-Angry at wind-
Kay.Hassan
Under the fog of the cruelest time,
Shedding silver tears and
Bleeding memories
, in rhyme with
the whining winds- crept down the mountains-
Staring at the wreckage of his court
Where he delivered once
The most
disgraceful schooling of all time .
And as I nodded, in sorrow- to the silver tears,
The wise king looked back with a brittle gasp.
“ I did not fear
any of her curses,
But -rather, I cry,
For my
talented disciple -Cyrus. (Cyrus The Great, who -dis-crowned- him...Cyropaedia- Xenophon)
Shed the holiest
piece of my soul:
The wisdom of my court, and
Chivalry code-
In the school of Medes' sobriety.
The wisdom of my court, and
Chivalry code-
In the school of Medes' sobriety.
Nevertheless, I learnt, Medes,
Must have
reached their destiny ;
The due date of split -and-
depletion,
Where - there
were no roots
And books to clutch.
(They gave away them ,willingly- Soon. )
On the course
of the cruel-time- decay
Hence, stranded in-the exact time of,
The snowy
mountains of North and West ;
the resorts of
ancestors’ holy sage,
Where season came and season gone,
Upon the churning topography-
Of the anguished motherland,
Prior to the start of this chronic chaos,
Or being readied for the journey,
Prior to the start of this chronic chaos,
Or being readied for the journey,
through the
veins of tribes,
Of their siblings - Gordyae- and others-
A thousand habitants of the Sad Heights.
To ignite-in- the blend -
Life and Trait of
a new breed ,
To set off on the trails to nowhere -
The never-land , where-henceforth
-Were, in their home, ruled over by strangers:
Conquerors and patriarchs ,
who were delighted soon by
their consent of surrender,
By the act of a deadly vow :
“There , for thou, I shall grow,
Trees of Life
in the golden fields,
(Like the virgins of the temples-) SOON-
Blessed with ridge and furrow,
Shall water them in the dead of the season
With the streams of sorrow.
And for the eastern borders
Of Thy Empire we shall,
Build a giant fence of men,
Eclipsed themselves
Build a giant fence of men,
Eclipsed themselves
In your shadow
And for the southern-- border ,
we are on the head of mercenaries;
My brothers, my cousins,
And the noblest
of our men
The descendants of the best of the best.
They are-As many as God’s Words are -
Enormous as the waves of ocean
To storm into thy enemies’ strongholds
Whilst Thy name stays on our lips
In songs and in
prayers -
Becoming -the Jewel -of
Our holiest stories-
(Oh, Magnificent King of the sky,
in thy heavenly golden garment
I am all yours.)
There are only few, if any,
May ask about
the good tidings, or news --“
(Unaware : platitude shall corrupt
Their- blessing in disguise,
Beggars- in all
kinds of weather.)*
Their native lands were mountains
with the sharpest perches though,
famous for being the paradise road
of the adventurers’ arks, and
Forever chevaliers’
standing carcasses
paved with good
intentions - albeit
With all kinds
of complains -
Lead to nowhither -soon or later
Though they are always traveling,
Their Mules
stranded, trudging ;
sunk to Flanks in the snow,
Like untrained knights in the field
Remembering in sorrow, with tears,
There were times they were free
And had their own hanging gardens,
groves, and
heavenly orchards
And owned an absolute sublime patch of paradise
(Which, Naively,
they called them
The-Shrine -resorts of Al-Sahaba- )
Oh. Blessed withering - terra firma
Land of all fauna and wild flora,
Zagros’ terraced slope paradise,
Were guarded by- a thousand-
Angel like- immortal juveniles
Angel like- immortal juveniles
Regardless of their gender,
forever alerted
like holy dogs,
To keep away the unfriendly,
And hostile
intruders
-Their story- then on, was,
A prosaic travel from the valleys
Up to the breast of the mounts
Resided - and crowded in black tents
The Lest protective-environment-
Of the genital
parts, and skins.
Perpetual fugitives- terrified of,
The inner cities dysfunction,
kept as
such, for a thousand years
Delightfully following
their livestock;
Herds of sheep, cows and goats
Listening to the jingling bills,
nightingales tweets,
And the purling of the flowing water
Into his lyric whisper of un-orchestrated passion -
Unaware: They won’t survive all those
Frosts on the back of mules and horses
Galloped away in their best time.
In their
destructed meadows.
Remembered, how they chose
the worse days
for their journey.
Screaming and singing,
Until their
exiled sage throw his first arrow
loaded With a new year dispatch -
warning them of
the lands quake
“ Oh travelers to nowhither .”
What doeth thy Kashkool* - took in ?”
And then on his golden arrow-
He composed-his first Gatha -to launch
(THE TRUTH IS THE HIDDEN LIGHT OF THE SOUL.)
“These days, you must be shrewd,
(For - Every gesture might hide a disaster.)
Or you shall lose
your paradise soon,
And shall , scavenge
the kills of kings
where rocks, or cliffs are sheer
Or where rivals are hostile and wild
-Fighting over the poisonous vegetation and insects
And carrying perpetually -in your face-
a thousand holy
messages to prevail:
Lest Storms of Revolts
no more erupt .
(Impairing your-egos
and breed as such.)
They divide your tribes -
into a thousand wings-
into a thousand wings-
And wreck the lines of thy memory.
Then they drive you south ,
Then they drive you south ,
And command you
in rage
‘Come down to
the temperate valley-‘
‘And spray you with all kinds of poison.”
Thus, I saw by my own eyes
how, they crashed your revolts.
Your
topography, springs ,trees
Your culture and souls.
Buried you in
deserts
Dissolved you in
Aqua Regia
And sandwiched you in
humble concrete cottages,
O, brethren,“Thy
horses, no more, gallop away in the meadows.”
……………….
Then they came down
to the cities,
Arriving in- the outer- skirts-
Where were found-
shut off- in ghettos
empty handed- in the hottest noon,
Feeling unaccomplished to feed
a dozen of little
offspring
Waiting for food on the unfriendly floor
All this was recently,
And a long time ago
And in future (-
Will Be…)
Have hard and bitter agony ;
Like the
resurrection of the magic- again-
They repeat themselves, but,
NOW, there is
no time left ,
For the chess- game- And-
They say. “You ain’t no -any gamer , bruv )
And I say:
- Dare to
bewail aloud-
“Oh my other egos -
My siblings ,
My friends,
Look, from your niche , unto the sky,
the space, the old things.
Thy journey has not come to the end- yet-
It is the bluest season of history
You must have had a dream,
Divulge it NOT for simplicity,
(What matters, what does matter? .)
O’ travellers
By all considerable odds- Is to be
(More Hamletian than ever .)* When
Aliens-and marauding tribes of the steppes ,
Are marching in rhyme with God’s lyrics,
Are marching in rhyme with God’s lyrics,
Digging into your ego- and compiling the scores,
You ought to be beholden to Him , bruv .
For,they are screaming.
“Here we're taking what belongs to Him."
And you are silent like the rock of hell.”
“Here we're taking what belongs to Him."
And you are silent like the rock of hell.”
2016
* Kashkool - Persian Wiki- Brooklyn Museum-
It was a bag-used by- mystics-
It was a bag-used by- mystics-
