Thursday, January 20
The Inspirers of my "love Poems"Thought of today:
"If I am impatient to experience the results of my efforts, it is like trying to eat unripe fruit"
I have been asked a lot of times if I have meant any individual in my "love poems", some might even think that I'm writing about them. And although being in love adds that extra special zing in the words, in my personal experience, I do not have to be in actual love to express its emotions, I experience this love through inspiration, and it could be a very private love that even the inspirer does not know about it. In a nutshell: I'm always in love with love.
The important thing in the end is the piece I write, and the reader who can relate to it.
To all those who inspired me, to those who identified themselves through my "love poems", and to my readers I dedicate this.
And Happy Eid to all.
Poet's love
Hey you, don't cite my verse out laud
Thinking it's all about you
Thinking it's all about you
Your dazzling eyes in a crowd
Single out like diamonds do
Single out like diamonds do
Although to you my words I vowed
To your zest and meek virtue
To your zest and meek virtue
But not because of you I bowed
Through my lyrics to a mythical statue
Through my lyrics to a mythical statue
**
And you; my honey dew sweetheart
Amid your chin carved a dimple
And you; my honey dew sweetheart
Amid your chin carved a dimple
Sitting proudly as a piece of art
So arrogant, yet so simple
So arrogant, yet so simple
To your path my soul would dart
A load of passion so ample
A load of passion so ample
But still beat not for you my heart
Although there has been a couple
Although there has been a couple
**
Now you, my awesome sculpture
Flawless; in a total perfection
Flawless; in a total perfection
Your body seals a signature
Of god's quote: "Limited selection"
Of god's quote: "Limited selection"
Michelangelo is an amateur
In grasping your bronze reflection
In grasping your bronze reflection
But still, it's your shadow I capture
And alight in my own perception
And alight in my own perception
**
So cite my lyrics with confidence
Identify yourself an' up soar
If it brings you happiness
Then you can ask me for more
If emptiness is what you feel
I'd forsake my art in dour
In my poem, you're the deal
That inspires the metaphor
So cite my lyrics with confidence
Identify yourself an' up soar
If it brings you happiness
Then you can ask me for more
If emptiness is what you feel
I'd forsake my art in dour
In my poem, you're the deal
That inspires the metaphor
**
My statement to all is this
"Up heave your expectation,
My statement to all is this
"Up heave your expectation,
Dive in my art and bless
In your unique identification
In your unique identification
But my Scribbles are not to press
On me a binding resignation
On me a binding resignation
For all this passion is, nonetheless;
A figment of my imagination"
A figment of my imagination"
copyright: Ruby Khaja
Name::AyyA
From::Kuwait
I AM WHO I AM AS I ARRIVE AT YOUR DOOR WHETHER I COME OR I GO IS NOT UP TO ME FOR I HAVE LOST SIGHT OF ALL DESIRE "Walled Garden of Truth",Hakim Sanai
View my complete profile
15 Comments:
Hi Nazal and welcome in my humble quarter;
To understand the last stanza(last three lines) in the poem, you have to read the whole poem; the poet has seen a fortune teller to read his future using tarot cards, and in the third stanza she told him sad things that made him loose hope in his destiny.
Here is the whole poem, and although it's very sad, it's beautiful:
She
I presented
my feminine side
with flowers
She cut the stems
and placed them gently
down my throat
And these tulips
might soon eclipse
your brightest hopes
She had nothing
but time on her hands:
silver rings, turquoise stones
and purple nails
I rubbed my thumb
across her palm:
a featherbed
where slept a psalm
Yea, though I walk
I used to fly
and now we dance
i watched
my toenails blacken
and walked a deadened trance
Until she woke me
with the knife edge
of her glance
i have the scars to prove
the clock strikes
with her hands
I have seen the truth
many times
but for the first time
she saw me
I wore suspenders
for the judgment
in my pants
I laced my shoes with sorrow
and walked a weary road
dead end streets
don't come undone
with double knots
Wing tipped shoes
that walk on air
through vacant lots
She kept her deck
beneath her pillow
and had promised
me a reading
She stuck a bookmark
in my heart
and walked away
It was autumn then
The leaves
suddenly flames
the sidewalk
burning cinders
i walked the streets
as if the sun
had called me boy
mad at the world
on aging feet
Shuffling
her cards
Shuffling
my feet
Head
to the sky
blue
The clouds
her cards
The clouds:
her cards
Shuffling
the skies
A storm passes
new clouds appear:
the chariot
the priestess
The moon
in broad daylight:
an omen
Love is an unbridled horse
with one wing out-stretched
the other tucked and folded
on the right side
The horse galloping
towards a cliff
knowingly
panting just enough
for you to think
he's laughing
he?
love is male?
Love is a dumb horse
with silver streaks
and a sometimes penis
A sometimes penis?
On Thursdays
the rest of the week
she grazes
and paints her hooves
with red mud
making tracks
Through the fields
which disappear
soon after they appear
Because nature has a way
of changing
the same way
it remains
btw, Nazal, thanx for the nice comment on Abal-7akam's blog, I juse saw it :)
Rabab ..
I like the part about you being in love with love. It is so, however, I strongly beleive writers love for their own reasons, it is to please thier Ibda3 3efreet, if u know what i mean.
Writers love to write
Now read it again:
Writers love, to write.
"Amid your chin carved a dimple"
I just double checked... Dont have such a thing :(
Nice post
مبتدئ
I know exactly what you mean, I can be in deep love so long there is an inspiration, and once this inspiration is gone, I'm normal again. It's like nothing moves me. And mind you, if you don't have the dimple, you might have other things that have inspired someone somewhere and may be you don't know about it ;) , writers see detailed things that can't be seen with the naked eye.
So don't give me the sad face I'm sure you are beautiful.
Rabab .. how sweeet :-]
Yah, and thank you for adding me to your blog list! ..
You are the first one to add me :)
مبتدئ
I added you to my links coz I think your blog is cool and the link is my easy access to yours so no need to thank me buddy, and don't forget shankoo7's promise to me ;)
نزال
Sure, any time, I love poetry, the more the merrier :)
Its nice to know that I inspire you although you are not willing to admit that in public :)
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Oh Purgy, now you know that I have this thingy for you, why do you have to publicize it :)
Rabab,
well it was obvious for everyone, so what can we do :)?
Yes DJ, I think writers are more sensitive than others and therefore their senses are magnified, they observe and experience little things that others miss, that's why you see most of them always carrying a small pad around so that when something comes to mind, they write it down before it's lost. My friends call me spacey; because I could be in a middle of a serious discussion and you'd see me spacing out. Crisp imagination is what it is for method writing. Sometimes is mixed with reality, but down deep we all know that it's only a passing phase.
It’s true .. when u have such passion that can not be quenched without a pen (or a keyboard ;P) u don’t have to be in love to write about it. I remember when I was younger my uncle was in love with the woman who is now his wife .. I was so touched by their(got the spelling right this time ;)) story that I wrote a poem for her speaking in his tongue. I didn’t write it to give it to anyone .. I simply felt what he and she must have felt and I couldn’t help but put it in words .. I even couldn’t sleep till I finished writing it. Needless to say when I showed my uncle the poem the next day he took it and gave it to his love as his own asking me not to breath a word lol ..
I love the figments of ur imagination Ruby .. they are always deep sweet and bitter sweet even ;) I can relate.
Thanx sweetie, you can post your poem here and I won't tell on you;)
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
I wish I could but unfortunatly we were travling at the time and I was too young to have the fore sight of keeping a second copy .. the sole copy is now the property of mrs.uncle ;)
Post a Comment
<< Home