I Want The....
i want the part of you
that smells like want...
for else how can your spirit speak?
the body that holds your trembles,
is also my soul's last temple!
the hands that clutch at my need
with panting,
also unlock secret drawers in my heart...
the curve of your breast howling,
tears down veil after veil!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Spring's Bower
Spring’s Bower
Ah! Woe is me the veil I see
The veil of death hangs lower.
And e’re my spirit passes from me
I will see again Spring’s Bower.
Awaiting death must stay his hand
For my life has one more hour.
And tho’ I close my eyes this day
I will again see Spring’s Bower.
“Tis tho’ my life were but a thread
Of what life had to shower.
There is still just time before I’m dead,
Time enough to see Spring’s Bower
Take me I pray to the window seat,
Clutch to thy breast the flower
Which I plucked when last we did meet,
'Neath our beautiful Spring Bower.
poem by Robert Harrison
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My body is the temple of His love
(after Hafiz)
My body is the temple of His love,
my heart, my mind even though my own
is the sanctuary that must become holy for Him,
my life is dedicated to my Lord
and everything that I have known
while I have been adventuring,
though at times it darkens my being,
my life with sin,
His spirit dwells within
and in Him I am clean.
His life is pure like the Lily
growing in the swamp,
is bright with pure light
like the sun that overcomes the darkest night
and in Him my shattered pieces are whole,
He is the essence of my soul.
[Reference: ”My soul is the veil of his love” by Hafiz.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Body Is A Temple
They say your body is a temple, and I found
This to be true, for in my temple I found you.
I felt your soul surround me like a mist
On a foggy day, and right then I knew
That in my heart forever you would stay.
My body is a temple and
You are the foundation
you control my heart
And every sensation.
Now this temple had become a temple of two
For it belonged to me and you.
We built this temple for all the world to see
That thru love this is the way it should be.
When you’ve shared the most precious
Moments that GOD did provide
When not on all topics did we see eye to eye
When in sickness you was the comforting stone
And you know that you’re not alone.
When that temple seems to be falling apart
And you‘ve lost all hope in your heart.
When it seems like you have no other place to go
And your thoughts are moving slow
That is when you turn to the lord above
To show you how to rekindle that love.
The body is a temple and in it I found you
And with your strength I know what I have to do.
I will rebuild this temple with the love of my life
For you are my partner, my lover, my wife.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Way You Smile At Me
as we get near
at the junction of our new directions
i could not help but notice your smile
i understand perfectly what you are hinting
you will offer something that i dream of
like your heart on a golden platter
i would like to take it
with my own hands
and keep it whole
i want it forever
but no
things do not just stop in there
there is also an exchange
a price that i must pay
you will also take everything i have
my soul my body
it is there on the curve of the smile like a scythe
i am not ready as always to part with what i treasure
my body my soul my independence my mind
and so i turned back
to the old ways of my home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mystic Silence
From each, Love demands a mystic silence.
What do all seek so earnestly? Tis Love.
Love is the subject of their inmost thoughts,
In Love no longer 'Thou' and 'I' exist,
For self has passed away in the Beloved.
Now will I draw aside the veil from Love,
And in the temple of mine inmost soul
Behold the Friend, Incomparable Love.
He who would know the secret of both worlds
Will find that the secret of them both is Love.
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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The Veil
THE SISTER
Why, brother, why upon me stare?
Why do your brows so fiercely lower?
Your eyes like funeral torches glare,
Beneath their gloomy looks I cower.
Why do I see your sashes rent?
Why have you thrice your fingers laid
Upon the sheath? What dire intent
Makes you half draw the glittering blade?
FIRST BROTHER
Raised you today your veil, and face displayed!
SISTER
Home from the bath my path I took—
Brothers! Look not so terribly!—
And I was hidden from the look
Of every unbeliever's eye.
But as the Mosque I hurried by,
Close covered in my palanquin,
Stifled beneath the mid-day sky,
I loosed my veil to breathe between.
SECOND BROTHER
Did not a man then pass in Cafton green?
SISTER
Ah, yes, perhaps it may be so;
But he ne'er saw my face. My brothers,
Together you are whispering low—
What whisper you to one another?
You would not kill me? On your soul
He saw me not! My oath believe!
Have mercy! Your blind rage control!
Your poor young sister, O reprieve!
THIRD BROTHER
Blood-red I saw the sun sink down at eve.
SISTER
Mercy, O mercy! Brothers, cease,
Your daggers stab me to the heart!
Brothers! I cling about your knees!
O veil! White veil! The cause thou art!
Brothers! Your dying sister prop,
Tear not my bleeding hand away—
Darkness come o'er me—with me stop—
The veil of death shuts out the day.
FOURTH BROTHER
Unlifted by your hands this veil will stay.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Victory but a veil of lies, treachery and deceit.
Victory but a veil,
of lies, treachery and deceit.
The web spun around your heart,
that makes it believe it's complete.
Victory but a veil
that hides you from the truth,
The fallacy that makes you believe
the impossible, even with no proof.
Victory but a veil
of scorn, lust and despair.
The thing that makes you believe
in the things that were never really there.
Behind The Veil
She always stands alone and nobody wants her,
He always stands alone and nobody wants him,
Behind the veil with the truth;
Open the waters to expose matters,
Like when success fails to come in.
Cheerful and childish,
Lonely and hopeless,
Better as expected from the traditions of the people;
A Philosophy,
A Notebook,
Like guns without a veil when being exposed;
Here are the experimental overviews.
Individualism,
Promoted on ignorance;
Always alone without a friend,
Like when the rains fail to come.
Behind the veil,
But if you think, do reason;
Behind the veil,
But if you learn, do know;
In this life,
Every once a while there is the truth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Intoxicated by the Wine of Love
Intoxicated by the Wine of Love.
From each a mystic silence Love demands.
What do all seek so earnestly? 'Tis Love.
What do they whisper to each other? Love.
Love is the subject of their inmost thoughts.
In Love no longer 'thou' and 'I' exist,
For Self has passed away in the Beloved.
Now will I draw aside the veil from Love,
And in the temple of mine inmost soul,
Behold the Friend; Incomparable Love.
He who would know the secret of both worlds,
Will find the secret of them both, is Love.
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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I Played day and night
I played day and night with my comrades,
and now I am greatly afraid.
So high is my Lord's palace,
my heart trembles to mount its stairs:
yet I must not be shy, if I would enjoy His love.
My heart must cleave to my Lover;
I must withdraw my veil,
and meet Him with all my body:
Mine eyes must perform the ceremony of the lamps of love.
Kabîr says: 'Listen to me, friend:
he understands who loves.
If you feel not love's longing for your Beloved One,
it is vain to adorn your body,
vain to put unguent on your eyelids.'
The Mystic Veil
When the shadows take their nightly places,
When departing light is faint and pale,
Then in my chamber gather phantom faces,
Gazing thro' the mystic veil.
One there is with features so familiar,
Glimpse of her give[s] my pulse a start;
Oh! tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonly heart?
Come one step nearer! (One step nearer!)
one shade clearer? (one shade clearer!)
Breath on word before we part; (before we part;)
And tell me--truly it is you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
When my song, in lonely notes ascending,
Vainly bids my sadden'd soul rejoin [rejoice?],
Methinks I hear a murmur'd alto blending:
Is it really your sweet voice?
Answer now, if only by a whisper;
Rend the veil, the mystic veil, apart:
And tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
Waking while the denser darkness lingers,
Some one seems to stand beside my bed;
I can but think I feel your fairy fingers,
Softly laid upon my head.
Silently why does the vision vanish?
Dream I yet, or is it magic art?
Now tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Hands.... (That Dared To Speak!)
the hands....
that cleaned the old man
lying on urine stained sheets,
that planted the bulbs
in the old woman's flower bed.
that washed the dishes
for forty years....
the hands...
that built the old barn,
that plowed the fields,
that harvested the crops....
the hands...
that stroked desire's body,
that found each secret treasure,
that closed the window.
that held the baby,
that taught the child to write,
that buttoned his suit
on the day he was married.
the hands....
that buried the body,
that brushed leaves from the grave,
that packed away pictures.
the hands....
that picked up the pen,
that turned bloodstained pages,
that dared to speak!
the hands...
now old and withered,
painfully bruised,
often clasped in prayer,
that open to take the small child's hand;
that unlock the door,
and beckon to those in need...
the hands...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love
O love how shall describe you my heart
You're the mortal ache,
Yet still wrapped my heart
Within still weeping woe
Howling pain
You're the teribble shoreless, mortality flood
Who dares deserting your greatestness
O Your Majesty
O love!
Being in you the soul becomes insane feeble pale
You're the inscrutable misty
veil
Your companion yet is insatiable mortal till bleeds the vein
Still holding my soul, till the soul dies of your pain.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Lust
Lust is what I speak tonight,
Lust is what I see tonight,
Lust is what I feel tonight,
And I Lust You.
Show me your Body
inside out…
no clothes on,
no holds barred…
bit by bit,
part by part,
give me your smells,
and your sweat…
give me what all you have
every naked bit of yours,
I want to see All of yours.
feel my hands
feel my legs
feel my torso
my body begs…
Come on me
and make me wet
juices flowing…
feel the heat…
together, we’ll
make ‘us’ meet.
If Lust be sin,
So be it…
For I am a Woman,
And you a Man.
How can I love you
and not lust you?
For Me,
Love and Lust,
go hand in hand…
for I am a Woman
and you are my Man.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Weary not of us, for we are very beautiful
Weary not of us, for we are very beautiful; it is out of very jealousy and proper pride that we entered the veil.
On the day when we cast of the body’s veil from the soul, you will see that we are the envy of despair of man and the Polestars.
Wash your face and become clean for beholding us, else remain afar, for we are beloveds of ourselves.
We are not that beauty who tomorrow will become a crone; till eternity we are young and heart-comforting and fair of stature.
If that veil become worn out, the beauty has not grown old; the life of the Veil is transient, and we are boundless life.
When Eblis saw the veil of Adam, he refused; Adam called to him, “You are the rejected one, not I.”
The rest of the angels fell down prostrate, saying as they bowed themselves, “We have encountered a beauty:
“Beneath the veil is an idol who by his qualities robbed us of reason, and we, prostrate, fell.”
If our reason does not know the forms of the foul old men from those of the beauties, we are apostates from love.
What place is there for a beauty? For he is the Lion of God. Like a child we prattled, for we are children of the alphabet.
Children are beguiled with nuts and raisins, else, how are we meet for nuts and sesame-grains?
When an old woman is hidden in helmet and chainmail, she says, “I am the illustrious Rostam of the battle ranks.”
By her boast all know that she is a woman; how should we make a mistake, seeing that we are in the light of Ahmad?
“The believer is discriminating” - so said the Prophet; now close your mouth, for we are guided rightly without speech.
Hear the rest of from Shams the Pride of Tabiz for we did not take the end of the story from that king.
I Have No Body....
i have no body...
i am starlight and dust.
i roam fields and pastures,
and pound city streets.
i haunt the owl,
chase shadows into hiding.
i am the howl,
the wolf cannot speak!
i walk through locked doors,
and blow through open windows.
i am the moan,
that startles your sleep.
i burn in the lighthouse,
and walk stormy seas.
i dance barefoot on pine needles,
leave no tracks in the frost!
i have no body...
i am breath hot and hoarse.
the unseen hand,
that travels your body.
the break of the veil,
that causes you to sit up and cough.
the trembling in your hands,
as you light a smoke!
i am not alive,
yet i am not dead.
i carry no chains,
and leave no memory.
would you name me a dream,
or a secret desire?
i am the mark,
on the inside of your thigh!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mesalliance
I am troubled to-night with a curious pain;
It is not of the flesh, it is not of the brain,
Nor yet of a heart that is breaking:
But down still deeper, and out of sight—
In the place where the soul and the body unite—
There lies the scat of the aching.
They have been lovers in days gone by;
But the soul is fickle, and longs to fly
From the fettering mesalliance:
And she tears at the bonds which are binding her so,
And pleads with the body to let her go,
But he will not yield compliance.
For the body loves, as he loved in the past,
When he wedded the soul; and he holds her fast,
And swears that he will not loose her;
That he will keep her and hide her away
For ever and ever and for a day
From the arms of Death, the seducer.
Ah! this is the strife that is wearying me—
The strife 'twixt a soul that would be free
And a body that will not let her.
And I say to my soul, 'Be calm, and wait;
For I tell ye truly that soon or late
Ye surely shall drop each fetter.'
And I say to the body, 'Be kind, I pray;
For the soul is not of thy mortal clay,
But is formed in spirit fashion.'
And still through the hours of the solemn night
I can hear my sad soul's plea for flight,
And my body's reply of passion.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Sorrow And Silence Walking Hand In Hand
it is the sorrow that is always cold
cold as the moist ground
where the earthworms live
it has hands less the warmth of the
callousness
and it is the silence with a veil
nothing to speak about
that keeps on holding my heart
it has no hands anymore
but it has strong wings
and sharp beak
there is a land somewhere
where the eggs must be put to finally
make out
a sense of home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The veil that covered her face
That veil was the first symbolism
Of her lies, it covered
The truth of her origin,
Her face underneath, you never really
Saw the truth of her eyes,
You were blinded by the cloth
You were tempted by the part that was still covered,
When the veil was lifted
It was then that you saw, the truth, of what was felt,
You wanted to back out,
And stop the ceremony of a commitment
But there were lots of people in the church
Ready to clap their hands, after the much awaited kiss
You kissed her, and the people clapped in
Jubilation of your beginnings
You did not really mean it,
But it was too late; you have already sealed the contract
With that kiss and all the people in the church clapped their hands
The rest in your life to come shall be without the participation
Of your senses.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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26
That veil was the first symbolism
Of her lies, it covered
The truth of her origin,
Her face underneath, you never really
Saw the truth of her eyes,
You were blinded by the cloth
You were tempted by the part that was still covered,
When the veil was lifted
It was then that you saw, the truth, of what was felt,
You wanted to back out,
And stop the ceremony of a commitment
But there were lots of people in the church
Ready to clap their hands, after the much awaited kiss
You kissed her, and the people clapped in
Jubilation of your beginnings
You did not really mean it,
But it was too late; you have already sealed the contract
With that kiss and all the people in the church clapped their hands
The rest in your life to come shall be without the participation
Of your senses.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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