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Ananda
3115 Posts |
 Posted - Jul 03 2009 : 3:09:51 PM
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Spring of the Heart Repentance
Over the shores of existence
Spring has sprung;
And in us has sprung the spring of life,
Flowers open and blossom
Out of the seeds of our thoughts
This veil, from mist and light drops in my wits
Runs from the bottle of perfume
and disappears like a divine bride.3
Oh God,
Our spring goes by with the other seasons;
While that spring
The eyes cannot see
And the lids of mind do not close
Where the eternal does not set;
It is your spring God
My soul is nothing
But a flower
Blossoming from the soil
During your spring walk
The Stories of the Stars
As such we go,
And goes everything
And the guests of time are eyes looking.
And clouds backride our horse
Surrounding the world of suns.
Devours the rays throughout the journey
Towards the golden disk,
The dwell of the soul
That was overwhelmed with virtue.
And here we sat
On the shore of the sea of truth
Pouring out of it,
In ourselves
Containers of purity from its light;
Hence, we are quenched by the brightness
Of our inner selves…
Then, we draw near the splendor
And the beauty splits
In the attributes of
The eternal divine spring
Over the gowns of our burning bodies…
Oh that light
How thousands stories of the stars
Sleep on it
And how myths of the setting suns
Tell about the sage heroes
Looking forward
To the ascension of mind and rise of the route
And to the unity of the sacred existence
In the absence of this apparent existence
On the Paths of the Sun
God, absolve the worshipers
The reflection of grace-like us-
In the brightness of your sun
Let us walk
In the path of the ray
Till we reach the self-existence of the sun
In the eternity of its singularity,
In its self, that is enlightening
In the sanctuary of ourselves.
The Straight Path
If you ask about the geometry of existence,
It’s the point.
You and the things are the circle of a compass,
And the circle is all in points.
And without that point,
There wouldn’t be any circular circumference line
Turning around its center…
And that's how everything
By its form is formed…
from the book: KAMAL JUMBLAT: “THE TEACHER,”
THE LEADER
by: Nazek Abu-Ilwan ABED |
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Kamal Joumblat poems
