For two weeks I have been in this Palace. Nothing has happened - Bijan Elahi

 For two weeks I have been in this Palace. Nothing has happened

Baghdad’s arches and the arches of the Tigris
The story left unfinished
may turn into a poem and a poem
finished can make a story. 
That’s why poets always break the lines of their poems.
And I want from among those pointless walks around Baghdad to break the line on a house in the bazaar
carpeted with many marbled stones in The Thousand and one Nights, where the ceilings
are painted turquoise and gold.
Ten dinars a month for rent!
Are you kidding?
I’m not kidding, the doorkeeper said, but whoever enters the house
gets sick and within two weeks dies.
For two weeks
I’ve been in this palace and nothing has happened.
I’ve only seen sunsets of gold.
You can hear them:
Hey, boy, you haven’t seen the palace belvedere? the doorkeeper’s wife said. But what is on the roof
other than Baghdad’s arches and the arches of the Tigris

 - Bijan Elahi 

I’m so frightfully unhappy - Josè Martì

 I’m so frightfully unhappy 

I'm so frightfully unhappy,

I feel, oh stars, I am dying!:

I want to live, and I'm sighing

A beauteous woman to see.

Like a helmet, her headdress

A beautiful face protects:

Her black hair the light reflects

Like the sword of Damascus.

What of that one?… Well, find all

The world's gall, and then enmesh,

Cover it in so much flesh,

And you have a soul that's all gall!

Well, this one?… What a disgrace!

The creature red slippers wears,

Paints her lips red if she cares,

And puts on a barnished face.

The sorrowful soul then screamed:

Damn you, woman, twice damn you!"

I know not which of the two

The more accursed should be deemed

Josè Martì

Letters

 Letter

Tracing the dried ink

With the tip of my index finger

Feeling the rough texture 

Of the once buttery paper

With your beautiful alphabets arranged

In perfect curves

Engraved and smudged

The paper has become frail

And has a lot of folds

Some damaged and chipped corners

But still feels anew

Everytime I get to go through

The same feeling that this letter gave me

After you gave it to me

And then after you left.

 

Magnificent long windows

Warm white lights

A mix of Bohemian and grandeur lifestyle

But unsure of what this style of life means

Splendid parties and expensive toasts

Glamorous nights and Turkish desserts

Pensive hangovers and painful mornings

Millions to celebrate

But lonely to the coffin

The magnificent long windows

Projecting sparking light outside

But that sparkle is not joyful

For glass bends the nature of light

And hence perception.

Late night thoughts

Late night thoughts

Late night thoughts

Are really vague

Some in Tokyo and some in Hague

But one thing tying them is still the same

They all come to life

When the blinds of the eyes

Block the light

To guide us to the boarding gate

At the thought immigration counter

In the brain. 

Childhood

 Childhood

A life is precious

For it can only be lived once

But a phase that 

Just like the twinkling streetlight

Comes up and floods the memory gates

And fills the eyes with a sparkle and euphoria

And sometimes the heart with tears of happiness and reminiscence,

Those are the days 

We learn to walk, talk and stumble

Get crappy and play tantrums and crumble

But at the end of the day

Hug the pillow and under the sheets we snuggle

Are the days of

childhood.

 

Chaos is said to be another definition of life

But then it leads to mess

And messiness attracts anxiety

And anxiety kicks primality

And finally when primarity kicks in the loop completes

And then the position is stalled

In moments like these

Step back

Looking at the bigger picture

Imagining the potential future helps

Motivates and inspires

To thank and to desire

To work and to perspire

To decompose and declutter

And trace back life

To it's good old glory

 

Beneath these skies

I saw the phases of the moon

Waxing and Waning

Null and in complete bloom

Tenderness is what the skies preached

But most of them 

Under the viel of their sparkle 

Hide the teardrops of loneliness

And then there are few

who shine and shine

And choose not to fade away

But to burn out.

Palace of thoughts

 Palace of Thoughts

Lost in the Palace

A Palace of thoughts

A hideout where feelings live

A destination where dreamers are found

Stumbling and tripping over

Corpses of oldselves

Of People I knew and know

But their heart still had a glow

Feeling the wall with my fingertips

Following the walls to the balcony

Where I say the light reflected from 

The Stars and the Moon

And the Palace then collapsed

Pretty Soon….

Apart

Apart 

Eyes,

Even though they see the same view

But are centimetres apart

Ears,

Even though they listen the same music

But are inches apart

Hearts, 

Even though they beat on the same rhythm

But are metres apart

Humans 

Even though they are in the same room,

Listen to the same music

See the same view

Are universes apart.

And what sets them apart

Is the distance

Distance between one's stance and another...

Sunshine

Sunshine

The light from the sun

Reflected by the moon

Reaches the earth after noon

Making every night a soothing boon

The stars too twinkle in the night

Singing lullabies to the travellers in sight

The sun though scorchy knows it all

Asks his friends to be the guiding light

To all the humans is he the hope

For every dark end, ends with his note

Just by rising does he spread the delight

Orange, blue, violet are his shades of light.

 

Poems

Poems 

A set of words clustered together

Do they have meaning?

Yes and no

For the one who feels it 

It means everything and then for

The one who doesn't

It doesn't ring a bell

But it's not necessary to move everyone

For not all leaves shed in the same day.

Satin

 Satin

The smoothest of touches

Appearing in all hues and shades

One best thing about it is

Never does it fades

For the most intimate moments

It is the right choice of garment

The richness of perception

Evokes memories of darkness

Unleashing the inner beast

For the eternal feast

Of ripping apart these pieces of fabric

So as to let the truest self to emerge

And then again to submerge

Into the deep continuum of "satin"

A Lonely Man

 A Lonely Man

Human Life

Starts out as a cell

Grows on to become a tissue

Then organs and then me s and you s

But once born, 

although we are same but we all differ

Differ in experiences but match in taxonomy

Still all of it sums up to a beautiful picture except

For one,

The life of a lonely man

Sleepless nights under the stars

Experiencing anything and everything there is to be

With no one by their side

Or even after as they lead

To the pyre or to the cemetery

Though their eyes are extremely dull

Their soul is more precious than the jewels of the world

But nothing can match the suffering of theirs

When other's don't understand a word ...

Friendship

 

   Friendship 

A bond

As pure as that of the waves and shore

With each one meeting one another in the arms everyday

But also moving away, and staying apart

For that is the essence of it

A bond 

That begins with giggles at the start

To resting one's head on other's shoulder

When life tears one apart

But the other picks up the jigsaw pieces and lines lines them right from the start

For that is the essence of it.

A bond

That not only binds humans

But also other species

Where each and everybody

Fills the other's deficiencies

For that is the essence of it.

To walk together

To grow together

To nurture together

To nourish together

To flourish together

And to cherish together.

Mobiles

 Mobiles

Adoring it as an ornament

And transporting kisses via 

Sometimes clicking the thin membrane

And sometimes gliding fingertips over

Watching all the faces out there in the world

On a 5 inch canvas,

Painting love lives and professional lives

Without the experience of any lag

(Well it only started a few years back)

But it does need one thing

A thing that is just as certain as Death

Death as it occurs to it is,

Reversible,

What it actually needs is not a pill or a tonic or a CPR

All it needs is a Recharge.

Mirror

Mirror

Reflecting what one is

How far one is

Is what it does

It's an aid 

A mysterious thing that 

Brings us closer to ourselves

And bounds to explore

The crevices and depths of our reality and perception

But when you bring two of them face to face

It's sparks an inception

Of an illusion

Go to the Limits of your Longing - Rainer Maria Rilke

 Go to the Limits of your Longing

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand….

- Rainer Maria Rilke

The Black Herald - Cesaro Vallejo

 The Black Herald

There are blows in life, so powerful… I don’t know!
Blows like God’s hatred; as if before them,
the undertow of everything suffered
were to well up in the soul… I don’t know!

   They’re few; but they exist… They open dark furrows

in the most ferocious face and the most powerful loins.

Perhaps, they’re the wooden horses of barbaric Attilas,

or black messengers that Death sends to us.

     They’re profound lapses of the soul’s Christs,

of some adorable faith that Destiny blasphemes.

Those bloodthirsty blows are the cracklings of some

bread that in the oven’s door burns up on us.

     And man… Poor…poor man! He turns his eyes, as

when a slap on the shoulder calls us by name;

he turns his crazed eyes, and everything he’s lived

wells up, like a pool of guilt, in his gaze.

     There are blows in life, so powerful… I don’t know!

- Cesaro Vallejo 

Song of the Wave - Khalil Gibran

 Song of the Wave

The strong shore is my beloved 
And I am his sweetheart. 
We are at last united by love, and 
Then the moon draws me from him. 
I go to him in haste and depart 
Reluctantly, with many 
Little farewells. 


I steal swiftly from behind the 
Blue horizon to cast the silver of 
My foam upon the gold of his sand, and 
We blend in melted brilliance. 


I quench his thirst and submerge his 
Heart; he softens my voice and subdues 
My temper. 
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon 
His ears, and he embraces me longingly. 


At eventide I sing to him the song of 
Hope, and then print smooth kisses upon 
His face; I am swift and fearful, but he 
Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His 
Broad bosom soothes my restlessness. 


As the tide comes we caress each other, 
When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in 
Prayer. 


Many times have I danced around mermaids 
As they rose from the depths and rested 
Upon my crest to watch the stars; 
Many times have I heard lovers complain 
Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh. 


Many times have I teased the great rocks 
And fondled them with a smile, but never 
Have I received laughter from them; 
Many times have I lifted drowning souls 
And carried them tenderly to my beloved 
Shore. He gives them strength as he 
Takes mine. 


Many times have I stolen gems from the 
Depths and presented them to my beloved 
Shore. He takes them in silence, but still 
I give for he welcomes me ever. 


In the heaviness of night, when all 
Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I 
Sit up, singing at one time and sighing 
At another. I am awake always. 


Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me! 
But I am a lover, and the truth of love 
Is strong. 
I may be weary, but I shall never die.

- Khalil Gibran

A Strong Man - Yang Mu

A Strong Man 

Rising from a dune, you brush away the storm 

The howling sound quiets down in the wild 

The brown desert is flooded with the twilight 

Your camel's dead, your mouth dry and bloodless 

Sounding the bell in your heart 

Making you the extension of the camel's life

You trek ahead to where the whirlwind has fled difficut walk

Trudging forward just for existence 

Not for annotating vague concepts in aesthetics

Praise comes only after you get out of the wild 

After you become an indomitable example 

But now you are in a place that nobody knows 

Writing a most rudimentary and unforgettable epic 

Like man on his feet for the first time 

What's more, you carry the seeds of trees 

The cool shade of which your predecessors failed to sow

You totter along, more clumsy than a camel 

Facing thirst, hunger, fatigue, loneliness 

And packs of wolves fiercer than loneliness 

Your sheepskin coat trails on the sand like a nebula

Your eyes pierce into the horizon

You nourish yourself with the spring of longing 

Your arms drawing an arch between heaven and earth 

Just like a gigantic god with dancing tresses.

You are unaware of your location 

It is on the western plateau of China

The terrain under your feet is a slope 

Inclining from west to east inch by inch 

Mediocre romances have slid and rolled away 

Merging into scenic spots, dikes and beaches 

There is the gurgle of frivolous girls 

Who always jeer at your old-fashioned sheepskin coat 

As well as the primitive rhythm of the loess plateau 

But you haven't heard it (the pitch of it is too low) 

You only forge on an elevation of three thousand metre

Your head touching the white clouds

Completing your lofty image with composure

There'll be a picture hanging somewhere spacious 

Of a camel, yak, or the Tianshan Mountains 

Or else a ridge in the Qilian Mountains 

When people sing their praises of you 

You remain nonchalant with a faint smile 

(Just like when you rose from the dune) 

Displaying the completeness of a strong man..

- Yang Mu

 

The Teak Forest - Laurence Hope

 The Teak Forest

WHETHER I loved you who shall say?

Whether I drifted down your way

In the endless River of Chance and Change

And you woke the strange

Unknown longings that have no names,

But burn us all in their hidden flames,

Who shall say?

 

Life is a strange and a wayward thing:

We heard the bells of the Temples ring,

The married children, in passing, sing.

The month of marriage, the month of spring,

Was full of the breath of sunburnt flowers

That bloom in a fiercer light than ours,

And, under a sky more fiercely blue,

I came to you!

 

You told me tales of your vivid life

Where death was cruel and danger rife--

Of deep dark forests, of poisoned trees,

Of pains and passions that scorch and freeze,

Of southern noontides and eastern nights,

Where love grew frantic with strange delights,

While men were slaying and maidens danced,

Till I, who listened, lay still, entranced.

Then, swift as a swallow heading south,

I kissed your mouth!

 

One night when the plains were bathed in blood

From sunset light in a crimson flood,

We wandered under the young teak trees

Whose branches whined in the light night breeze;

You led me down to the water's brink,

"The Spring where the Panthers came to drink

At night; there is always water here

Be the season never so parched and sere."

Have we souls of beasts in the forms of men?

I fain would have tasted your life-blood then.

 

The night fell swiftly; this sudden land

Can never lend us a twilight strand

'Twixt the daylight shore and the ocean night,

But takes--as it gives--at once, the light.

We laid us down on the steep hillside,

While far below us wild peacocks cried,

And we sometimes heard, in the sunburnt grass,

The stealthy steps of the Jungle pass.

We listened; knew not whether they went

On love or hunger the more intent.

And under your kisses I hardly knew

Whether I loved or hated you.

 

But your words were flame and your kisses fire,

And who shall resist a strong desire?

Not I, whose life is a broken boat

On a sea of passions, adrift, afloat.

And whether I came in love or hate,

That I came to you was written by Fate

In every hue of the blood-red sky,

In every tone of the peacocks' cry.

 

While every gust of the Jungle night

Was fanning the flame you had set alight.

For these things have power to stir the blood

And compel us all to their own chance mood.

And to love or not we are no more free

Than a ripple to rise and leave the sea.

 

We are ever and always slaves of these,

Of the suns that scorch and the winds that freeze,

Of the faint sweet scents of the sultry air,

Of the half heard owl from the far off lair.

These chance things muster us ever. Compel

To the heights of Heaven, the depths of Hell.

 

Whether I love you? You do not ask

Nor waste yourself on the thankless task.

I give your kisses at least return,

What matter whether they freeze or burn.

I feel the strength of your fervent arms,

What matter whether it heals or harms.

 

You are wise; you take what the Gods have sent.

You ask no questions, but rest content

So I am with you to take your kiss,

And perhaps I value you more for this.

For this is Wisdom; to love, to live,

To take what Fate, or the Gods, may give,

To ask no question, to make no prayer,

To kiss the lips and caress the hair,

Speed passion's ebb as you greet its flow,--

To have,--to hold,--and,--in time,--let go!

 

And this is our Wisdom: we rest together

On the great lone hills in the storm-filled weather,

And watch the skies as they pale and burn,

The golden stars in their orbits turn,

While love is with us, and Time and Peace,

And life has nothing to give but these,

But, whether you love me, who shall say.

Or whether you, drifting down my way

In the great sad River of Chance and Change,

With your looks so weary and words so strange,

Lit my soul from some hidden flame

To a passionate longing without a name,

Who shall say?

Not I, who am but a broaken boat,

Content for a while to drift afloat

In the little noontide of love's delights

Between two Nights.

- Laurence Hope

My Grandmother’s Love Letters - Hart Crane

 My Grandmother’s Love Letters

There are no stars tonight

But those of memory.

Yet how much room for memory there is

In the loose girdle of soft rain.

There is even room enough

For the letters of my mother’s mother,

Elizabeth,

That have been pressed so long

Into a corner of the roof

That they are brown and soft,

And liable to melt as snow.

Over the greatness of such space

Steps must be gentle.

It is all hung by an invisible white hair.

It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.

And I ask myself:

“Are your fingers long enough to play

Old keys that are but echoes:

Is the silence strong enough

To carry back the music to its source

And back to you again

As though to her?”

Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand

Through much of what she would not understand;

And so I stumble. And the rain continues on the roof

With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.

                                                                            - Hart Crane