Long Corbin Poems
Long Corbin Poems. Below are the most popular long Corbin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corbin poems by poem length and keyword.
"I have created perception in you
only in order to be the object of my perception.
If then you perceive Me, you perceive yourself.
But you cannot perceive Me through yourself,
It is through my eyes that you see Me and see yourself,
Through your eyes you cannot see Me."
[Ibn' Arabi - 'Alone with the Alone': Henry Corbin]
When sunlight touched your hair, in my memory lane;
I merged into a time, denying all my present.
I woke up in laughter and pain,
and there, I saw you!
When night creeps in,
When closed eyes diminish
All lights in the darkness,
Leaving nothing left to ponder,
Nothing to feel in that utter black.
Only the sheer pain of darkness,
The blindness of souls is all that is left.
Then, I wanted to reach you,
I wanted to see your face and touch your purity,
But only felt that my whole body is weeping
In fatigued-out tiredness,
I felt so incapable inside.
You were still smiling;
You were telling me something softly.
I was too deaf to decipher the sound,
I was so caught up in fighting with introspection
Of some weary self-drawn emotions.
What did I need to do to clear the vision?
Why your face is so hazy, so unclear?
The strangiest livestreet of all the days,
No place so perfectly townsplit,
Half of this street is in Fillblubber,
And the other half is in Cawbit.
The Nensorays on the Fillblubber side,
Never utter or cry or caportle.
The house as soundpinched as olimats,
No one knows why they are so fortle.
The Packershaws on the Cawbit side,
Own a dwelling that is so farumtious.
They pride themselves in gorgons of riches,
Unaware they are oh so varaitious.
The Xebaisys on the Fillblubber side,
Have a flogarden the morost serene.
It’as only eshalias and gymions,
Any else is a destorphious weed.
Lastly, the Larpins on the Cawbit side,
Never passtimers in their humblethy home,
Always wogging or waving or whisinging,
With no newsilly noise becom’ere own
A few other neighdwells are on the street,
But they are soridon and mundane.
Maybe they’et a corbin of chance,
When they feel somelse than kiffer pain
A place where love carfuffles and kings,
Where skipperly children run and play.
Nowhere is so Bretumptian awill remain,
The strangiest livestreet of all the days.