Written by: Manal Rabiey
“I am Zakutu… born of clay, but I became a crown upon the head of thunder.”
I was not born of a throne, but of prayer.
I grew up in the south, along the banks of the Euphrates,
in a house of smooth stone and a roof of woven palm leaves.
I learned to wash my heart each dawn,
and offer it to the god Anu as sacred offerings are laid upon the altar.
I chanted to the heavens,
not as one who merely calls to the unseen,
but as one who becomes a bridge between earth and the beyond.
And on one night of invocation,
a man entered…
A man with the eyes of a warrior, yet he walked like a repentant stream.
A royal man, yet wounded within.
Sennacherib.
—
When the King Fell…
The king did not fall in battle.
He fell when he heard me chant:
> “O Anu… be his shadow when his swords betray him,
be his heart when he fears to love.”
He looked at me as if I were a miracle beyond reason.
And in a quiet voice, he said:
“I want you to be my next prayer.”
—
🜂 The Palace… the Beating Heart of Nineveh
I entered the palace of Nineveh not as a concubine offered,
but as a priestess revered.
A palace carved from dream and clay,
its gates guarded by Lamassu, the winged bulls.
Their wings spread wide, as if shielding the very heavens,
and their human faces bowed when they saw me.
The corridors were lined with reliefs:
the king hunting lions,
soldiers chasing victory,
gods blessing with outstretched wings.
The gardens…
They were suspended, stretching between terraces,
filled with the scents of basil, mint, saffron.
Rosewater was sprinkled on the marble steps every morning.
In my wing, the floor was covered in fabrics woven in Babylon,
and clay vessels were inscribed with the names of Anu and Nabu.
—
I am Zakutu… Prophecy and Fire
When I gave birth to Esarhaddon,
I knew the gods had not merely blessed me,
they had entrusted me with a sacred duty.
I raised him as one raises a kingdom:
with love and caution.
When his father was murdered,
I fled north with him,
cloaking him in my prayers,
and wrote upon his forehead: “The King to Come.”
Then we returned…
And I placed him on his father’s throne,
I stood behind him,
but my shadow stretched across the wall longer than any man’s.
—
The Divine Covenant – Curse of the Sacred Mother
When I saw eyes circling my son like vultures around a wound,
I wrote the Zakutu Covenant.
A tablet of sacred clay,
I commanded every prince of Assyria to swear:
> “If we betray the son of Zakutu,
may the earth betray us…
and may the gods burn us with eternal fire.”
And they submitted.
Not because I was queen,
but because I was the one who lit the darkness with words.
—
My Grandson… My Final Heartbeat
Ashurbanipal — a child with the eyes of the south,
and a heart forged of northern iron.
I taught him letters before swords,
wisdom before war.
I was his mother and his oracle.
And I whispered to him:
> “Never forget that your grandmother was a prayer before she was a woman.”
—
My Face
I was not beautiful like others…
I was like a sacred book:
not understood at first glance, but never forgotten.
My face was round like distant moons,
my eyes the color of night tinted with oil.
My scent was a blend of frankincense, saffron, and Damascus rose.
My robes were white, embroidered with sacred Assyrian letters,
each thread a hymn.
—
I am Zakutu… Anu sent me, and history carved me
I did not die.
I return whenever a woman prays in silence,
whenever a mother fears for her son and wraps him in a whispered plea.
I am the shadow of temples,
the breath of thrones.
I am the one who loved a king, but did not dissolve in him.
I made my surrender the beginning of an empire.
