Poems by the poet

What is pulling me to poetry more and more as the Syrian trsgedy continues to spiral towards the ultimate, is that poetry invents it own language and speaks with a logic that defies logic in its attempt to confront pain with vision and reality with insight, thus shifting reality to a plane of existence where healing is possible and where the future creates its own imperatives and likelihoods.

When the world fall apart

When the world fall apart

The Poet

When the world falls apart

When beauty is undone

When love dies

When all feelings are extinguished

When the planet collapses upon itself

When time is shattered and is lost

When fear is upon me

And my soul fragments

When history is expired

And the private and the public are dissolved,

The poet stands atop the ruins of the world

And plucks his kithara

Then he sings

Then he chants

The song of life.

The poet and Ruins of the world

The poet and Ruins of the world



                                                                      عندما ينهار العالم                                                                   

عندما يداس البهاء

عندما يموت الحب

عندما يسحق الوجدان

عندما تقف الدنيا هالعة فوق ركامها

عندما ينكسر الزمان ويضيع

عندما ياخذني الروع

وتتفتت روحي

عندما يفنى التاريخ العام والخاص

يركع الشاعر فوق الاطلال

ويشد اوتار قيثارته

ثم يغني ودموعه تضمخ الارض

ثم يغني

ثم ينشد

ثم ينشد انشودة الحياة

The poet  3  005 copy 

The poet and the owls

The poet stood and sang to the stars:
“It all started with poetry
And it shall end with poetry
As befits a poet.”
The poet sang and sang
The poet sang to the sea
And to the owls that
Stood in the pines gazing
Gazing with jewelled eyes.
“I did it, the poet cried. I did it
I returned to Syria the wanderer
For I am love the magician
I move my wand of talismans
And the one that was lost is found
The one with the gift of words is saved.
Then the poet bent his head sorrowfully
And walked into the lonely night,
Lonely are those who love
Lonely are those who carry
The wand that conjures life
For those who are laden with gifts
Are destined to be rent
From heart to soul.
Mankind cannot bear too much reality.

©Alisar Iram


About alisariram

I am an artist, a writer and a researcher. I know Arabic and English . I am interested in music and art of every description. I like to describe myself as the embodiment of a harmonious marriage between two cultures which I value and treasure.
This entry was posted in Alisar Iram's art, Alisar Iram's poems, Poetry, Syria and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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