Upon Olam, El had sought,
To crown a king, of his loins' fruit.
Ashtar, the mighty throne had caught,
But Yam the just, dethroned the brute.
Against Ba'al turned he, proud,
Chased to table, by the strife.
Afore Yam's heralds, all gods cowed,
Excepting Ba'al, wielding knife.
Contender, had himself declared,
His sea beasts, Annat slain.
Fields and salt, together paired,
Shapsh dried, saved the grain.
Kothar wa Khasis, deft and wise,
Crafted arms, tools of death.
Ba'al fell'd Yam, "Dead!", he cries,
Becomes the monarch of the earth.
Light of heart, and full of mirth,
His enemies, Annat treads.
Soldiers' blood, fills earth to girth,
Piled guts and girdled heads.
Ba'al, battle-weary, asked,
"Pour out peace, cease yours wars".
To build his palace, she flew fast,
To father's hall, as dove she soars.
Behind doors and locks he hid,
Rejects her menace and her praise.
His wife, Kothar wa Khasis bid,
Gifts her gilded, silver dais.
Asherah his bribes declined,
So them, the pair, returns tenfold.
Their gifts pleased her mind,
Gifts of silver, gifts of gold.
Her ass saddled, led to El,
Asherah opted to fawn.
"Build a hall for Ba'al to dwell,
He is the judge, above him none".
Annat, quickly, flies and calls,
"Ba'al: hall's request was granted".
Brickwork house, cedars' walls,
Kothar wa Khasis crafts, enchanted.
A feast is set, above the mist.
Through skies, Ba'al shakes the land:
"Mot! If any dare resist,
Bury him in leaden sand!"
Mot, the god of Death, replied,
"I defy you, puny coward!
My mouth is chasm-wide,
As an olive, be devoured!"
Ba'al fears, and down descends,
From the heavens, he was torn.
Ba'al's proper kingdom ends,
Godly kindred, cry and mourn.
Ashtar's seat, El reinstalled,
Yet unworthy he doth feel.
Annat, for her brother called,
Him, Mot eaten like a veal.
After many months of grief,
Annat finds Mot once again.
She cleaves the braggart thief,
Strains, burns, mills and seeds to plain.
El has resurrection's dreams,
Shapsh agrees to shine once more.
Oily skies and honeyed streams,
Ba'al, gleeful, comes to fore.
Of seven years, Ba'al meets Mot,
The latter angers of demise.
As beasts they shook, as rams they fought,
Till Shapsh arrives, and cease decries.
"El and I both, Ba'al hold,
Your throne we'll overturn."
Mot heeds alarming scold,
'Tis a Cycle, all ought learn. |