I Wish
ghazal
I wish I could be sated by the wine of his beauty
or, burned in the flames of his love, become the master of his heart
I wish I could be a teardrop blooming on the flower of his face
or a curl of his perfumed hair
I wish I could be the dust sitting in his path
or under the sun of his gaze, melting bit by bit
I wish I could be a secret parading before him
or become rare words on his still lips
I wish I could accompany my friend, like a shadow in each breath,
or stay up until dawn from the thrill of his presence
I am devoting my mind to my heart’s hope, which breaks from separation
I am closing the door on grief, becoming moonlight from head to toe
Sarataan 1378 / Summer 1999
Appeal
O sky, pour down on this burnt earth–
she is yearning for a drop of life’s rain
Her lips are dry, her heart on fire
It is like looking at death
O cloud, drift toward this scorched land
A thousand farmers watch for you
Come, for the emerald mountains of the city
have worn mourner’s clothes for ages
O water, O nature’s healer, please come
Your absence breaks the flowers’ hearts
The gardens have no strength left
Smiles have dried from lips
O lord, don’t let the farmer
die thirsty in the furnace of time
One drop is an eternal gift,
renewing the farmer’s weak hands
O lord, show pity to the sullen nomads
O lord, show favor to the anguished heart of the sea
O lord, to the spring’s burning lips
to the burnt deserts, pour relief of rain
We are shamed and broken servants
drowned in sin, in blinding darkness
O lord, don’t let us weaken further
Absolve us, though we earned this torment
Pour water on us, for we are in flames
Some water to wet the spring’s arid eye
This burning earth is your disciple’s bedroom
don’t let it reel into complete chaos
Asad 1379 / Summer 2000
Tragic Stories
O tragic stories
you have made homes of our hearts
These sorrowful eyes, these hollowed yellow cheeks
these are the grim marks of your presence
O branches of sorrow!
One hundred springs and autumns come and go
buds wither with scarred hearts
one hundred blockades clear and one hundred caravans pass
Pharaoh dies and Nimrod’s tale ends–
yet you are still green and fresh
as if just from the garden’s womb
O scorching misery
leave the reaches of our hearts–
they are not the only things worth burning
For once, pass through another’s house
O tragic stories
your company overwhelms us
If you do not seek a new house, beware
Tomorrow we will go from the sorrowful ruins of life–
and you, wretched and exposed
in the limbo of time
will be homeless
Hamal 1380 / Spring 2001
The Night’s Poetry
ghazal
It is night–a poem kindles my thoughts
Eagerness combs my voice like knotted hair
What kind of fire quenches thirst?
What scent excites the body of my air?
I don’t know which mountain, which mountain of my desire
blows a fresh breeze through my hot solstice
From a bright cloud falls such pure light—
there is no need for my crying
Sparks pour from my sighs like stars
The pigeon of prayer nestles in my empyrean
My wild tears fall on each line of his book
Look how they flow needlessly–my God
After volumes of each word, a Mahshar of my every thought,
comes rebirth after an era of my quiet
Morning, don’t tear at the silk of my illusion
I swear to the night–it kindles my thoughts
Aqrab 1381 / Fall 2002
In the Company of Spring’s Daughter
Singing rain brought you here
You made my glances quicken
The sight of you caused a tumult within me
You brought change to my garden’s dream
What trembling are you? What harmony, your frame
that every leaf of you dances with itself?
Your amorous buds and coyness and light and wind
all work intently, unaware of my gaze
How do you know the pigeon so well
that it tells you secrets as soon as you’re here?
What if I were to know you, O smart one?
What wisdom does it tell with its song?
My hostess, if you have admired my poem
invite me under the shade of a cypress tree
Sit me on a rug of spangled clover
and gift me two bunches of sweet basil
Hoot 1381 / Late Winter 2002