow.
Born as he was in a most mystical land,
The face of a great cat who had paws, not hands.

Blackest hide and long tail easily seen.
At a height that brought wonder and his gaze of green.
A voice that rumbled quiet, deep, and low.
Talking and resting with friends by brazier's glow.

At the inn of the dragon oft he was seen within.
And many parts of the lands of the great RhyDin.
Like the strongest of currents, not always seen but felt.
To no man, woman or beast had he ever knelt.

In the rings he was fast, agile and strong.
Honorable and kind, even to those who did wrong.
A glint in his feline gaze and his heart full of light.
Happy to laugh, live, and prowl the darkest night.

Days, years and decades flowed by far too fast.
But even the gods knew this could not last.
Gone too soon from the realms of man and mage,
The Fates cut their strings and the scribe turned the page.