A young pine has buried its needles in the wild grass,
Gradually it stands out of the thick basils in a mass.
No one realizes that it can pierce the clouds high,
And would praise its lofty goal until it reaches the sky.
(tran.)
Categories:
basils, metaphor,
Form: Rhyme
Fall in the Spring..
Fall in Spring…
Alas, my youth and my younger days are gone,
A thousand laughter and childish plays are gone.
I am sure my loving garden will be dried,
It is old and bitter; no more glowing pride.
In my garden, I had so much loving hearts,
but I am old and tired, with no blooming parts.
Within this madness of spring and creation,
I am in solitude and desolation.
I am now old; the spring is just another night.
From all these affairs, my hands are too tight.
I cannot smell the scent of flowering breeze,
I can't rest in the shade of whispering trees.
What else is there for me in spring besides pain?
Blinded with the tears, why not to complain?
I don't care for lilies, basils, and roses;
The door that spring opens, the winter closes.
The spring is beautiful. Regret we're so blind.
I lost it like my youth; I'm out of my mind.
To me, this season is just a season of lie.
Nothing for me to say except say goodbye.
3/16/16 Haloo
Categories:
basils, anger, beauty, old, pain,
Form: Masnavi
I see heaps of
rotten garbage
with flies and
mosquitoes,
I hear noisy
sexy songs,
I smell stinking
odour,
I eat latrine-
worms,
I touch broken
rusty
machines,
I think of
profusely
urinating
on basils, lifting
a leg like a dog
and I tear
sunflowers to
pieces.
Categories:
basils, satire
Form: Free verse
Monday:
He sharpens his dream
By the hone of the illusion,
Under his arm
He put roses
And a bit of of life's basils
Then goes to his work.
--------
Tuesday:
He says to the beloved:
Tomorrow, when the dreams tree leaves
On our stature,
And the light leapt smiling
In Our eyeballs
Humbly will come the sea
And give us its waves.
--------
Wednesday:
From the breast of the clouds he suckles
Five songs,
And by the stone
He slaughters the weathercock.
--------
Thursday:
He irrigates his memoirs
With the water of trouble,
In the evening
He expectes to be kidnapped.
--------
Friday:
When he comes to the cafe
He drinks from his cup
A quantity of eulogies
About the members of his tribe,
And when he goes out
He buries his misgivings in his pockets.
--------
Saturday:
He goes to the city bar
And behind him he pulls
The chariot of the grief,
Instills in the field of his body
Seedlings of the wine
To make himself melted.
--------
Sunday:
His feet take him
Where the nightmares of the road are,
His eyes lurk among the passers-by.
Categories:
basils, life,
Form: Free verse
I watch as the hawk hovers round
Its shadow cast down by the sun,
Battle for life has just begun.
Mother hen fights back from the ground
As the cloud turns dark and wind blows,
bending basils arranged in rows
Dusts swirl,breeze whistles;rain abound
Clouds rumble;people run for shade,
green pigment of leaves does not fade.
As floss and leaves float all around.
Lightning sparks as day turns to night,
Eclipse of the sun comes to light.
Sun appears back where it is found,
high up in the sky at its post,
giving out heat to dry the coast.
I watch as the hawk hovers round
Mother hen fights back from the ground
Dusts swirl,breeze whistles;rain abound
As floss and leaves float all around
Sun appears back where it is found.
Categories:
basils, life, nature,
Form: Rhyme