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The Poetry of a Wise Man-SAUDI ARABIA_7
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When God threw me,a pebble,into this wonderous lake I disturbed it's surface with countless circles.But when I reached the depths I became very still.
Rememberance is a form of meeting.
Forgetfullness is a form of freedom.
We measure time according to the movement of the countless suns,and they measure time by little machines in their little pockets. Now tell me,how could we ever meet at the same place and the same time?
Do not the spirits who dwell in the ether envy man his pain?
One may not reach the dawn save by the path of the night.
My house says to me,Do not leave me,for here dwells your past. and the road says to me,Come and follow me,for I am your future. And I say to both my house and the road,I have no past,nor have I a future.If I stay here,there is a going in my staying,and if I go,there is a stay in my going.Only love and death change all things.
How can I lose faith in the justice of life,when the dreams of those who sleep upon feathers are not more beautiful than the dreams of those who sleep upon the earth?
Strange,my desire for certain pleasures is part of my pain.
I am ignorant of absolute truth.But I am humble before my ignorance,and therin lies my honor and reward.
There is a space between mans imagination and mans attainment that may only be traversed by his longing.
You are blind and I am deaf and dumb,so let us touch hands and understand.
The significance of man is not what he attains,but rather in what he longs to attain.
When you long for blessings that you may not name,and when you grieve knowing not the cause,then indeed you are growing with all things that grow,and rising towards your greater self.
When my cup is empty I resign myself to the emptiness,but when it is halffull I resent that halffullness.
The reality of the other person is not in what he reveals to you,but in what he cannot reveal to you.Therefore,if you would understand him,listen not to what he says but rather to what he does not say.
A truth is to be known always,to be uttered sometimes.
The real in us is silent,the aquired is talkative.
It takes two of us to discover the truth,one to utter it and one to understand it.
I would walk with all those who walk.I would not stand still to watch the procession go by.
Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder,with a dash of the dictionary.
All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.
No longing remains unfulfilled.
We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting.
Every man loves two women,the one is the creation of his imagination,the other is not yet born.
Men who do not forgive women their little faults,will never enjoy their great virtues.
Love that does not renew itself every day becomes a habit and in turn slavery.
If it were not for guests,all houses would be graves.
You are truly a forgiver when you forgive a murderer who never spills blood,thieves who never steal and liers who never utter no falsehood.
The truly just is he who feels half guilty of your misdeeds.
The truly good is he who is one with all those who are deemed bad.
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Blessed is he who makes his companions laugh-Koran
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More Arabic/Middle Eastern Poetry:
The White Stallion-Abu I-Salt Umayyah
Pale as the morning star in the hour of sunrise he advances proudly,caparisoned with a saddle of gold. One who saw him going with me into battle,envied me and said:"Who bridled Dawn with the Pleiades"?Who saddled lightning with the halfmoon?
Insomnia-Abu Amir ibn al-Hammarah
When the bird of sleep thought to nest in my eye it saw the eyelashes and flew away for fear of nets.
Khorosravni
There are four kinds of men who'll get no fee from me since I have not seen profit from their arts-the doctors with their drugs,the pious with their prayers,the magicians with their spells and stargazers with their charts.
Rabindranath Tagore:
The song that came to sing remains unsung to this day.I have spent my days stringing and in unstringing my instrument.There is the agony of wishing in my heart.The blossom has not opened,only the wind is sighing by.I have not seen his face,nor have I listened to his voice,only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor,but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house I live in the hope of meeting with him,but this meeting is not yet.
My Stars-Abraham ibn Ezra
On the day I was born,the unalterable stars altered.If I decided to sell lamps,It wouldn't get dark till the day I died.Some stars.Whatever I do I'm a failure before I begin.If I suddenly decided to sell shrouds,people would suddenly stop dying.
The Prison
The earth is a prison to man all his life.Therefore I say this truth to the fool,though you rush about ,the sky surrounds you on all sides,try to get out if you can.
First War-Samuel Ha-Nagid
First war resembles a beautiful mouth we all want to flirt with and believe,Later its more like a repulsive old whore whose callers are bitter and grieve.
Miza Asadullah Khan Ghalib:
Not all only a few return as the rose or tulip,what faces there must be still veiled by dust.The three stars,three daughters,stayed veiled and secret by day,what word did the darkness speak to bring them forth in their nakedness?Sleep is his,and peace of mind,and the nights belong to him across whose arms you spread the veils of your hair.We are the forrunners,breaking the pattern is our way of life.Whenever the races blurred they entered the stream of reality.If Ghalib must go on shedding these tears,you who inhabit the world will see these cities blotted into the wilderness.
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