Scheherazade’s 1001 Arabian Tales

Stories to captivate, enchant and mystify

The young Scheherazade, pleasant and polite,

Witty, well-read, well-bred, a real shining light,

Was the Vizier’s daughter who was chosen,

To be the tyrant King Shahryar’s bride,

No one in the land envied the plight,

Of the young lady of innocence and delight.

King Shahryar was cruel and mean,

Every young girl was filled with dread,

He would marry a lovely girl today,

And tomorrow she would lose her pretty head.

There was a shortage of girls in the kingdom to wed,

To be served on to the king’s nuptial bed.

The Vizier brought his wise daughter Scheherazade in,

To be the next replaceable one-day-bride,

To the obnoxious, tyrant of a king.

The pretty Scheherazade was an intelligent girl,

With the wisdom and value of a rare pearl.

She had read all about the histories from days gone by,

She knew that science and nature could make ideas fly.

She read books on philosophies, books on emperors and of kings,

She read the myths, the legends, and all other wondrous things.

Within a day the young Scheherazade was wed,

To the handsome, powerful tyrant of a king,

Who took a new girl every day to be his bride,

The next day she would swiftly lose her head.

The young wise Scheherazade had a plan,

Her sister Dunyazad would come every day,

And ask her in all innocence to tell her a story and a magic tale,

Which Scheherazade would say in great detail,

As the king supped on fruits while sipping wine and ale.

Now as the story would reach the middle,

The king was anxious to know how it would end,

However, the story that day would not end,

The young Scheherazade would say,

Making an excuse for the delay.

She needed to rest in her warm soft bed,

And so narrowly escaped losing her pretty head.

The next day the story would be told,

Each exciting part would unfold,

As soon as it reached its astonishing end,

A new one would swiftly begin,

Yet again, the middle of the story would come.

The king was anxious to know how the tale would end,

Another story of stories would continue without an end.

But that was a new story for another day

The clever bride Scheherazade would say.

The magical tales Scheherazade crafted and wove,

In the most beautiful colors of scarlet, red, and mauve.

The stories were filled with adventures of warriors and kings,

Of magic lanterns and magical floating rings.

Tales of fairies, dragons, and sorcerers of power,

Who trapped shifting sands of time in a frozen jar.

Images of raging battles and stories so dramatic,

With Genies, Goblins, and Princes on flying carpets.

Legends of heroes who were cunning, brave, and lightning-quick,

They could create worlds with the twirl of a mystical-stick.

The Warriors defeated the witches and the ogres black,

With the lethal weapons, they carried on their broad back.

Fleeing with the princess on a wild flying stallion,

With the fiercest animals as their companion,

These were stories that were inventive and bright,

Alas, it would end the next day but not tonight.

The tyrant king was changing his ways,

With every story that he heard,

His heart was warming and kindness grew within,

Until he was a transformed man and a better King.

As the one thousand and one tales were told,

Through summer, winter, rain, frost, and cold.

The young Scheherazade was ready to lose her head,

There were no more tales that she could say,

Which could save her life for the next sunny day.

The king who was now illuminated and wise,

Saw the young Scheherazade with love in his eyes.

The king spared the life of Scheherazade his bride,

While ruling his kingdom with wisdom and pride.

He had won his greatest treasure, and winning card,

His beautiful wise queen, the intelligent Scheherazade.