Eureka

By Mory Keita

In solitude I have found knowledge I sought,

More desirous than treasures of Alexander,

Knowledge that shall satisfy till thy riches pale,

For thy treasures guide thou to voracious thirst.

If thou would to bribe me with golden myriad,

Or if thou would to offer to me Midas’golden hand,

I shall not be tempted, nor shall I smile of envy.                                                 
Why should I, when I hold papyrus from my Lord?

If thou are prepared to abandon futilities to join me,

I shall show to thy greedy sight fairest of all wanders,

And thou shall fall on thy knees in front of thy Lord,

For, he dwelled his grace upon me with this wisdom.

                                                                                                                       

Thus, thou shall acquire wealth beyond Alexander’s,

And thou shall cherish thyself more than treasures.

Eureka

Midas -- A poem

                                                     By Mory Keita

O Muse who sings undying songs into my ears,

Sing unto me songs of that mighty king fate wronged.

When he stood atop Olympus, above cold-hearted Hera,

And said unto the people of Pessinus and to all of Greece,

“I have amassed fortune beyond the Olympian himself,

if you follow me, I shall lead you to greater fortune.”

And the priests of the temple of Hera said unto him,

“O son of Gordias! do not let the curse for your sacrilege

Befall upon your house and people. Beware of the immortals.”

And wise men amongst the people of pessinus came unto him.

They said, "O mighty king! When shall this treasure befall upon us?

Surely we shall hail your name if you fill this town with treasures.”

He unwrapped the golden turban from his hand and said,

“O my people, this is our treasure. Your wish has been granted.”

And they said, “By Hermes,  is  this the granted treasure?”

He raised his hand towards Helios, bursting out of laughter,

“Hermes is poor.  This hand of mine shall enrich us. Hail me.”

And they asked, “Show us gleam of it, if you are truthful.”

He walked in the courtyard and touched a pot. It turned gold.

They sang his name, bowed to him. Cold-hearted Hera burned.

He called upon his young daughter to feast his miracle,

But lo and behold!had he touched her that she turned golden.

“O fate! My beautiful daughter, she is cold like water.”

 Midas battered his chest, felt upon his knees in imploring.

He ran to the priests demanding the mercy of the Olympian,

But had he touched them that they too turned gold.

And so were all the peoples of pessinus turned into gold by Midas touch.

And it is said that since that day Midas became poorer and died miserable.

Midas -- A poem