Excerpt

A Dull Morning

What a dull morning, cast on me shadow, far from your face!
How many honors, without your grace, turned to disgrace!
Not only Chaheree, and his love sonnets, are running to you
Stars and atoms, for looking at you, run in a big race.
Domain of your love, doesn't recognize, in whole universe
The low barriers, and demarcations, of time and space,
The afore concepts, put limitation, on reality:
On racers' footwear, they are acting like, an open shoelace.
Strange world is, the party of love, and associates
Where the most humble, among the group, is the only ace.
Chehrees awaiting, the joyous moment, you show him your face
With an open heart, every bit of it, he may embrace.
He has been seeking, very high skies, and depths of oceans
No other grace, he has found better, than seeking grace.
His longing for you, O Dear Friend; is not most recent;
His tear is ocean, since he has been left, in this lone place.
He was lost in sea, in such a manner, that he dreaded
After a high tide, among the seashells, he lost his trace.
The universe is, accelerating, towards meeting you,
Even laser is, deadly embarrassed, by her slow pace.
Chehree didn't see, the happy dawning, of a new day:
Gloom of his mind, with full happiness, he should replace.


Taste Of Last Cherry

My Young Sweetheart;

Many times you have
Asked me earnestly,
With attentive mind
Of the growing
Who are seeking whys
Of the universe,
Where I came from,
Where I had grown.
Seed of my being
On what rock was sown
That I have no root.

How ever had been
The ways of my past;
Why I fell here
Without connection;
With self and alone;
Frozen and sad;
Among the group
Of these passers-bye.

I am telling you
Details of a tale
That you may one day
Muse upon it
With flooded eyes,
Or pensive smiles,
Or mocking laughter;
Filled with a pride,
Or embarrassment,
Or indifference.

Truth must be told
That you know your roots,
And your heritage,
And every reason,
That played a role
In this adventure
Of endless motion
In place and time
Among the nations
From self to self
As much as I can
Convey it here
From memory
That is still sharp.

Years and years ago,
In an early fall,
Or late spring,
Or early summer,
Behind a thick fog
On mountain slopes
Foot of a forest;
To bits of a verse
Pulses of a gust
And flow of songs
That flew on waves
Of a cool breeze
From high mountains
Onto low plains,
To this world arrived,
My soul: wandering.

As I grew up,
Grew with me tall,
On the high mountains
And the dry rocks
And bare branches
Of the pear trees
And the vineyards
Peaches, and walnuts,
Huge mulberries,
And the tall poplars,
Thick black berries,
And the apricots,
Smell of dreams,
And greatest hopes;
All rich in color,
With every disease,
And illiteracy,
Superstitions,
And with poverty.

***

Red also contained
Tinge of holiness
And the happiness
In our customs
With very deep roots.

The very customs
Stood like mountains
In their strength.

Stories were told
To the children
Every evening;
As the sun went down
In fall and winter,
As women went home
After the baking
Of daily bread
In the common kilns
And left to the kids
Sweet heat of kilns
And the warmth of tales.

Some of stories
Brought out your tear,
Saddened you for months,
While we always wished
They were not true.

As a fact of life
Most of what we heard,
As the elder said,
Could not be true
And, thus, we were calmed.

Despite all of these,
In the stories
Men were all brave.
They were powerful.
But, they were humble.
Thus, they were righteous.

Brave men were fair.
They fought for the weak.
For them, they suffered.
Thus, they were honored.

Brothers would back
Everything godly,
And their brothers.

Youngest brothers;
By the good virtues
They had always gained
Of experience
And the failure
Of the older ones
And the helping hands
Of the righteousness,
Always triumphed
In every battle;
While others tasted
A bitter defeat
Fighting the devil:
And the oppressors;
And the wrongdoers;
And the injustice
For their laziness,
And forgetfulness,
And their selfishness.

Right in the moments
That we were all lost
In the stories;
With hearts in throats
Of the vengefulness
Of the fierce devils,
And their witchcraft,
And whizzing flogs,
And grave events,
And the war cries,
And running horses,
Flying eagles,
And bewitched roosters,
And many mad dogs,
And heinous wolves,
And battle grounds,
Striking swords,
And heavy clubs,
And the bloodshed,
And death and defeat,
We always forgot
That the youngest men
Who won victories
Sat in our skins
Around common kiln.


A Few Robaees

I will leave this town for somewhere unknown,
Riches of this life to nothing I loan.
To please my heart with the soul of love,
For a beloved I will search alone.

**

Sky is raining hard and floggy,
The grass is soaked; the day is foggy.
You say a gloom has covered the land,
People of the town are all groggy.

**

Come Out, O Friend, in this spring,
To oblivion, your worries fling.
See the flowers blooming again,
Like those singing birds you begin to sing.

**

I do not believe, this is me again
With a broad heart like a sea again.
Details of my thoughts, in the depth of chest,
In every detail I can see again.

**

Suns of achievements haven't risen yet,
I doubt to a feat they ever beget.
Before rising high to the noon sky,
Prematurely, in east they have set.

**

Those lonely masses who to earth are gone,
For a short while they also had fun.
They also inhaled air of desires,
Few short moments they laughed with the sun.