Author's Note
In February 1258, the Mongol army led by Hulagu Khan sacked Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate. It marked the end of the Islamic Golden Age. Libraries like the House of Wisdom were destroyed, and countless books were thrown into the Tigris River until the water ran black with ink and red with blood. Scholars, artists, and civilians were killed. The destruction ended centuries of science, medicine, and philosophy, and showed what happens when cruelty replaces knowledge and forgiveness.
When Baghdad Wept-CM
Cruel hooves marched, and cities bled,
Cold steel struck, and scholars fled.
Wisdom burned while rivers ran,
Words turned ash in Tigris span.
Mercy slept while towers fell,
Golden age was lost to hell.
Yet kindness waits in hearts to rise,
Forgiveness blooms in humankind eyes.
Christ wept real tears
for us all, for you and me.
We have forgotten
the true meaning of prayer
and the joy that prayer brings.
Mary wept before the morning knew its name.
The stone was rolled away,
and silence answered where love had lain.
She did not seek a kingdom,
nor a throne of earthly glory.
She sought only the One
who had spoken peace to the broken
and hope to the forgotten.
Her tears fell upon the ground
like rain upon thirsty fields.
The garden held its breath,
and even the wind seemed to wait.
Then came a voice,
gentle as dawn upon the hills:
"Mary."
In that single word
the night surrendered its sorrow.
Death released its claim,
and despair lost its tongue.
She turned,
and the tears that had been planted in grief
rose into joy beyond telling.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for the Lord remembers every tear.
He does not leave the faithful
to walk forever in the valley of shadows.
So Mary wept,
but not as one abandoned.
For where love is stronger than the grave,
every tear becomes a witness,
and every dawn proclaims:
The Living One
is not among the dead.
"Merely whispers, never idle, she strolls ceaselessly, creating passionately." Quote by poet
She wanders,
lost in the soft glint
of the scene.
Floral scent,
blowing her wild auburn hair,
it whispers bird songs.
A white path,
Till front of mom’s tomb.
On her knees
quietly
wept upon spring rainbow blooms
Mom safe in her heart.
A wee girl,
silent in lush green
memories
of worn pages.
Candles dance, as Mom and Dad
watch the graceful swans.
Days of poet motivate calm compassion.
Sheer injustice evident—every turnpike
manned by soldiers’ wild unfamiliar passion
planned around harsh Strike.
Summonsed lamb to slaughter, but still respecting
burning bush—obedience lit by daydream,
Ares now advance with his pride, suspecting
alter in regime.
Bending truth to suit the occasion’s essence,
whispers coil in shadows of veiled renitence.
Glow of waters lap at the swirling valence.
Ebbing of sentience.
Psappho wept—her dream has dispersed as token.
Rose-fingered moon’s face will exceed all starlight.*
Silence now descends tableau muffled, Brocken
Spectre of moonlight.
While the Sun was winking at the Green planet...
Seven colors cavorting in May
Winds swayed, lulled and clasped clouds like hay
Colors above clouds tilted and frolic
As Winds soared, fly o'er North Atlantic.
Seven shades that waft under shimmy skies
Shading trees and lagoons like brumed pies
Colored blades enamoured by nature's wonders
Inlying blessed planet, emitting in numbers.
Clouds flair, tireless of its athletic heels
Swirling in air, running like spinning wheels
Reels and Winds giggled at Clouds' cycles
Clouds gasped and wept with flaming icicles...
I remember seeing you that night,
Your eyes were glazed over, and your soul shook.
You were fighting. Desperately.
And I could do nothing.
I remember seeing you that night,
The blood of your long thorn filling up,
Crimson, it flowed down in your body, yet you did not cry.
And I could do nothing.
I remember seeing you that night,
You were drunk on the games of your mind.
You ran, crawled, sometimes you danced.
And I could do nothing.
I remember seeing you that night,
You were at the tipped point of the blade.
I could only hold you tight in my heart as I watched.
And I could do nothing.
I remember seeing you that night,
You fought with the darkness, the depression,
And you won, standing victorious and strong.
Then you did something.
I remember you that night,
You wept, filling all the empty years.
Crying out that the real you had come back.
Then I did something.
I remember me that night,
Seeing you as though for the first time.
I knew that this was all a part of you.
And I loved you for it.
The sky watched over the world in silence,
a guardian stretched from edge to edge,
holding the weight of every heartbeat,
every whispered prayer that never left the lips.
It saw the laughter that never lasted,
the wars that stained the soil below,
the children reaching up for stars
they’d never be tall enough to touch.
And when it could no longer bear
the ache of what it witnessed
it broke.
Not in thunder or rage,
but in quiet surrender.
Its tears fell like confession,
soft and endless,
washing the dust from forgotten graves,
tracing silver lines down glass and leaf alike.
Each drop carried a story:
of a promise left unkept,
a name whispered to no one,
a mother waiting by the window.
The earth didn’t flinch.
It simply opened its arms,
letting the sorrow sink deep,
turning grief into green again.
And somewhere, in that trembling stillness,
the sky exhaled.
It had cried enough to remember
and the world, for a moment,
looked a little more forgiven.
She finds a bird
fallen from its nest,
crashed like an apple
to the ground.
Sliding her fingers through
the rain soaked grass,
she scoops the quivering
ball of feathers into her palm.
She takes it inside, to the same kitchen
where she wept
over her dead husband
every night for nearly a decade.
She feeds it baby formula
from an eye-dropper, whispering
I believe in your wings.
I watch from behind a doorway,
the broken bird, its needful cries,
all of that delicate weight
resting on the kitchen table,
my mother,
her precious grief.
I had overeaten.
So I reached inside myself
And pulled up whatever could be pulled up
From strength that I could muster up
I labored long and hard
And eventually brought forth
Snow capped mountains
And sky scrapers dignified by the rays of the sun
And the tallest pines with cones intact
And stars draped with clouds, silver lined
And song birds with half-sung melodies resting on their beaks
And butterflies with awe-inspiring wings, extended and poised for flight
And rainbows that captured the very essence of past promises.
Exhilarated and exhausted, I wept
Not due to any emptiness or lack
But due to the incredible, unspeakable beauty of the lone rose
That remained anchored to my innermost parts.
I was spent but at peace
As the sun rose the darkness wept
As it set it crept back into that darkness
An old wolf wondered
“what really happened?”
“had he been raised
…by humans!!”
He could not return to the den
For he was a “self-cast” outcast
Uncomfortable with “wolf” ways
Oh, he howled
But not at the moon
He howled at the wind
For it had no past
Existed only here….now
Growled at the hawk’s shadow
Envious of its flight
He had been “rescued”
By the “well meaning”
“Tamed” by a wire fence
Fed by a non-feral hand
Escape – not a dream
But a necessity
He must be
What he is
Who he is
What he had become
A lone wolf
Who wondered
1.)
Slept most of my life
Forget the stress
The best kind of strife is the kind kept repressed
Every guy just gotta accept we’re inclined to becoming depressed
You’ll never cry
Except if you gotta a good reason why
Keep your eye dressed
If you’re clever
You’ll keep your tears dry
I’ve wept without the fear of needing to confess.
Nevertheless
I lived the most whenever I’ve slept
You’d never of guessed
But I’m not exactly proud of whatever life I lead.
2.)
Warnings that we’re never really heeding
Forget about any of the poor examples preceding
Family mourning
Forgetting why we’re even meeting
Take the better trout
The man learning surely doesn’t even need it
The drinks now pouring
The Moët your clinging to is fleeting
Without a doubt
The Moët your clinging is just fleeting.
Concert is in hype
As guitar wept by Jimmy
Audience high impact.
A lone bugle wept as it wrapped
its plaintive message ‘round her heart
Why relentless drumbeats for another
raised hope anew for her brother
Is not ours to fathom unless
we close our eyes to death
Silent tears hold the loudest pain - author unknown.
Just when I think no one will know,
There comes a soft and gentle flow,
Silently sighing o’er the light,
Stirring my heart’s kindness to glow.
Reflected on moments so bright,
Painting my soul with dreams I write,
Vows broken never can reveal,
Spoken by those who know my plight.
Wonders, breathless, are quite real,
Capture my dreams with their appeal,
Breaking through the murkiest fears,
Proving love is stronger than steel.
Blessing with love that lasts thru years,
Graceful and sure, darkness soon clears,
Even though I weep soundless tears.
Yes, how I weep those soundless tears!
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