Part Thirty — The Story's End
Sweet Giti, gem in heaven's ring,
Stayed true in love through everything.
Her heart she gave to her dear flame,
Soul's companion, love's sweet name.
And Saeed—behold his blessed state!
Though challenged by his cruel fate,
Hear how his trials came to bear
His faithful heart, worn down by care.
Despite the wounds and aching soul,
From strangers' scorn and kin's control,
Praise be! The face of peace he found,
His shirt of sorrow torn and drowned.
He bound his heart to lover's hair,
Escaped the world's cold, harsh despair.
In joy they lived, in laughter bright,
Their sacred vows, their hearts alight.
Two bodies but one soul complete,
In love's sweet street they found their beat.
No more "Giti" or "Saeed" to name,
Just Wine and Cup, one heart, one flame.
____________________________________
Thus ends the tale of love's sweet art,
Where two souls joined to make one heart.
Far from the homeland, when lips part to speak,
This Persian candy works wonders, magic unique.
The spell of Rumi’s verse, of Hafez’ deep art,
In distant lands, it uplifts every heart.
A potion of love rides this caravan’s crest—
Saadi himself boasts of its charm manifest.
Open your eyes, and at this threshold stay—
The Masnavi begins to tell your tale today.
Yes, the key to the treasure of bliss is our tongue—
Rumi unlocks his vault where legends are sung.
The world is our homeland, in this unmatched place—
Our Persian speech bestows us with grace.
Though caged in a corner where gallows still loom,
Beware — for it sails on a wave of dark gloom.
A wave from the sea of existence runs red,
A net cast through nightfall and daylight ahead.
You, sovereign hawk in this narrow domain —
Be not content, for these bars still remain.
Yet I bring good news from the breath of the Divine:
Safe shores await, where escape is still mine.
Step once beyond this cocoon of despair —
And hundreds of cages dissolve in the air.
The Master of Being, who raised “Malek” from none,
Now stands in this riddle — where all is undone.
Doubt not — you were sent to remain and embrace,
The cosmos is bursting with kisses and grace.
We live — but not on level ground,
We are sunlight clinging to the edge of a crumbling wall.
I remembered Grandmother’s voice,
She warned me once: “Boy, beware the fall.”
We leap —
and soon enough
this house of days
will crash upon us all.
We were mountains once —
and still we held,
Like millstones
bearing every crushing call.
In a blink, the starling flew —
and from the highlands, they all withdraw.
I suffer the market’s ache today,
Where souls are sold and bent to law.
She asked me,
“What are you doing here?”
“Growing fat in a pasture
meant for slaughter.”
Knives are sharpened, lambs grow sleek —
In the end,
the knife writes every fate.
Traps and snares on every path —
from the tavern’s door to the lover’s gate.
And when the final cup is drained,
They march us up
the gallows straight.
But look —
again, our morning reign begins!
The sun breaks through the long black night.
Grief has closed its weary eyes —
I’ve carried so much pain
to reach this light.
And now, today, the “King” is smiling,
Joyful in his lover’s gaze —
They meet beneath the sky
in a world remade
by morning’s blaze.
The beginning of me the ideology
wearing wires pregnant buying
weapons and drugs from corrupt
officers for the federal bureau
of investigation the department
of Justice the center piece
cointelpro levied just so the
matter of facts the 44 magnum
in my mouth teeth chattering
looking through an assault rifle
red dot on the female agents
ponytail my children singing
my girl with the fbi supervisor
I'd be murdered for a lessor
god I'd be assassinated bullied
extorted crippled by a car bomb
I will still drink my lemonade
on a Sunday afternoon I'd still
die an American hearing my
fetus heartbeat I'd still remember
Chicago I will never fret over
gang violence nor corruption
I shall still adore my roses eating
ice quenching my thirst during
a stroke I'll still be American in
this land on this soil my blood
shall run through the hidden
canals as the sun shine on my
back an yet I'll still be American
I'll still be me when I diiiiie
Divided under the cities
streams mapping decisive
endings while toiling about
the beginning boldness
reaching for braising
characters galloping
amidst a certain angst
we’ve devoured nothingness
and opened the sky
with truth thrashing
tempers meaningful tools
craving an emptiness
above the continuous
Bayshore a quiet offering
pelicans landings sinking
yet surrounding the
jaded light house that
withered to soon exposing
only the dim lantern leaning
to one side still brightening
the rippling waves
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
April 7th 2014
getting injections
for traumatic brain injury
Unafraid of hits on my life by
the mafia Ciro Gargano arson
murderer it's been a hit on my
life since Christmas eve 1984
tailor shop murders inc. go
ahead Ciro hit me again how
about another assassination
attempt or go all the way out
with another bomb in my face
now that was very effective right
traumatic brain injury just so you
and Jamaican jay townsend
Johnson Henry could extort
my american poetry murder me
for witnessing the plotting
of arson murder of 9 people
hit me Ciro Gargano go ahead
and hit me again I will never
ever fear organized crime
corruption abuse of power
bullying intimidating me in
American
Standing there wearing
Baileys holding a Glass
of Cognac I notice your
time piece Kremlin findings
as you calmly approached
my shyness I recognised
the untimely gesture leaving
my quarters knowing full
well beruit was near you
offered yourself with no
strings an yet bombs sounded
throughout the night time
air I was taken an yet
startled King we were taken
to stone slabs draped with
teal fabric peppermint oils
garments of silk I wore you
into the night while we
cringed with fright the town
emptied the tower tumbled
I kelp yours smile in view
as your body crumbled into
the rumble of yesterday I
awakened to the sound of
the sun rising in the east
as I returned to blood
soaked carnage absent
from heaven remembering
only your touch your warmth
your illuminated essence burning
my soul whispering dasvidanyia
from Russia with love
Being fed when corrupt
agents gather junk sick
fentanyl addicts functioning
only by giving false confusion
in exchange for a cup of
coffee at Denny’s bus tickets
from Alabama to Nashville
to Chicago where informants
are being tossed in front of
moving cars faceless
unrecognisable finally the
ultimate what’s in the box
it’s a human skull on a sidewalk
trick of treat jay Townsend
Johnson Henry swooning
Special agent Paula Brand
where does it all end increase
in fentanyl overdoses deaths
in Chicago being FED rat poison
Suffocating fear envy and denial
stop exploiting mentally Ill fentanyl
addicts homeless hoarders in Chicago
Have a happy Halloween check all
your candy for fentanyl
Complete rapture as hurricane
Milton impose upon the the
animals while storks fish for
dinner florida ducks cling to
drift wood as a tiny baby
alligators scurries across
the waters edge the lake is
swollen capturing our home
this time we are actually on
the lake our neighbors have
become first responders why
we've survived more hurricanes
as I sat writing my poem warmth
the promise of hurricane Charlie
announced to destroy our home
an yet we survived arriving in a
new townhome on riverside drive
as I hurried to summit my poem
listening watching the land cry
today we survived Milton and was
he bitter angry enraged waters
rising above us over twenty feet
of rain surge no where to go I
watch the birds doing the same
thing they did just before the store
resilience how they manage feed
their young no worries trusting in
nature knowing that no matter
how dark how much flooding rain
lightening we will indeed survive
the storm in this house on the lake
The broad banks shifting
the stone slabs across
the deserted plains of
Arlington white tombstone
lined nestled beneath
decorated wreaths calling
upon sudden hint of braising
sunshine gleaming over falling
leaves catering to yesterday
reaching for tomorrow and
yet silence abode the marble
timings while old glory
flickered between the calm
breeze hints of sadness falls
by the way side while tears
stain the workers cheeks
so we’ll crafted mastered
beyond masonry moments
The vastness of it all mi
ancestors the shores of
pastel climbing beneath
my feet essence of Veneto
the wildness of black cherries
bluntness of plums strings
of grapes opened just so
found behind a glass of
Merlot singing lemoncello
crowding tastes buds through
rows of lemon trees crawling
olive branches sweeping the
stone ways a covenant of mi
Nonna dancing throughout
Rome mi ancestors Mason
Veneto builders an yet
cemeteries where religious
statues buildings tombstones
are crafted by the blood
of my ancestors hands
all over Italy the vastness
of it all remembering
mi Nonna remembering Rome
Unafraid of my stalker Jay Townsend Johnson Henry Jamaican Tampa native data breach cyber attack identity fraud truly sad she was born 1972 clearly obsessed with my identity my prayers are with this stalker arrived with a gunman to end my life 8-14-2003 attempted to impersonate me and extort my American poetry I’m sending prayers because arson murderer Ciro Gargano hired this stalker to obstruct justice in the arson murders of 9 people because I wore wires pregnant for the Fbi they then ignited a car bomb in my face to destroy my brain to allow her to become me after death that failed cause I survived the car bomb Ciro Gargano his brother Peter decided to embezzle my traumatic brain injury claim to pay this imposter off that failed she went crazed crazy obsessed fatal attraction dangerous she believed she was actually me this is very traumatic and scary I feel unsettling but I must be brave stop identity fraud equivalent to ISIS terrorist cyber attacks on government offices truly horrid staying in my faith god bless America
We love we cry we laugh
we are the loving tree
we grow and we know
I'm brown he's creamy
we are broken but we are
one our love tormented
since 1958 in VA.
our love hated taunted
buying groceries we are
the loving kind silky brown
blending over vanilla here
in America what is right
what is civil what is kind
we are different my heart
dance with my mind here
today the very same pain
racism exceptional loving
what we bring to each other
is love we are the loving kind
Oh say can you see blood soaked
Baltimore reeking of falsified documents
blood soaked levies oh say can you see
corruption over board Atta Mohammed
and Bin Laden brought to trial on this land
oh say can you see veterans crying while
domestic abusers dine in Caribbean pajamas
oh say can you see our beautiful flag torn
tatters lifted rasing all doubt as truth balance
gravity a surety of peace no organized crime
could ever devour with falsified documents
orchestrated to assist abusers and target
the victims of domestic violence oh say can
you see Francis Scott Key galloping over the
bridge chanting the red coats are coat they
came dear and falsified documents data breach
to harm disabled veterans and their families
waarheid thee uncharted endeavor of fraud and
waste have mercy on us and on the whole world.
And our Flag was still There .
Specific Types of Masnavi Poems
Definition | What is Masnavi in Poetry?
Poems Related to Masnavi
couplet, fard, ghazal, god, hamd, hazal, hijv, love, madah, manqabat, marsiya, masnavi, munaajaat, musaddas, naat, nazm, qasida, qataa, romantic, rubaiyat, rubayi, salaam, seharaa, spiritual, urdu, vaasokht