Diad Statues from Ancient Memphis, circa 2700 BC

These two tranquil figures moved me greatly, when I first saw them in the Louvre, over 30 years ago. Taken as individual statues, they were not great works of art; they looked timeworn and vulnerable, yet seen as a couple they seemed to hold an immense inner strength - a fierce bond that had somehow managed to safeguard the essence of their timeless union throughout all the long ages of their shared existence. It was as though they could endure anything that time could offer, just so long as they were left each to the other.

Like misty dreams, the busy years, in their never-ending passage had left these sleeping lovers untouched and unchanged as they rested, long forgotten in their secret hiding place below the sun-baked sands of their ancient homeland. They waited unseen and un-noticed as the desert land witnessed the rush of Alexander’s spearmen, felt the tramp, tramp of Caesar’s marching legions and shook in trembling awe at the thunder of Bonaparte’s crashing cannonades. Powerful conquerors, beautiful queens, saints, scholars and many, many lesser men had come and gone - yet these two lovers still remained serene and secure, arms intertwined, always together – waiting for what?

It was with a growing sense of wonder that I began to understand just how old these two ancient figures actually were. They had been standing quietly thus - arm in arm, eternally watching the flows of time, while all the great religions of the world had had their birthing and entire civilizations had taken their turn to rise up and fall around them. Indeed, these small carvings had already been immensely old when ancient Greece was but a land of rustic shepherds and mighty Rome was only a dusty village straddling an unimportant river crossing. Their long watch had already stretched, not over centuries, but over whole millennia, before the great teachers, Abraham, Christ, Buddha and Mohammed each took their turn to preach love and understanding to generations of unhearing fools. Fools that were ever eager to rush out, armed with garbled gospels and a fierce willingness to spill their brother's blood.

The museum was full of the greatest works of man, but neither the wealth and power of the kings, pharaohs and emperors on display, nor the exquisite beauty of the magnificent art treasures that adorned the walls, impressed me ever so much as this very ordinary couple, who had left nothing but themselves. Their fundamental humanity, decency, and the love that they had once shared for each other was still so very apparent. Back then in Paris, I was young and also in love for the first time myself. My world was bright and wonderful and I thought it would last forever. However for those of us, who still walk this earth, life goes on, and time gradually takes its insidious toll on our bodies, our affections and the commitments that go with them. We get over our losses; eventually even the most poignant memories are just excess baggage to be put aside. But then one day, opening a book on ancient Egypt, I was delighted to discover a recent photograph of these two old friends of my youth. There they were - just as I remembered them! Half a lifetime had passed for me and I was now a different person, "something lost and something gained, by living every day" - but for them nothing at all had changed.

How brief life is! The experiences of all those long years, since my joyful days in Paris, were but the blinking of an eye compared to the immense passage of time, since that distant Egyptian day, when the statues were taken west of the Nile to be prepared by the priests for the "opening of the mouth" ceremony. The ritual that would guarantee that the "ka", or life force, of each of the lovers would live forever in the statues and that they would be bonded to their chosen one for all of eternity. Old feelings came flooding back to me and then I wrote my poem.