Loghman of Sarrakhs cried: “Dear God, behold
Your faithful servant, poor, bewildered, old–
An old slave is permitted to go free;
I’ve spent my life in patient loyalty,
I’m bent with grief, my black hair’s turned to snow;
Grant manumission, Lord, and let me go.” A voice replied: “When you have gained release
from mind and thought, your slavery will cease;
You will be free when these two disappear.”
By Farid ud-Din Attar English version by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis Original Language Persian/Farsi
My one, my soul without peer, Most beautiful of all! Rising like the morning star At the start of a happy year. Shining bright, fair of skin, Lovely the look of her eyes, Sweet the speech of her lips, She has not a word too much. Upright neck, shining breast, Hair true Lapis Lazuli; Arms surpassing gold, Fingers like lotus buds. Heavy thighs, narrow waist, Her legs parade her beauty; With graceful step she treads the ground, Captures my heart by her movements. She causes all men’s necks To turn about to see her; Joy has he whom she embraces, When she steps outside she seems like the Sun!
Photo by: Doctor-Honesty Photo title: I Adore You Description: Unedited Photo-shoot of a 10 inch statue of the God Osiris and his wife Isis.
Poem Name: WithOut Peer Description: Ancient Egyptian Love Poem Poem provided by: CZ
Since the creation of the universe
God had already appointed his great faith-preaching man,
From the West he was born,
And received the holy scripture
And book made of 30 parts (Juz)
To guide all creations,
Master of all rulers,
Leader of the holy ones,
With support from the Heavens,
To protect his nation,
With five daily prayers,
Silently hoping for peace,
His heart directed towards Allah,
Giving power to the poor,
Saving them from calamity,
Seeing through the Unseen,
Pulling the souls and the spirits away from all wrongdoings,
Mercy to the world,
Transversing to the ancient,
Majestic path vanquished away all evil,
His religion Pure and True,
The Noble High One.
منذ أن خُلق الكون،
قد قرر الرب أن يعيّن،
هذا الرجل العظيم الداعي للإيمان،
من الغرب قد ولد،
ليتلقى الكتاب المقدس (القرآن(
كتابًا يحتوي على ثلاثون جزءا
ليهدي جميع الخلائق،
ملك كل الملوك،
زعيم كل القديسين،
بخمسة صلوات يومية،
بصمت يأمل حصول السلام،
قلبه متجه نحو الله،
ينقذهم من الكارثة،
يرى من خلال الظلمة،
يسحب النفوس والأرواح،
بعيدًا عن جميع الذنوب/الاخطاء،
سائرًا على طريق العظماء القديم،
طاردًا لكل الشرور،
دينه نقي وصادق،
From thy fragrant, beauteous bosom, I accept and clasp the treasure, To my breast with grateful pleasure, Dear the gift, and dear the giver, Whose loving hand is near me ever, Memory ever fondly clinging, To the past, before me bringing, With deepest sweetest fascination, Past scenes of love and admiration.
Art by: MainLoop Model: Rivi Madison Poem (portion): The May Flower Poet: Janet Hamilton Poem Provided by: CZ
RAFEEF ZIADAH is a Canadian-Palestinian spoken word artist and activist. Her debut CD Hadeel is dedicated to Palestinian youth, who still fly kites in the face of F16 bombers, who still remember the names if their villages in Palestine and still hear the sound of Hadeel (cooing of doves) over Gaza.
When weary with the long day’s care, And earthly change from pain to pain, And lost, and ready to despair, Thy kind voice calls me back again O my true friend, I am not lone While thou canst speak with such a tone!
So hopeless is the world without, The world within I doubly prize; Thy world where guile and hate and doubt And cold suspicion never rise; Where thou and I and Liberty Have undisputed sovereignty.
What matters it that all around Danger and grief and darkness lie, If but within our bosom’s bound We hold a bright unsullied sky, Warm with ten thousand mingled rays Of suns that know no winter days?
Reason indeed may oft complain For Nature’s sad reality, And tell the suffering heart how vain Its cherished dreams must always be; And Truth may rudely trample down The flowers of Fancy newly blown.
But thou art ever there to bring The hovering visions back and breathe New glories o’er the blighted spring And call a lovelier life from death, And whisper with a voice divine Of real worlds as bright as thine.
I trust not to thy phantom bliss, Yet still in evening’s quiet hour With never-failing thankfulness I Welcome thee, benignant power, Sure solacer of human cares And brighter hope when hope despairs.