idea: a shakespearean tragedy, a forbidden love between a gazelle and lion, in three acts

The Fable of the Ivory and the Mane

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Act I: The Whispering Thicket

Upon the sun-scorched plains where shadows creep,
And ancient thorns their silent vigil keep,
There dwelled a Gazelle, of fragile grace,
Whose eyes held sorrow for a loveless space.
She moved through briar, swift and shyly veiled,
A living dream, by fearful fate assailed;
Her heart, a lute beneath a silken hide,
Bore songs unheard, where wild desires ride.

Then rose the Lion, king of burning gold,
Whose mighty form a dreadful tale enrolled.
He ruled the savanna with a savage might,
A shadow woven of the darkest night.
He saw her pass, a flicker in the heat,
And felt a hunger, bitter and complete;
No beast should love the one they cannot claim,
Nor risk the fire of that perilous flame.

Yet in his gaze, where amber light did dwell,
A gentle sorrow found a magic spell.
For she possessed a purity untold,
A softest voice, more precious far than gold.
They met beneath the acacia shade,
Where innocence and savagery were laid;
A silent pact, unseen by mortal eye,
Beneath the vast and unforgiving sky.

Act II: The Mortal Thorn

The distance waned, as twilight stole the day,
And subtle vows began to find their way.
The Gazelle dared to linger near,
Dispelling doubts, conquering all fear.
She learned the grace of his immense repose,
The hidden strength that only Lion knows;
He learned the hush of her delicate stride,
Where primal passion could no longer hide.

But Nature’s law was a cruel decree,
That severed bonds of what they longed to be.
For when the hunter’s arrow sought its mark,
And fateful destiny left its dark mark,
The roar of instinct claimed the Lion’s soul,
Demanding tribute, taking full control.
He sought her warmth, a fatal, burning plea,
To claim the prize that fate would set for free.

The secret love, a poison slow and deep,
Began to stir while slumber held them sleep.
She feared the night, the dawn’s inevitable light,
Knowing the doom concealed within the night.
He watched her hide, his heart a tortured thing,
A savage joy that sorrow could not bring.
The tension grew, a fragile, taut design,
As mortal limits fractured by divine
And brutal force. The promise turned to dread,
As life’s harsh boundaries were cruelly bled.

Act III: The Lion’s Lament

The hour came, beneath the pallid moon,
When love dissolved in sorrow, stark and soon.
The Tiger stalked where ivory lay concealed,
By destiny’s cruel decree revealed.
A fatal clash upon the thorny ground,
Where broken vows and blood were fiercely found.
No victor stood, but ruin filled the air,
A silence vast where laughter once was there.

The Lion fell, his mighty strength undone,
His fiery reign extinguished by the sun.
And in that death, a grief both sharp and vast,
The sorrow of a love forever passed.
The Gazelle watched, her spirit rent apart,
A broken echo in a ravaged heart.
She stood where glory turned to bloody dust,
Betrayed by fate, betrayed by primal trust.

Thus ended woe on those wild, haunted plains,
Where beauty met the weight of cruelest chains.
For though the world may mock a tragic plight,
The love that burned remains a painful light.
And all that’s left is memory’s deep scar,
Of what too perfect dared not be afar.