Sheela
female, 52 |
Construction Project Management
Washington D.C. / USA
member since 05.09.2004
|
'Colorless green ideas sleep furiously'
- Noam Chomsky
(I weep from frustration because I didn't think to say it first.)
'White dreams awaken in November rain'
- Anony Mouse
"literary lover"
(this innocent remark evoked comments of a semantical an critical nature, but feel free to interpret its literal or figurative meaning. . .
it is what I am . . ..)
______________
fire, heart and blood
i do not love you
except
because i love you;
i go from loving
to not loving you,
from waiting
to not waiting for you
my heart moving from cold to fire
i love you only because
you are the one I love;
but I also hate you
deeply
and with hating you
bend to you
measuring my changling love
in that moment
i do not see you at all
but love you
blindly
maybe winter's light
will consume
my burning heart
with cruel rays
stealing my serenity
and calm
(always in this part of the story
i am the one who dies,)
the only one)
yet will I die of love for you
only because i love you
and because i love Love
which is you in the fire,
heart and blood
_____________
poetry is the
language of higher, hidden selves.
if you don't believe me, read Plato's Dialogues
and you will understand
some of the mystery
*********************
The Address
by Sohrab Sepehri
"Where is the friend's home?"
Asked the rider of the dawn
The sky paused.
A passerby cast the branch of light
From between his lips to the dark sands
And pointed to a poplar tree, saying:
"Near that tree,
There is a garden
Greener than God's dream
Where love is bluer
than honesty’s feathers.
Walk to the end of that lane
as it emerges from childhood,
Then turn to the flower of solitude;
Two steps beyond that flower,
you will see the eternal fountain
of myth
and be seized by a transparent fear.
In the flow of that intimacy
you will hear a rustling sound:
A child, sitting atop a
plane tree is lifting fledglings
from the nest of light.
Ask him:
'Where is the friend's home?'
**********************
The Wonder
Voltaire said the Secret
Of being boring
Is To Say Everything
Now
It is time
To Shut Up
I Held Back
All those years
(Held back love)
Talking of Everything,
Insistently
As if I was
Alive
As if Everything could be
Explained or
Written Down
Then the world
Returned steadfastly
Each morning
As if something Beloved
Had longed for
Us
So I went on
(And so I go on),
Because of the
Wonder
_____________
(one more):
The Way
Whom have I loved
All these
years?
How many nights did I
Sigh for
Unnamable things?
(Beauty trills
From a far off bird . . )
Shall I marry
The perfume of
A climbing rose
Or wed the green sage
Scenting the canyons?
The ephemeral air
Answers with a
Diminutive voice
Small as promise
Yes, it says
(Whispering):
Yes.
Marry your own soul,
That is the way
of a lover.
(Whom have I loved
All these
years?) |
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