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on 16-07-2002 18:08
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Published in : , Poems |
By Ramaq
A thousand years gone, but no Osman Beg reborn,
no more dawns, only darkness empty songs.
Heart! take heart! absorb historys bruising,
bleed not under oppressions swords,
cry not at Jerusalems doors.
Self! Look not at thine reflection in the mirrors of the past,
You might find a future of troubling sadness, of no gladness.
Diligence, patience, remembrance and the childhood love are all gone,
Oh what loveless schemes, what painful mysteries brought this on?
Lost the youth that flowered too soon,
lost the love that was found too fast,
all the overpowering, all the prayers,
in the end there remained no breath.
Wheres the thread that bites into my neck?
Spun with the skill of shaytan,
Wheres the circle in which my gaze is trapped?
Drawn with the drops of my blood.
How splendidly the mountains bowed,
the sun sparkled like a gleeful lark.
Joy, golden bright, is dim in my eyes,
replaced with the smog of lost Persian bazaars.
the clouds of mourning have rained and fled,
Ive stepped upon that heavenly bed,
and flown with angels upon the pathways of stars.
I am tortured by the flames of lost ages,
sitting in this sage-less stage, like a bird in a cage,
seething with distress, and languishing without breath,
I longed to be kissed by the dance of dervishes long dead.
But the image of resurrection flutters in my minds eye,
Though I find no comfort in Joy or that colored clay,
I am, yet somehow, burning with love anew,
Marble statues melt in the fire of this ardor,
replaced with the calligraphy of these word-shards.
The clock of today held upon the back of Atlas,
is bound to stop--ticking only in the tales of desert bards.
Last update : 16-07-2002 18:08
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