Paris And Helen Of Troy a Love Story Poem by Mohammad Yousef

In the cradle of dawn, when whispers of light
dance upon the Seine,
Paris, the golden-haired shepherd,
stumbles upon a vision,
a goddess draped in beauty,
Helen, of the luminous locks,
whose gaze ignites the very air,
turning breath to flame,
and hearts to ash.

In the marble courts of Sparta,
where ambition intertwines with fate,
they meet beneath the blooming vines,
a garden alive with stolen moments,
where laughter flutters like butterflies,
and dreams unfurl like silken banners
in the softest of summer breezes.

Oh, Helen—
the world spins in your radiance,
each glance a thread woven into the fabric of destiny,
and Paris, a mere mortal,
is ensnared in the web of your grace,
caught between the pulse of longing
and the weight of a thousand kingdoms.

Their love, a tempest wrapped in silks,
a daring dance in the twilight,
where shadows stretch long and whispers grow bold.
They steal away to the hidden shores,
where the waves murmur secrets of the ancients,
and the moon bathes them in silver,
as if to bless their audacious hearts.

But lo!
The gods, with their jealous eyes,
watch from Olympus,
and soon the skies darken,
thunder rumbles like the heart of a warrior,
for love, unbound by the chains of reason,
calls forth the storm of war.

Men in armor,
with swords drawn and hearts hardened,
march to the rhythm of betrayal,
for a woman's choice has sparked a fire,
and Troy stands proud,
a beacon of beauty and sorrow.

Yet, within the chaos,
Paris and Helen find solace,
in the quiet moments between the battles,
where the world fades to a whisper,
and all that remains is the echo of their hearts,
the pulse of love relentless,
defying the very heavens.

Through the smoke and the ruin,
they cling to each other,
a fragile promise wrapped in desperation,
as the walls of Troy rise and fall
like the tide of their fates,
and the stars bear witness to their plight.

Oh, love—
a tempest, a curse, a treasure,
in the fragile hands of mortals
who dare to dream against the odds,
who chase the fleeting shadows of eternity,
knowing that even in the ashes,
the embers of passion will flicker on,
reminding the world that love,
in its purest form,
is both a blessing and a battle.

So let the tales be told,
of Paris and Helen,
of a love that defied empires,
etched in the annals of time,
as the sun sets over the ruins of Troy,
and the night sings softly,
a lullaby for lovers lost
and for love that remains,
forever entwined in the heart of history.