Your golden face
Is full of sun my dear.
Let me rest here awhile with you.
Cry if you must,
as I play you river music melodies.
Sweet honey friend,
Your lover may be gone,
but remember that god will never leave you.
Golden Sun
Tag: Poetry
Eloquence
The trees speak of the
Beauty of this barefoot tango.
Two forms in the window
Inviting to dance.
The trees speak,
of his cherry stained mouth
dipped
In her crystal lake.
The trees speak of this corpse
rewiring
with brown earth tendrils,
brimming heart stuffed full
of green leaves
& words of peace.
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Bliss
Bliss is an Indian summer garden in full bloom
Dipping our toes from the moon
His eyes in my bed
A rose and a smile
&
A candlelit bridge to cross
When the prayers are sung
The dance is done
And night has come.
Deep sea diving
There’s a point that will come, when it’s all over. A point of calm, and stillness. A point of pure light, and reflection.
A point of stability. Knowing that as much as the boat will rock, you’ve got your sea legs now. You move with it, dance with it, and you enjoy the breeze on your face.
The salt on your lips. The feel of your hair drying in the sun. Your bleached white clothes.
You reach a point where you’re not bailing water out anymore. You’re not cold, drenched, and tired. You’re not traveling alone, and it’s not dark.
Your time will come, if it hasn’t already.
Open your eyes. There is beauty everywhere.
Death
Accepting death, becoming death, integrating death.
This is what it takes to be Alive.
Have no fear.
Permanent Sunrise
As the sun rises
It sets
As the moon lifts
It sinks
So too does my heart.
Cuts healing
Bruises fading
Roots planted
Wings growing
Soon you will all watch me soar
Hatched
Falcon in flight
Ramad
Diving under a watercolour sun,
Rising with the sickle moon.
Snake spined in the sand,
We called the desert Trickster spirit
Out to play.
In Your alpine eyes
I saw us.
Making love without making love.
I went to the universe in your mouth
as Venus blinked.
Under her we were all beautiful.
Tasting infinity
on a desert industrial beach.
Dark Matter
Akasha
The unknowable
Can only be known
If you know
That you don’t know.
Forough Farrokhzad
Iranian poet and film director, 1935-1967. Protestor again patriarchy, film director, feminist supreme. Social pariah, for her art and her divorce, her masterpiece is The Wind-Up Doll:
More than this, yes
more than this one can stay silent.
With a fixed gaze
like that of the dead
one can stare for long hours
at the smoke rising from a cigarette
at the shape of a cup
at a faded flower on the rug
at a fading slogan on the wall.
One can draw back the drapes
with wrinkled fingers and watch
rain falling heavy in the alley
a child standing in a doorway
holding colorful kites
a rickety cart leaving the deserted square
in a noisy rush
One can stand motionless
by the drapes—blind, deaf.
One can cry out
with a voice quite false, quite remote
“I love…”
in a man’s domineering arms
one can be a healthy, beautiful female
With a body like a leather tablecloth
with two large and hard breasts,
in bed with a drunk, a madman, a tramp
one can stain the innocence of love.
One can degrade with guile
all the deep mysteries
one can keep on figuring out crossword puzzles
happily discover the inane answers
inane answers, yes—of five or six letters.
With bent head, one can
kneel a lifetime before the cold gilded grill of a tomb
one can find God in a nameless grave
one can trade one’s faith for a worthless coin
one can mold in the corner of a mosque
like an ancient reciter of pilgrim’s prayers.
one can be constant, like zero
whether adding, subtracting, or multiplying.
one can think of your –even your—eyes
in their cocoon of anger
as lusterless holes in a time-worn shoe.
one can dry up in one’s basin, like water.
With shame one can hide the beauty of a moment’s togetherness
at the bottom of a chest
like an old, funny looking snapshot,
in a day’s empty frame one can display
the picture of an execution, a crucifixion, or a martyrdom,
One can cover the crack in the wall with a mask
one can cope with images more hollow than these.
One can be like a wind-up doll
and look at the world with eyes of glass,
one can lie for years in lace and tinsel
a body stuffed with straw
inside a felt-lined box,
at every lustful touch
for no reason at all
one can give out a cry
“Ah, so happy am I!”’
The main theme she draws on, like Sylvia Plath in “The Applicant”, is that of female repression in patriarchal society, and its devastating, life-draining effects on women. A powerful critique of patriarchal structures, Forough succintly depicts the psychological effects of the limited roles available to middle-class Iranian women in the 1950s and 60s.
Where in previous poems, Forough’s voice has been deeply personal, in “Wind-Up Doll” she assumes a poetic persona that is impersonal and ungendered. She is speaking about herself, but her Self as All women. An ancient concept, of the One as All, in the “Wind-Up Doll”, Forough’s position as spokesperson is clear. Her protest takes on a universal quality. She speaks softly but strongly, meditating and reaching a painful Truth: the forced domesticity, and domestication of women by the patriarchy has created
In her poem, Forough primarily demonstrates observation rather than criticism. However, through her observation lies implicit criticism. In her use of everyday object metaphors for the female body is a powerful critique of the objectification and taking for granted of women. Her relation of the mechanical doll to the female role also represents a critique of the responses that society dictates for women. She strikingly portrays the underlying female depression caused by forced domesticity, and the patriarchal tearing of women away from nature.
The Light Lioness 