Long Persian Poems
Long Persian Poems. Below are the most popular long Persian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Persian poems by poem length and keyword.
In Nineteen ninety-six, our son and wife, Majors
In US Army, moved to Izmir, their new base.
As usual, whatever place they were assigned,
We flew to visit them as well as dear grandkids.
So off we went to spend two weeks in Turkey, this
Outstanding country we had never been before.
So much to see at Ephesus—Metropolis
Of Antique Age; The Stadium, the Harbor Bath,
Basilica, the Marble Road, Heracles Gate—
All ruins now. Were sad to see these wondrous works
Of art and architecture now in disarray
And strewn about on fields on which they proudly stood.
Of varied striking sites in Pergamon, we saw
The City Walls, the Aqueducts, Acropolis,
The Temple Dionysus, that of Trajan too.
So many ages, periods had ruled this place,
Artistic wonders, structures turned to ruins—works
Of Persian, Greek, Roman and more, in pieces lay.
Besides the many ancient ruins visited,
We were amazed that many locals spoke our tongue.
They did their best to make us feel so much at ease,
Were gracious in combined Mid-Eastern/Euro style
Of hospitality and types of food they ate
And served, like cheese, tomatoes, olives of all kinds.
Izmir, a city mixed with culture old and new,
Like modern shops and open markets, outdoor stands
With fish and meats on ice, yet weighed on modern scales.
And women with fine bread on plates held up on heads,
Who walked the streets in morning, dressed in peasant garb;
Yet working business women wore more modern dress.
We ventured to the famous city, Istanbul,
Surprised to see the many high-rise buildings there,
And streets so overcrowded with their vehicles;
Large offices and business centers everywhere—
Ladies with fashion boots, purses and western dress;
Big contrast with those living back in country hills.
Such history surrounds this ancient, distant land;
So many varied cultures ruled their sacred world.
Museums filled with artifacts from centuries,
Safeguarded and in view to honor and behold.
This trip shall always hold such special, vivid thoughts
For us to cherish and remember for all time.
Of course, this one-time trip was many years ago;
We're happy we had ventured then instead of now,
For times have changed; such unrest grows within our world.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Memorable Vacations
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: May 8, 2015
Iambic Hexameter
Vasava – An untold story 10/Many
Curtains made of Silk with gold thread embroidery
Were hanging on all the doors and windows of the auditorium
Big silk curtains, were hanging behind the dance stage
Shining and blinking, because of gold and silver on them,
Were brightening the dance stage, making it bright like a day
Beautiful Persian carpets were displayed
Covering the entire auditorium, where the guests were sitting
A thin such carpet was also lying, all around the stage
Leaving the dance floor, which was made of Mahogany wood
On which, Vasava was sitting to start her first Raga of the day
All the eyes were drinking the nectar like wine of Vasava
So lovely were her looks and so intoxicating was her youth
The beauty of her spotless body, was spreading its charms
Which was coming out, from every part of her body, specially
The matchless beauty of her eyes, legs, waist, hands and bosoms
King Suyodhan was invited on the stage to declare the Utsava to begin
And then appeared the attraction of the Utsava or the day, Vasava
The drums and musical instruments began to flow their sounds
The team of musicians accompanying Vasava, took seat near her
Suddenly all became speechless, so that they may not miss a word of her singing
Vasava’s face appears to have taken, the beauty from full Moon glow
And the gold Noopur* which she wearing in her feet’s
Were ringing, on her leg’s movements, creating a melody on its own,
Her recitation of Saraswati’s* prayer had already enthralled everyone
And now she was about to begin, her first performance of the day
Ravindra to continue in 11
Kanpur India 21st March 2010
Copy writes protection as per Poetry Soup automatic Copy write provisions also.
* Gold Noopur Noorpur means small bells, which dancers wear while
performing the dances in Indian. The Noopur which
Vasava was wearing were made of Gold. It creates a
sound on the movements of legs. Normally it is made
of brass and many such are tied up in a cloth belt.
* Noopur A hallow anklet containing tiny bells
Lickety-split, I sit up and look at the clickety clock,
oh my gosh, why am I lollygagging in this cozy bed;
I am going to be so late for dance class, I better skedaddle,
so I canoodle my cats (hugs and kiss that is);
and like a flash I am out of bed!
Oh dear, what a rigmarole of unnecessary complexity,
I run to the kitchen and open a tin of, oh so stinky fish;
for the fur balls, (no accounting for taste,) my tummy rumbles,
I dress in my pink dance pants, brush my teeth;
I look in the mirror, holy macaroni!
I was going to wash the mop last night but didn't,
oh well, the flat iron turns me into a Cleopatra star;
then, I look outside, snow, lots of snow, blast I need boots,
oh yes under the bed where I flung them;
what a stupid kerfuffle!
Walking to dance, a bus sprays with me with slush,
darn nincompoop, I am thinking to myself and then;
a loud honk, and a car roars pass me, I almost have a stroke,
I finally make it and the receptionist says- cancelled,
cancelled, oh la-di-la, that's great!
I am walking back home when I step into a deep puddle,
and my feet are now soaking wet, I am just exhausted;
I will crawl back into my bed for a snoozle I say to me self,
but I am waylaid by my old fuddy-duddy neighbor;
dearie,(she whips out a grocery list)!
You know, I cannot walk in the snow, meantime her cat,
a fat Persian rubs my legs and I have fur from knees down;
but what can a girlie do, I turn around and hocus-pocus its done,
finally, I am standing in my bedroom all tatterdemalion,
like a child in rags, I feel like weeping!
And then I notice the collywobbles in my tummy,
like butterflies swirling, and then a great rumbling;
oh, damnation, I need something to eat, so I gongoozle,
stare that is, into the refrigerator, close the door, slam;
and grab a handful of cockamamie cookies!
_________________________
January 26, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Lickety-Split
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8691-18-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest , Any Poem Written in January 2017
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
Cultural and Social Terms
Idol: In Persian poetry, often refers to the beloved, particularly one who is non-Muslim. The term carries complex connotations of forbidden desire and spiritual challenge.
Veil: Refers both to the physical head covering and the metaphysical veil between the material and spiritual worlds in Sufi thought.
Fate's Wheel: The wheel of fortune or destiny (charkh-e falak), a common motif in Persian literature representing the unpredictable nature of fate.
Character Names
Giti: A Persian name meaning "world" or "universe," suggesting the beloved encompasses all existence for the lover.
Saeed: An Arabic name meaning "happy" or "blessed," ironic given the character's suffering in love.
Poetic Devices and Concepts
Ghazal tradition: Though this is a masnavi, it draws heavily from the ghazal (lyric poem) tradition of Persian literature, with its emphasis on unrequited love and spiritual longing.
Tavern: In Sufi poetry, the tavern represents the place of spiritual gathering and divine intoxication, not literal alcohol consumption.
Cup and Wine: The cup represents the heart or soul, while wine represents divine love or spiritual knowledge.
Dawn: Often symbolizes spiritual awakening, hope, or the appearance of the beloved.
Mystical Concepts
Fana: The Sufi concept of self-annihilation or dissolution of the ego in divine love, reflected in the lovers' ultimate union where individual identity dissolves.
Ishq: Divine or passionate love that transcends ordinary human affection, central to Sufi thought and Persian poetry.
Longing (Hijr): The pain of separation from the beloved, considered a necessary stage in spiritual development.
Historical Context
Persian Literary Tradition: This work draws from the rich tradition of Persian mystical poetry, including works by Rumi, Hafez, Saadi, and others who used love poetry as a vehicle for spiritual expression.
Courtly Love: The formal, ritualized expression of love that characterized medieval Persian court culture, with its emphasis on patience, suffering, and devotion.
____________________________________
Note: Many terms in Persian mystical poetry carry multiple layers of meaning - literal, romantic, and spiritual - simultaneously. This ambiguity is intentional and central to the tradition's power and enduring appeal.
From Nabob of Junagarh, of Nizam—
Collecting tax on cotton and the kind,
The taxing job having strained of my calm,
I’d stayed at a quiet place, though haunted
And scary, a lovely place no less still,
Deserted now, it was a grand retreat—
River Suista telling in many ways
Babbling tales through every single pebble,
Leaping like a skillful dancing damsel,
What unforgettable and fateful days!
I still recall that flight of a plenum
Of hundred fifty steps to that river,
A solitary marble palace, plumb
Along the river, and etched as ever
In my mind, ah amid sprawling foothills,
No soul around to whisper of its ills!
The palace, two and half centuries old,
And built by a ruler of Muslim mould,
For private pleasures, luxuries enrolled:
Jets of rose water from fountains spurting
To cool rooms amply made of marbles cold,
Young Persian nymphets there entertaining,
Mohammad the Emperor, too tired, blasé,
Arab maids disheveled before bathing,
Their soft naked feet ‘pon water splashing,
Singing, trying to please him in odd ways,
Whilst wine poured forth as ample as water,
Afar, tears poured forth from a lost daughter.
Fountains no more now found, songs too have ceased,
Nor snow white feet, ever gracefully step
Upon the white marbles that remain cold,
The vast halls filled are with cess collectors,
And men like me oppressed with solitude,
Deprived of warmth o that be womanhood,
My old office clerk had me amply warned,
‘Pass days should you so like, but never nights
if you care', I’d waved him off with a laugh.
Servants agreed to work only till dark,
Which, I ignored, a tusk as a dog's bark.
The house of ill repute spared was by thieves
Like a nightmare, I sneezed at that as well,
And worked hard on long hours till lights grew grey,
Returning at night too jaded and tired,
Sinking deep into bed unto sleep mired.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana,
divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Introduction
"The Masnavi of Giti and Saeed" is a modern reimagining of a classic Persian love epic, woven from the threads of ancient myth, Sufi mysticism, and the eternal yearning of two souls. It tells the tale of Giti and Saeed—lovers bound by fate and challenged by the trials of longing and destiny. In this retelling, the timeless language of Persian mysticism meets contemporary poetic sensibility, inviting readers into a world where each image, each sigh, carries the weight of devotion and the spark of transcendence.
____________________________________
Part One — In the Name of God
O Sovereign of the world's design
You know all secrets in the wine
The painter of both seen and hidden realms
Your wisdom guides where fortune helms.
The fountain of each form and face
In You all qualities find place.
Your breath gave life to lifeless clay,
Your light still guides us on our way.
First written in love's sacred flame,
O Craftsman of beauty—praise Your name!
Sweet Venus tunes her aching strings,
For longing hearts her melody sings.
Before all time, Your being stood,
Self-sustained, eternal, wholly good.
None bore You forth, nor child have You,
Yet boundless joy from You flows through.
The lover learned from You to yearn,
In Your sweet absence, watched hearts burn.
We glow with warmth Your presence brings,
And bow in thanks for all good things.
Part Two — The Cause for Telling the Tale
One day, in sorrow for my friend so dear,
I wept for love that brought both joy and fear.
"O Heavens! Why this bitter mask you wear?
Why turn my song to notes of deep despair?"
Without that moon-faced, radiant light,
Each day I burned through endless night.
Each dawn brought cries of aching pain,
Till all the world could hear my strain.
How, when, and where this tale took flight—
With her, so rare, so pure, so bright.
That sea of grace, my soul's sweet bane,
That lovely sprite who broke my chain.
How did she cast me in sorrow's deep sea?
How did her absence wound the heart of me?
So much I wept, so many prayers I cried,
I left it all to fate to be my guide.
Let destiny reveal what it may show,
What fruits from this sweet madness yet may grow.
I wrote this tale of love's eternal flame,
Love came and sealed my fate and carved its name.
This girl was shy
This girl was introverted
This girl was afraid
This girl felt alone most of the time
A few close friends were her saving grace
This boy was active
This boy was wired
This boy was different
This boy felt alone most of the time
God was his saving grace.
This girl played sports
This girl studied hard
This girl made no enemies
This girl loved to write
The pen was her instrument for expression
This boy was awkward
This boy got by
This boy was involved with his church
This boy loved to be on stage
Acting and debate were his means of expression
This girl had dreams
This girl had hopes
This girl had fears
This girl followed her friends to college
This boy had dreams
This boy had hopes
This boy had fears
This boy followed his father into the military
While this girl was coming out of her shell
This boy was learning survival methods
While this girl was exploring dating
This boy was fathering a baby
While this girl was experiencing her first failure
This boy was trying to stay alive in the Persian Gulf
This girl grew into a well-educated, mature, but very lost woman
This boy grew into a well rounded, divorced, military father
Shortly after they met, this woman and man pledged their love for each other
This woman fell in love with this man’s confidence, humor, and sincerity
This man fell in love with this woman’s beauty, compassion, and wit
This woman and this man vowed to spend the rest of their lives together
This man made promises
This woman believed in him
This man made more promises
This woman began to doubt him
This couple communicated well
This couple shared deep truths
This couple was honest with each other,
but not with themselves
This couple had good intentions
This couple loved their family
This couple lived beyond their means
This couple began to perish
This woman had lost her husband
This man had lost his wife
This couple was determined not to lose their friendship
This couple was focused on the happiness and well being of their children
This couple would not simply “go through the motions”
This couple would be honest with each other and themselves
This couple would work as a team for the first time in their lives
This couple would be happy living apart
This couple would always love each other
I wanted a quiet evening, away from Proto
To order a pizza with loads of ricotta,
And write a poem, with not one interruption,
Savoring a glass of wine, without disruption.
Sounds perfect to me said a voice, let us begin.
I looked around no one was there except Lynn
My golden Labrador, the voice spoke once more,
It’s so pretty outside, from here comes inspiration,
Poems bring serenity,
But at times written in desperation.
The voice came from my poem I had just started,
I was delighted, felt elated could this be magic.
I believe that you talk, I’m no sceptic
You’re the words creating my poem and I a poet.
I will stay by your side, and together,
We will travel where ever, forever.
With a fame so destined,
Bitcoin will have nothing on us
We will kick up a such a lot of dust,
And create a great fuss.
Now don’t forget this is my poem, I explained, you only
Add if I ask.
Once upon a poem and rhyme,
Lived an old, old man called time,
No, no, no, said the words,
The cat,
Sat on the mat
And ate the rat
That is not poetry I shouted, you arrived in my space
Perhaps you should explain why you’re here,
And state your case!
Then I heard another voice, somewhat shrill
I’m so glad it said, chase the words away
I recognized the second voice straight away,
For I’d heard it every day,
It was my Muse, she sounded sad and was crying
You don’t love me anymore, my heart is dying,
So I assured my muse Patsic
That altogether, we’d create worldwide magic!
Oh good said the words, it was getting too much
And spilt a tear on the poetry page.
Now can you listen, please,
I’m not so young in age,
I can’t get so upset,
Glad we have all met.
Then continued,
The furry cat,
Sat on the Persian mat,
And ate a fat rat.
Still unacceptable, I said to the words,
Let me finish mine.
No, no, exclaimed the words, I want to try again,
The eclipse on the earth, orbiting into the moons shadow,
Glimpses the bright sun, and from a slither so narrow,
Stop, I said, that was good,
Perhaps I’ll let you finish tomorrow.
So you thought it was good, let’s do the dance of joy,
And as we danced, the words on my page
Scattered everywhere.
I looked at my new friend,
It will be an eventful, ecstatic journey for us,
This partnership of three, will I know,
Entertain,
Time and time again!
No Explanation! (I)
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Please don't ask me how deeply it hurt!
Her sun shone so bright, even the shadows were burning!
No Explanation! (II)
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Please don't ask me how it happened!
She didn't bind me, nor did I free myself.
Alone
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Why are you sad that she goes on alone, Faraz?
After all, you said yourself that she was unique!
Separation
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Faraz, if it were easy to be apart,
would Angels have to separate body from soul?
Time
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
What if my face has more wrinkles than yours?
I am merely well-worn by Time!
Ahmad Faraz [1931-2008], born Syed Ahmad Shah, was a Pakistani poet generally considered to be one of the greatest modern Urdu poets. Faraz was a poet accessible to ordinary readers due to his “fine but simple style of writing.” Ethnically a Hindkowan, he studied Persian and Urdu at Edwards College, then at Peshawar University, where he became a lecturer after receiving his Masters. During his time in college, Faiz Ahmad Faiz and Ali Sardar Jafri impressed him and became influences on his own work. Faraz was born in Kohat, Pakistan to Syed Muhammad Shah Barq. In an interview he recalled how his father once bought clothes for him and his brother on Eid. He didn't like the clothes meant for him, preferring the ones given to his elder brother. This lead him to write his first couplet:
Laye hain sab ke liye kapre sale se (He brought clothes for everybody from the sale)
Laye hain hamare liye kambal jail se (For me he brought a blanket from jail)
Faraz was an outspoken critic of Pakistan’s military dictatorship, saying, “My conscience will not forgive me if I remain a silent spectator of the sad happenings around us. The least I can do is to let the dictatorship know where it stands in the eyes of the concerned citizens whose fundamental rights have been usurped. I ... refuse to associate myself in any way with the regime ..."
Keywords/Tags: Ahmad Faraz, Pakistani, Urdu, Persian, translation, couplets, love, sun, sad, unique, separation, angels, body, soul, mrburdu
When tongue is silent, but muse is chanting - that's poetry.
When we write what the heart has been asking - that's poetry.
As dawn's hues glisten golden rays, in blue, bronze, orange skies,
musings mirror daydreams, so enchanting - that's poetry.
Butterflies smooch cosmos, as bees sip on dahlias nectar.
Scents of deep red roses start enhancing - that's poetry.
Clement air pleasantly overwhelms with pleasures of love,
muse becomes a bard lost in romancing - that's poetry.
Mentality turns dark when clouds spread densely like ash smoke.
Scarlet ink screams tears to stop storms advancing - that's poetry.
In shades of loneliness, thoughts reach out to our loyal moon,
beneath her moonlight we sojourn, standing - that's poetry.
A heart is healed by spoken words composed with compassion.
Poets smile when they see sad lips laughing - that's poetry.
As sands of sorrow pause, soul glows like a million fireflies.
Nature's metaphors leave our pens dancing - that's poetry.
Stale ink dehydrates and thoughts become segments of cement,
mind is a machine, where words keep jamming - that's poetry.
Daylight or night, bed, bath or driving, lyricists inspired
by sunshine, snow or when rain is lashing - that's poetry.
Word weavers scribbling sonnets, free verse and poetic prose,
forming imagery instead of ranting - that's poetry
Silent One, writes to honour Rumi, Shakespeare and Wordsworth,
In hope my words will be everlasting - that's poetry.
The Silent One
29 August 2020
An example for the Ghazal contest.
This Ghazal has a two worded refrain. Slightly different in format to previous ghazal, I posted, called 'Only the moon understands.'
This one has 14 syllables each line.
There are different definitions for a Ghazal, and different interpretations of the from.
Ghazal poetry is poetry of longing. Traditionally, the ghazal tended to focus on unattainable love, often illicit, or sometimes on metaphysical questions. But, today, the ghazal has broadened to touch many types of longing and loss.
The ghazal is a form poem that uses the art of rhyme and repetition. As it is originally a Persian form and the Indian subcontinent, the refrain and rhyme can be lost when translated to English, as is the meter.