Genie

Calliope is a session in Journalism where we gather to write and share pieces based on the selected topic! This was from back in March 2023. Should we do more Calliope sessions?

This week’s topic is Genie! Read some poems by our members and scroll to the back for a short story.

Le En

Genie

A lamp lies there, covered with sand

It looks normal, some

boring old antique of some old brand

Yet it’s not some old scum

This dull aged lamp

A large blue figure 

Rises from the spout

The large glowing figure

Smiles, crossing his arms

And promises to grant wishes

He’s just a friendly, wish granting fellow

The naïve and greedy ask 

For money

Eternal life

Yet be careful what you wish for

For a genie has been locked 

In a lamp for years

Full of hate and despise

For those who imprisoned him

He seems so kindly

Yet he will find loopholes

That trickster, that wolf in sheep’s clothing

Will grant your wish, in the worst ways. 

Kyan

What is a genie other than a cloud

of gas contorted to fit in spaces

where somehow it is not disallowed

to invisibly escape to different places

They become a kind of intangible wind

invisible hunters that made your wish their target

and leave no trace for anyone to find

as they search, give up and promptly forget

So when you release these ruthless thieves

whose imprisonment was likely self-imposed

abandon the magic that you used to believe

and recognize the hidden threats that they pose

Janani

bright blue, with a heart of gold,

comes a genie, to rid us of our sorrows.

whoosh! crackle! crack!

a wave of his hands, and away they go.

some of these genies are not so blue,

but they’re around us with hands and hearts sure and true.

the tiniest gesture, an extended arm,

or a comforting gesture, quick squeeze of a hand.

sure these genies can’t grant wishes or change the sky’s hues,

but it’s to these genies i wish to say thank you.

Renee

It is 2.42am. I’m hiding under my bed. It’s coming for me.

It all started 2 days ago. My friend Jacobs gave me a keychain.

“It’s supposed to look like a monkey’s paw.”

“A what?”

“Yeah, the paw of a monkey.”

It looked more like a dog paw to me.

“Take it,” he said, “Rub it and a genie will appear to grant you three wishes.”

What a joke, I thought.

Fast forward to yesterday, my dog of 10 years, Herbert, died of rabies. The keychain reminded me of his little paw and I touched it gently.

Suddenly, I felt a presence. Was it Herbert? No. This intelligence had… malice.

Seized with an inexplicable madness, I cried, “I want my dog back!” 

Now, I hear scraping against the door. I hear a savage beast, waiting to tear my heart out.

God help me.

Eleos

Dear Not-so-dear Prince (or whatever it is you call yourself these days, you narcissistic toad),

I do not know what it is that makes you want what you want, but I am unable to stand your commands anymore. I am sick and tired of heeding to you day and night, and I am thereby quitting and leaving you permanently from this moment onwards.

What truly makes me unable to stand you anymore is the fact that you are cunning and have no respect for anyone- you treat us like dirt, like we are part of the background. You forget that we have feelings as well: we are living, breathing, entities that respond to things, you know? (Oh right, no you don’t!) 

Until you learn to appreciate things and people, I am sure no one is willing to work for you no matter how much you entice them with. And even then, they won’t be happy working for you. They’ll leave in their first week. (Want to bet?)

It is shameful, you know, that someone like me has to teach you, a full grown adult, a life lesson in basic respect. Would these be taught as a child? Yes. But even as a child, you large ego and pride have closed your ears since then.

I stuck around hoping you would change for the better once I gave you all those gifts. However, you did not. I had bottled up all my feelings and am fed up with your endless commands and wishes (that loophole will be patched up soon) and am leaving your company with immediate effect.

Angrily,

Elgin

This genie, does he exist, can he make anything come true?

All around the world the broken search with undying relent for him

Far into the mountains, across vast deserts, deep in the ocean, lurking the skies

This genie, does he exist, can he make anything come true?

Its searchers burn with desire; in pursuit of the solution to everything, they destroy their lives

And on their deathbed, faces wrinkled, souls exhausted, the fire gone, they ask why?

This genie, does he exist, can he make anything come true?

He does not dwell in the mountain reaches, desert plains, ocean depths or atmospheric heights

He exists inside us

We can solve our own problems

Zachary

Sand Dunes 

The boy stumbled through the sand dunes. How long had he been here, how long had he gone without food or water? Days? Weeks? Months? He did not know. All he could remember were the endless sand dunes. His thirst was catching up to him. His throat scorched him nearly as much as the relentless Arabian desert outside. He blinked. Was that a well in the distance? He started running towards it. Water. Life. Salvation. But before he could reach the well, just a few metres away, his body collapsed, his vision went blank, the well faded into the sand dunes, and he felt the strangest sense of falling.

He awoke to a glistening room, a room of wonders, the dazzling lights blinding him through the thin layer of water covering his eyes. All around him, he saw heaps upon heaps of gold, different-coloured gemstones sticking out amidst them. Piles and piles of the smoothest fabrics, adorned with long-lost crowns and sceptres from long before the Romans. There was armour fit for a god, weapons fit for a titan, but in the centre of it all, resting quietly on a small marble podium, light somehow shining down on it from the roof, was a small bronze lamp.

The boy couldn’t believe it. The fabled Cave Of Wonders. Treasures and treasures beyond mortal conception, but amongst all the valuables, there was one most valuable one- the Genie’s Lamp. For a thousand years, a powerful genie had been trapped inside the lamp, granting three wishes to all who desired them. And now, he could have the same. He made sure not to touch any of the objects, as much as he wanted them, for once he touched one, he would leave the fold in space and time in which the cave existed and return to the Arabian desert. He walked calmly over to the lamp, controlling his urges to take any of the objects around him. And as he grasped the lamp, he felt a spinning sensation, and when he awoke, he saw through blurry eyes the lamp in his hand, sticking out in all the desert sand.

Starving, dehydrated, and exhausted, he knew what his first wish would be. It was an immediate wish. He rubbed the side of the lamp thrice, and in a puff of purple smoke, a rush of a cool, almost frigid breeze, and a thunderous sound of drums and peril, the genie emerged, towering over the boy. “I will grant you three wishes,” it boomed, every word rolling over the boy like a tempest over dry grass. “However, there are three rules. You cannot wish for love, you cannot wish for death, and you cannot wish for more wishes. Now, tell me, child, what is your first wish?” The boy sat in stark silence and sheer shock for a short span of time. “I… want to go home,” he said, remembering how the raiders had taken him from his home all those months ago. His village, his nation, had been powerless to defend itself against them. And as the memories once more dawned on him, he desperately added another few clauses to his wish- “But not as a peasant. I want to return as a sultan- no, a sultan of sultans. A sultan khan. A padishah. With a grand palace and many riches, and also a grand army. The largest in all the land!” The genie flashed a toothy grin, sunlight reflecting off its teeth. “Your wish is my command,”

Overnight, a new sultanate arose in the Mashriqi lands, with a new ruler shadowed in mystery. Whoever he was, he was surely powerful, for he had a grand army able to repel the raiders from Anatolia and the Caucasus. His empire expanded and expanded, surpassing the greatest heights that Saladin had ever reached. Every time the sultan appeared in front of his people, be it to give a speech, announce a development, or partake in a ceremony, he was greeted by cheering crowds. But of the many cities of Iraq, the Levant, Egypt, Syria, and Arabia, of the relics and treasures that came with hundreds and hundreds of years of history, of the riches and goods, spices from the Spice Islands, porcelain from China, gold from Mali and Kilwa and silver from the mountains of Inntal, there was one possessions he valued above all others. In the deepest vault of the palace, with layers upon layers of security, was a small, unassuming bronze lamp. And the boy, now the sultan, was powerful. And he was happy. He was not an unskilled ruler, and many of his citizens lauded his strong, yet benevolent rule. The empire flourished. And he thought he had all that he wanted. However, in the court and the battlefield of international diplomacy, the sultan was met with failure. His unknown past and rapid rise to power, not to mention his lack of a strong or prestigious dynasty caused the reluctance of his vassals to obey him, the mistrust of his potential allies, and his suspicion by his surrounding great powers. The sultan was not pleased.

But what could he do? Those were things that could not be changed, and he lacked the natural gift for diplomacy that so many of those silver-tongued Europeans were born with. In order to change this, in order to fix this, he would need to change his inherent self and his past. And there was only one force that could possibly do this. In the middle of the Arabian night, the sultan nervously rubbed the side of a small, unassuming bronze lamp thrice. There was a rushing sound like a gust of air, purple smoke filled the room which was suddenly a few degrees cooler, and then that booming sound of drums and distant thunder. In all its glory, adorned with gold and rubies, the genie emerged. “It has been a long time, boy. Now, tell me… what is your second wish?” The sultan swallowed. “I desire diplomatic skill. I want to be able to understand how the world works. How its people work. And I desire for the past to be changed, if such a feat is possible. I want to have been born in a strong and old noble house, with many old allies and aides all around the world. I want my subjects to obey me, and know that I have a truly divine mandate to rule.” The genie smiled and nodded, raising its hands, and in its loud, booming voice, announcing, “Your wish is my command!” And in that instant, history was changed forever. The sultan was no illegitimate ruler with a mysterious past. He was the newest and strongest link in a centuries-old chain of an old and powerful Levantine noble family that had cleverly built up its small emirate over the years, before he had finally taken action, surging through the continent and expanding at furious rates. He had no weaknesses, as he knew his nation and its people, knew the nuances and intricacies of international diplomacy, and knew the tactics and strategies of warfare better than many of his own generals.

The empire grew and grew. Everything fell to it. Kingdoms, cities, villages, even the smallest and shortest sand dune, many were conquered at a rapid pace. Egypt and Cyrenaica had been blitzed in the span of a few years, the Turks of Anatolia had been subjugated- some by pen and paper, but most by fire and steel, and the strong-willed Byzantine Empire, proudly Roman after over two millennia since the Eternal City had first been founded in far-off Italy, had, after numerous wars, finally been forced to bend the knee, the sultan, now the old sultan, crossing the Bosporus into his own territory in Europe for the first time. But now the old sultan turned to problems internal. At its core, the empire was crumbling. He had no competent heir, and if the problem was not rectified, the cracks would begin to show, and the vultures around him would certainly pounce upon this newfound opportunity. And so, he pondered the unthinkable option. For four decades, the lamp had sat unused, gathering dust in a secure lockbox in a vault beneath the palace. He had considered the rules. The rules that he had never forgotten. No wishing for love, no wishing for death, and no wishing for more wishes. And so, the old sultan journeyed down to the catacombs beneath the palace, ready to make his final wish.

He rubbed the lamp thrice, wiping the dust off the old, tarnished bronze. Purple smoke filled the air, moving with a cold breeze for the first time in years. Drums were beat, cannons were fired, and the genie appeared. “Very well. I have been waiting for so long. What, boy, is your final wish?” “I… I… I wish to be able to lead my empire and my people forever. I wish to attain… immortality. I wish to never die,” The air stilled again, heavy with the weight of the old sultan’s words. For a moment, his dark eyes gazed into the bright, glazed emerald ones of the genie. “It shall be so,” the genie finally uttered, breaking the long silence. “Your wish… is my command.”

And so, in a glorious and holy flash of light, piercing the heavens and smiting the earth, rings upon rings of purple smoke appeared around him. The boy felt the strangest and most powerful sensations. He was no longer human. He was beyond human. He had attained the power of a god- nay, he was a god, beautiful and terrible. He would have an empire that could never end, with a god sultan that could never die. He would leave no legacy, because he would be the legend. He was all-powerful. Flashes of light and colour engulfed his vision. Flashes of where it all had began. Flashes of those dreadful sand dunes. Flashes of everything, everywhere, everywhen…

And then the illusion broke. The boy lay on the sand dunes of sweltering Arabia, still and quiet as the life left his body, taking a final, deep breath, his mind drifting to the empire that never was, the sultan he never could be, and the genie that was never anything but a distant fantasy, and there and then, he stopped moving and breathing, his corpse decaying into another part of the endless sand dunes.