I was watching a program on the National Geography channel
regarding the effect of the Afghan war on common people. The
Mir, the child hero of documentary who lived in a cave in the
mountains had a dream just as other common people. When Mir’s
father dreamed for no more burning of shops, home and cities,
Mir dreamed to be a teacher. They felt cheated by every one who
came to help them.
I got a letter from Joop Bersee, a poet friend who sent me a
poem (even though he says this is not a poem). I again feel a
cry against war in those lines. Joop Bersee gave me this piece
only for reading, not for publication.
Lovely ladies, like
clutching at umbrellas like
troopers at their parachutes,
with looks like
weeping windscreen wipers.
I bow to the place inside you
where when we are both there
only one person exists.
What would you know of a Poet, beyond
the words she has left us, their Spirit, their Spell?
What would you know of the White Vagabond--
this Angel imprisoned in hell?
Like Prometheus, she has given us Fire--
the inferno of her own desire.
Like Samson in chains, she shrugged herself free
of the Philistines, and now is free.
All we must learn we will find in her words--
the cries of vultures, the chorals of songbirds.
Michael R. Burch
So , there is still a hope to this world ! And so , we are not
yet defeated by aircrafts, automobiles ,subways , bankbooks and
politicians ! A heart , as small as a fist and as soft as a
dove’s meat is still able to fight with all kind of bombs and
modern coldness and cruelty only by falling into pieces and
becoming mad !
Thanks God ! We can touch the kingdom of heaven by Peri’s naked
heart .Her perished reason ,gives more strength to her purest
heart for touching the heaven and conveying it’s messages to us
The most important thing for Peri is love. She can't forget her
beloved and that is why she takes refugee to the endless desert
of madness and her final choice is endless sleep.
Who Long Kept Hid
I prayed to stars, when I was young,
To lure love where I lay
Lone as a shore that calls a sea
The tide has turned away.
Love did not come, and oh they seemed
Indifferent to my cry,
Who long kept hid how love could be
A kindness to deny.
Though Sorrow Mock
I shall not give you up for lost,
though grief prevail,
Though silence join with ash
to prove all perish;
though sorrow mock my hope
for all I cherish.
T. (Tom) Merrill
Although the world may shift
as fast as clouds drift,
all that is whole plunges home
to the primeval.
Over the traffic and track,
farther and freer,
your descant echoes here,
god with the lyre.
Sorrows are not transcended,
love is uncomprehended,
and what distances us in death
is never revealed.
Only intangible song
makes holy, and hails.
Wandelt sich rasch auch die Welt
alles Vollendete fällt
heim zum Uralten.
Über dem Wandel und Gang,
weiter und freier,
währt noch dein Vor-Gesang,
Gott mit der Leier.
Nicht sind die Leiden erkannt,
nicht ist die Liebe gelernt,
und was im Tod uns entfernt,
ist nicht entschleiert.
Einzig das Lied überm Land
heiligt und feiert.