Sitting in an open field
Upon a checkered mat
My knees drawn up against my chest
And flowers on my hat
I think upon my dearest cousin
Her birthday draweth near
Bringing a smile to my face
And to my heart good cheer
Category: Poetry
the rhythm of passing time
by Zahur
Ra-ta-ta-tah! Rain on the pavement, rain in the street
Falling in sheets across the grey brick city, autumn’s tears
Gently waters the dying fields of gold-brown wheat
And washes away the scars and toils of the passing years
Bringing the taste of musting life and soft earth sweet
Dance! Dance! Cold bruised feet across wet concrete
In the falling rain, with the tears so cold
Cool to the skin and nourishing to the soul
Wash away the heartache, sooth the stinging feet
In the dusking evening autumn does control
a father and a child
by Zahur
Trodding, plodding, every step a fight against survival
Every step a searing pain, betrayed by mother earth
Every blow against the back, and unrelenting trial
The unrelenting fight to take her very worth
To strip her to her bones, to take her dearest smile
Her humanity, it wavers, she gives a little cry
To the ground she tumbles, to lay there, and to die
The whip it is relentless, mercy here a foreign word
Shall she give up now? Her screams, are they unheard?
to lady wisdom
The only currently found fragment of Zahur’s poem in tribute Lady Wisdom.
Continue reading “to lady wisdom”A poem I wrote for my little sister …
An excellent 14th birthday,
To the princess who lights up my life.
May she have grace in all her doings,
And a wonderfully happy life.
A wonderously happy birthday,
To my little princess so small.
May her heart be strong and loving,
And may she grow quite tall!
A beautiful, bright birthday,
To this princess who so loves blue.
May she wear her crown with pride,
And may her heart always be true.
deep, still pool
The deep, still pool
In my mind
Deep as an ocean
Seek, and find.
Into its deepness, look
And you will see
A reflection of yourself
Growing like a tree.
A contemplation of bagpipes
The bagpipes are really quite nice,
When you stand in the back of the room,
Your face to the open doors—air cold as ice
Washes over you, mingles with sound
Your ears are ringing,
From the bagpipes so loud.
Your eyes are stinging,
from the wind so cold
But really, the bag pipes are nice,
if burst eardrums you normalize!