Poems & People

what if poems could be symphonies, and people their orchestra?

Ramz al Sumud (Hope of Palestine)

Of life who bears the burden, who
of liberty sought must carry too.
By nations, dubbed who is a mother,
of freedom, dubbed a lover true.
With no home who roams the valley
gathering olives from Nablus’ fields
lights its bark to kindle her galley
which victuals for her unborn yields.
Of Gaza, its soul, is barred this dove,
to violence returns a rebellion of love,
shall birthen when our dream unknown,
she, the Ramz al Sumud our own.

Dark Water’s Game (The Flood)

I still hear the sound of its silent march
reaching and rising, that dark waters game.
Drowned the dreaming, it, always shall parch
my sore hearted throat, all morrows the same.
Tide into tide and into tide rolled darkness
until of what remained I could draw only death,
floating in my hours, in my gaze thoughtless
soulless those vessels of life sans breath.
There shall not ever, from that lifelessness
come to remembrance pasts visage untainted
nor shall emerge, from that endlessness
a hope which to hope may be acquainted.
Yet I do not mourn the many fields now lost
nor the memories reddened by the river of mud
not even my ones kindred or their life it cost
but the fact that I remained to witness the flood.

The Wisdom of Sacrifice

Wisdom does not reside, nor resides selflessness
in mourning a mulberry’s demise or its bare arms.
For the sacrifice of more than countless,
always more, never less,
yields but a piece of futile silk,
a piece, not even a yarn.

The Art of Living

As every drop upon a burdened leaf,
sojourns a moment, a moment brief,
why cans’t let not we burdens too
fall few where they once meant to.
This life is burdensome as it is,
lead not by self it far from bliss.
Please let all burdens fall my heart,
feigning joy perhaps is true art.

Akaasi 20: Never Forget

Let not the deafened modern times
and of these times, deaf people let
ruin thy song of thoughtful chimes
or of that song, life’s words forget.

Midnight Solstice

I may not call forth more than naught
of what hath been my morn and eves,
the scent of weeping lanterns as ought
should hath wept our ashen leaves.
Perhaps there were some tears or few,
of fate, of skies, I never knew,
but surely not of theirs ‘stead mine
were shed for memories good and fine.
Their perfume lingers still somewhere
‘midst still burning breathless breeze,
and naught but starry skies in pair
with rhambic shadowed mango trees.
Too much hast come, as much hast past
yet memory doth not tantam’ last,
to what end bathed my violet hill
such fruits of gold, but visceral.
For what is night to days of wander,
and what is day to nights in dreams,
solstice hearkens fall but yonder
thus life must flow anon it seems.
I may not call forth more than naught,
yet I dost remember mourning dust,
how heavy falls the silent unsought
while in its wake hear life we must.
Perhaps there were some tears or few,
for joy, for love, perhaps in rue,
but surely not of these ‘stead mine
lay there the wreath of bleeding vines.
Somewhere I left myself in passing
summer days midst midnight splendour
and all that lead to moments lasting
lead to moments such lasting more
as that which I then grew to wonder
of that day, that night in culmin’
I dost recall that solstice summer,
and that scent from trees that sin.
For what is night to days of wander
spent in wait for nights in dreams,
eternal is not thought or wonder
yet feeble is more life it seems.

Akaasi 19: All for Naught

Of lost, what with? Of lost, to whom?
To gain, where of? Of left too soon.
The play of life whilst in the womb,
for dust and ash and else for doom.

Akaasi 18: The Piper’s March

“Pity! It failed, that piper’s march”
sang the awoken prancing children,
moments ago even though each larch
bore witness to their joy’s meridian.

Akaasi 17: Independence

Now breathes wistful the conquest wind
one that lead once a myriad to pinnacle’s
prerogative, Alas! for the myriad rescinds
adherence to sense with airs most cynical.

Akaasi 15 & 16: A Promise At Jerusalem

Prosper shall not naught but valiance,
of valiance is naught left to swear.
I dreamt of might but dreams are dalliance
of great hearts and death they bear.
I hoped perchance but days ago
to promise thee the endless sun,
but left at side is naught such so
thus valiance is all but undone.

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