Yesterday we sat on cushions
Underneath a tree.
Cake and chocolate muffins we ate
And conversed with cups of tea.
Today I looked at an illustrated book of poems
By the mystic Rumi.
Almost every Islamic image was of figures
Bent at the knee.
In apple orchards or garden courtyards these lovers
Met in beauty.
Adorations in every gesture whether serving
Food or poetry.
Their garments flowed into the earth via
The cloth at their feet.
Bowls and pots and cups and plates were rocks
In an embroidered stream.
In the undergrowth of plants around might crouch
A hare unseen.
Or peer behind a distant bough a deer
As though paying heed.
For still were the minds in such sunlit glades
In such a ceremony.
1, 2, 3, 4
When will the rain with the wind wash down.
The death toll sound in this peaceful town.
Clouds in the south lie limp on the line.
Watch as they wash over memories in time.
Grace falls from heaven.
This healing grief.
My throat catches.
I cannot express the way
This crosses my heart.
The suffering that bleeds
Into the plains.
The rivulets that run into the earth.
They are channels
Like the grooves of my forehead.
From the diamond centre
I am pierced like an arrow to the depths of me.
What has happened to my people?
17 -3 – 96
We hated those men then,
With all we could muster,
Who bore down above us,
With blades bloody-lustred.
Who tore us from land,
And forced us here into danger,
Where the heart beats on fire
At the hands of a stranger.
In our rage we were hardened,
To confront the dark lords,
Those steel eyes of requirement
To submit to their swords.
Though our hearts lay wide open
To the rivers of blood,
In our anger-filled frames,
We were as large as the gods.
And our chests grew like furnaces
Roaring with logs,
And our cries were the ravings
Of wolves and wild dogs.
And our teeth showed their edges,
And our brows ran with sweat,
As we fixed on our foe,
And knew blood must be let.
In a wave of defiance,
We ran forward to fight.
And our fierce pride dared them
To question our might.
Arms and hearts reaching upwards,
We exploded in red,
Yet our anger declared
We’ll not be of the dead.
For our hearts harboured children,
And wives and kinfolk.
In our crazed cries of courage,
It was for them that we spoke.
So we called on the gods
Of rage, weapons and war,
To put fire in our chests,
And burn brave evermore.
21 – 02 – 05
Ravenrage diabolus crucifix knife
Hungred hunted the throth bound remain.
Inkquire peatbog in lumen light
Whenced cry carren chillen in hand.
Yestered homeheart beat no moren fire.
Trackened marshwood their steps falterbear.
Morst to me now inthen grast the chillen carren
Carren cross sarnt the night naughts to them.
Weast hathoer owne abiden book resplayn.
Tays the stories woven webs o oer clayin.
Noed need orsfor hammer sin crossbladen book.
Curn in deathmartyrs throes aftine crust masters cruik.
Callered light crowerd cowl beats ashame.
Moren men suchas like wi no name.
Send tha hundread ahunt ferus here.
Thas wimin carren chillen in theys nayre ayear
Theysorl carryairn sweet dearones agin.
Romen crossern nayst acallered them in.
Ahd curlin acornkindred moon enda myne.
Adepped as asleept in nowre plumered clouerwine.
Cries onye thaes noosehaltered hounds.
Nae sons daughters wies owre’en us thattheys bound
Will gead wyrds to thae cawr book.
Thaes hang deatheyes ofteare kindred avain.
Ours alongain runningean faers a’ wimin
Eyn carreyn chirren weast towr remain.
The exponential equational and computational power of Parsa
& the legendary luxuriating literary largesse of Media
Were moulded by Cyrus the Second, King of Parsa, in 546 B.C.
Into a single kingdom, the Achaeminid empire,
Named after an ancestor, Achaemenes.
He then swept out to bring most of Middle Eastern Asia under his power.
There were large numbers of horsemen, supplies, distances, populations.
There were stories told of heroic feats and miraculous interventions by the gods.
By the breadth of his body and the range of his mind, Cyrus II was known.
An ancient marble head of him still exists, the beard braided in Babylonian style.
In an oration by the king he showed the form by which his shadow fell before him.
The dark shape filled the space as his influence had moved the stones in lands foreign.
And all eyes fell as the spell he cast cast out among the throng of all the chosen.
As his words stirred ancient memories in the many of these pleased to be adoring.
Two worlds combine in reason and rhyme like the passing of the moon into morning.
Gold-smiths and brass-beaters worked in the open bazaars.
The decorative art of tile-glazing reached new heights.
Architecture and mathematics flowered, carpet weaving flourished.
The empire reached its peak under Darius I and his son, Xerxes.
In 334 B. C. Alexander the Great conquered the empire, but stayed,
Seduced by the attractions of this culture
Sired by Cyrus the Second, the Great King.
4 – 02 – 07