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Poems
Volume 4 | Issue 1 | December 2009 | 











 
The Game of the Friend
Tiel Aisha Ansari
 

The Game of the Friend

I saved a pressed rose petal in the name of the Friend,
the faintest of fragrances that came from the Friend.

A tree died in my yard and I'm full of complaints
but if the roots failed to grow it's no blame to the Friend.

A garden of prayer blooms under constant attention
and the sun gazes down with love the same as the Friend.

If your seedlings fail of their promise and wither for lack
of your care, do you dare to call shame on the Friend?

If you could wish for wealth and command over human hearts
then what would you choose between fame and the Friend?

If you can order the tide to your will and change the orbits
of galaxies, still you've no hope of taming the Friend.

But look how the flowers dance in surrender when the wind blows!
That's how dervishes learn to play the game of the Friend.

We Are Sand

We thought
we were castles. We forgot
we were beach, until
the tide came in
and scattered our grains to flat expanse
and the ripples wrote on us:
Remember.

Careless hands will heap us high again
and we’ll forget to be beach
until the tide comes in whispering:
Remember.
Praise God, we are sand.

In the Province of Saints

Nay, pass me by
thou burning angel, thou furious god-ridden horse!
I will not run barefoot through the pine hills with you.

Abandon is the province of saints,
a land without signposts, a country of no return
where the only direction is forward.
Abandon is a narrow land under an infinite sky.

Burning is the province of saints,
a realm fragrant with the hazy glittering
smoke of cedar and myrrh
where fire walks no more than a step ahead.

Miracle is the province of saints,
where glass flowers burst from dry soil and ring
like shattered praises on windless air.
All the lands of earth are the province of saints:

the god-horse stamps and champs at every door
on every street
in the province of saints-to-be sleeping
like mushrooms in dark earth
beside the glass flowers and the burning cedars
under an infinite sky!

Tiel Aisha Ansari
Portland, OR
Knocking From Inside
http://knockingfrominside.blogspot.com


Next Poem: Dyin' Blues

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 
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