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Ali Nusreth Poem
Make hay!
Meant the macaw's epiphany
Coming in propinquity of the demesne
Pondering the erstwhile efflorescence of dalliance, she chirped
The bucolic redolent was everywhere, smelling petrichor in the air
This land is her home, she whistled with serenpidity
Harbinger of ephemeral life, she chattered:
While the sun shines,
Make hay!
Copyright © Ali Nusreth | Year Posted 2016
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Ali Nusreth Poem
Slow life -
One at a time.
I say, you needn't strive,
Let the breeze make it chime.
Whatever you achieved,
I do not care.
You haven't lived,
If you don't stand and stare.
Rushing through befits the drains,
I say, borrow not their traits.
'cause the lighter it rains,
The stronger petrichor emanates.
Slow life -
It's you at your prime.
And easy is your life,
When you let go what's not worth a dime.
Copyright © Ali Nusreth | Year Posted 2017
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Ali Nusreth Poem
You're my breath, my life,
My eyes, my sense, my hope -
For your love, I strive
Up and down the slope.
Like the rose under the dew,
Like in a hive the bee -
How merry are you!
Do not leave me, be with me.
You're my friend, my wife,
If I fall, you're my rope.
My everything I wished in life -
Without you, in darkness I grope.
I dreamt not a dream without you,
Ventured not without you in a sea.
I'm lost at the thought of losing you.
Do not leave me, be with me.
In your love my heart is rife,
Your parting it cannot cope -
As long as in it is life,
From envious eyes, let us elope
To a world where people are few,
Wandering together all day free.
I trust, you won't, yet I plead you
Do not leave me, be with me.
Copyright © Ali Nusreth | Year Posted 2016
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Ali Nusreth Poem
You must not have missed seeing the sun any day,
How he attains his zenith in the same old way.
Yes, he dies by the end of the day,
But returns with equal spirit the very next day.
Moon is appealing to eyes of all,
Vanishes to nothing from the shape of a ball.
Grows again from nothing at all,
Saying me, “Rise up after every fall.”
Let’s look on earth here around,
Consider the little seed – either oval or round.
Works real hard from the day it’s found,
Saying me, “Way to reach the sky starts on the ground.”
What’s wrong with me,
How they rise again, can’t I see?
Be they the sun, the moon or even the tree,
Each says, “Good things don’t come for free.”
Copyright © Ali Nusreth | Year Posted 2016
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Ali Nusreth Poem
If you can bear, let me tell you the story of the pearl,
Who once cherished in the shell's protection.
Strange it is that it's not known as the story of the shell,
Though he bestowed all of his life, love and affection.
Rotting on the shore - the shell's carcass you find,
'twas the proud shield in which the pearl reside.
A passenger-less cart, no more destined,
Remains for the amusement of ocean's tide.
True, he needed her more than she needed him,
For in her company he sank down to ocean's bed.
Found peace in the light so dim,
Found life in the place so dead.
Last not too long the days of hay,
All honest fall in the trap they lay.
So was his destiny that he fell prey,
And those were his last moments in the bay -
Man, or should I call him a beast?
For his own reasons of wealth and pride.
Took away from him his heart and cared least,
Leaving him - alone - to face the ocean's tide.
Copyright © Ali Nusreth | Year Posted 2018
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