13 May 2013

Autumn's mirror

This is a an autumn tree. Stark, bare, nudile. (Yeah, that's not a word).


And a fragment of Rumi which appeals to me. I am pretty sure he never wrote his poems down. They were sung and passed through time this way, from singer to listener. New voices breathing life into them, breathing life into new voices.


This next poem is at least six years old. I know I had just discovered Rumi when I wrote it, but tonight I was just looking for something to decorate and practice embellishing. I would definitely get some spaces in there if I typed it up again.


Can seven words be a poem?

One word can be a poem properly spoken, but this is more a thought.


I really don't know how to conclude, but will quote my best poem:

O love,
The poets have not
Exhausted you yet.

All their words
Are like clouds
Drawn from the
Endless ocean.

They only rain
Back down
To the source,
All the while
Covering the sun!

You, My Lord,
Find this amusing
No doubt.

In the words of the Quran:

“If the Ocean were ink (wherewith to write out) the words of My Lord,
Sooner would the ocean be exhausted than the words of My Lord,
Even if we added another ocean like it for its aid.”


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