Homage

 

 

For his art, he withdrew
His soul, a spent sun
Hung seven layers above
A midnight moon,
His feet a bed beneath the shadows
Preferring plant and stone
To lustiness. I lingered,
A tear to every storm and wind
Rounded firmly in his palm,
To the rhythm of the nightingale
He praised me in every colour imaginable,
Preserving his love, with mirth
And breath, he fashioned me a book,
A matrimony of bride and earth
To lines, poised, only to burst
With ecstatic bliss.
This rite, a sweet hymn
To tune the heart at dawn.

Only he who loves, with his whole heart, knows God…

 

 

 

 

 

(c) A Hannan

 

 

 

Advertisements

9 thoughts on “Homage

  1. With hands purified
    In the fountain of tears
    Bursting sweet prayers
    Deep, where no one knows
    In the valley’s core,
    I gathered dew from morn’s cheeks
    And, from spring’s garden,
    Last year’s autumn leaves.
    A pen, a gift from brother oak,
    This poet heart I wrote
    Pure dew in the brown leaves.
    Into their faces I then breathed,
    Vapour of a heart burdened with love.
    The letters danced, oh beautiful tears,
    As the brown palms returned
    Verdant and fresh
    As though on their mother’s sleeve.
    A whisper within and I knew.
    Bring this beauty of beauties,
    Poetry’s song exquisite,
    My heart’s truest face
    To the pyre now burning,
    A self impelled fountain of fire
    In the garden’s core.
    The smoke spiralled skyward
    Vanishing into an azure sky,
    And the leaves
    An offering transported
    Everywhere, into all things,
    Binding diversity in unity’s eye.
    I had to die,
    Forsake self and poetry and cry
    On this summit where high meets low
    Into a spaciousness of horizons unbound.
    Love was once a weight,
    A heart burdened with tears and sighs,
    A sobbing seclusion in the night.
    Now from my chest a butterfly
    Opens the gate wide and flutters
    Mountainward where rare flowers dwell.
    Now, in my palm,
    Eagle and dove come to rest and recite
    Hymns lost to marching mankind.
    Now, my face, an afterglow of a sun
    Falling to its nocturnal bed;
    Dawn, a blue breath on my brow.
    Thus, my heart fashioned itself, a cup,
    A wellspring of fresh water instead of wine,
    Murmuring as it pours a song pristine.
    A cup for my Beloved where,
    Her lips resting, pressing do drink
    Bring light to my eyes.

    He who knows God is an inexhaustible wellspring of love.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s