When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan
When the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan,
Even before he gets so far
As the place where the clustered palm-trees are,
At the last of the thirty palace-gates
The pet of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom,
Orders a feast in his favorite room--
Glittering square of colored ice,
Sweetened with syrup, tinctured with spice,
Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates,
Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces,
Limes and citrons and apricots,
And wines that are known to Eastern princes.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Related quotes
Come, Pretty School-Girl!
On this rolling planet ever have you seen
A home so like a palace waiting for its queen? --
A dwelling place so fair,
So fill'd with treasures rare,
As the little white cottage on Evergreen Square?
Come, pretty school girl! lay your books aside;
Yes graduate tomorrow -- tomorrow be my bride;
My fortune share,
And reign queen there,
In the little white cottage on Evergreen Square.
Red as are the roses climbing on its wall,
Your cheeks of richer crimson shall out-bloom them all.
Your eyes (beyond compare)
A brighter gleam shall wear,
In the little white cottage on Everygreen Square.
Flow'rs of rarest fragrance all the year shall bloom,
And singing birds make music in your chosen room.
Come, breathe its balmy air!
Come, charm away my care,
In the little white cottage on Everygreen Square.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Does The Lotus Shrink Away For Everyone?
(after A.G. Visser)
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
an expensive car stops on the sidewalk,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
with many knights
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan
and he’s just left when the neighbour’s wife rushes past
without loosing a moment.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
where in the darkness of night he leaves
to be involved with his commitments
with many knights,
while the winter wind cuts through me,
the gaze of the neighbour’s wife chills the leaving car,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where in the palace Fatima made herself lovely
and the sultan had just left
to be involved with his commitments,
the neighbour’s wife hurries and do not want to avoid her lover
and I read insubordination, pleasure and rebellion on her face,
early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away.
When a horseman appears as the emir of the Badewyn
Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the sultan had just left
and the neighbour is really dedicated
exemplary, friendly and he wears glasses,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where they meet each other and make love for hours
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
and Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the neighbour is with other knights when his wife is wooed
while she is begging for other attention.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away,
there’s an old legend that returns to me:
Does the lotus shrink away for everyone, does it wither
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan?
[Reference: “Divan” by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The City Without You...
The City without You …
Is a skeleton buried in the desert of time…
No songs, No lights
No people enjoying the nights…
No sea caressing the hair of the shore
No birds dancing in the air like before…
The palm trees are crying
Their sweetie dates are dying…
The City without You … is so ugly
Like a scene of a crime…
The City without You …
Is full of strangers, of ghosts, is not mine …
The Central park is empty
No flowers, No Grass, No water falls
No kids playing with the balls…
No couple walking together
No lover searching for another…
Abu Dhabi without you is really a sick city
Without you will never shine…
Wael Karameh
July 18,2008
poem by Wael Karameh
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Apples of Hesperides
Glinting golden through the trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Through the moon-pierced warp of night
Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,
Swaying to the kissing breeze
Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming,
Apples of Hesperides!
Far and lofty yet they glimmer,
Apples of Hesperides!
Blinded by their radiant shimmer,
Pushing forward just for these;
Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,
Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,
Always thinking soon to seize
And possess the golden-glistening
Apples of Hesperides!
Orbed, and glittering, and pendent,
Apples of Hesperides!
Not one missing, still transcendent,
Clustering like a swarm of bees.
Yielding to no man's desire,
Glowing with a saffron fire,
Splendid, unassailed, the golden
Apples of Hesperides!
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Honey Bee and the Rose
The honey bee hovered over the rose
Waiting for it to bloom
Seeking its daily bread I suppose
Before the rose could adorn a room
A butterfly
Hang around nearby
Coordinating its next vector
For the leftover nectar
The honey bee took charge
When the rose stretched its petals to the sky
First in line before the barrage
A nosedive straight into the rose’s eye
A blue jay and a sparrow
Perched high upon a telephone wire
Sang their song of sorrow
As the scene below was catching fire
The honey bee forgot
About the crown of thorns
But the rose did not
A rose lives for the palace it adorns
How this story end everybody knows
You don’t mess around with a rose
The honey bee got itself into a Gordian knot
A minor sting is all that it got
poem by Alfred Ramos
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Round Room
My room is round when I lay down, when I wake up it's square
When I go outside it's on a spiral set of stairs
The people that surround me are waiting out there
In a round room they can't find me anywhere
Right angle rooms drive me crazier each day
Put me in a box I know I'm never going to play
Put me in a square room and I won't know what to say
I want a round room at the end of the day
I had an apartment, four corners on the walls
Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep there at all
I want a curve to the place where I stay
I want a round room at the end of the day
If I pass out take me to the round church
Where echoes resound
And my spirit is found
And when I float high
Take my arm and I'll fly you by
The outskirts of town, to a garden that's round
I went to the lighthouse and I liked the view
I looked out the window and I could see you
Put me in a square house and I won't have a clue
I want a round room just to be with you
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O'nun Vedasi
O'nun Vedas
ok mu kolay bu son demesi
Vermiyorum ki son nefesi
Ellerin eskisi gibi beyaz m
Bana bunlar o ellerle mi yazdn
Ah yeniden balamal dersen
Zaman var yavalamal dersen
Beklemek eskisi gibi kolay m
Zaman gemiyor zaman yalan m
Yine karlarz dnya kk
Akn byk
Mevsimler dnnce yaza
Kular dner piman
imdi sen mi ben mi
Kim sulu kimse yar
song performed by by Yasar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am from Pretoria
Notwithstanding the way
that the country and world goes,
I still want to stand for many years
in the streets with purple-blue
Jacaranda trees.
Let my friends go and live
in London, New York,
Amsterdam and Sydney
but in Pretoria I earn my keep
and no other city
calls me away from my fatherland
since only Pretoria
is right for me.
I am from Pretoria,
a place where princes stay
and if you go to Pretoria
you will find many Afrikaner princes there.
In Pretoria noble Afrikaners are everywhere
and they build their lives
in the right way
and like their ancestors,
still cling to the hand
of the Almighty God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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So Say Who Dont Need To Fake
The freedom is my destiny
The freedom is like the wind in my face
I need, because freedom is love
The water holes, the city gates
The sweetest taste, the broken street
She take me around, playing with my sound
Throw your arms around love and me
The archer without range
The elemental of fire burning you
A hand on my shoulder
Please say who don't need to fake
In this worthless place
The storm is here like her fear
And when she comes around
You know there's aura in the area of taste
But now doomed the room is
Silent the room is
Wasted the room is
Safe the room is
Lonely the room is
Gone the room is
And all your lessons with your enemy
poem by Not A Dream Choice
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The Sultan
I am the Sultan on your love,
So my sweet lady do open the door of your love for me;
I am the Sultan living next to your heart and,
I am in love with you my sweet lady.
I want to marry you so,
Come and open your sweet door of love to me;
For i have been studying you for a very long time among the ladies.
Come and let me marry you my beautiful woman,
For i still hope to see the day that you will be mine;
And thereafter, have you as a married wife to my Palace.
One day i will come to you with my officials,
One day i will knock at your door;
For you are the right woman needed t my Palace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Starfish & Coffee
It was 7:45 we were all in line
2 greet the teacher miss cathleen
First was kevin, then came lucy, third in line was me
All of us where ordinary compared to cynthia rose
She always stood at the back of the line
A smile beneath her nose
Her favorite number was 20 and every single day
If u asked her what she had 4 breakfast
This is what shed say
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, baby
Maybe youd understand
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Cynthia wore the prettiest dress
With different color socks
Sometimes I wondered if the mates where in her lunchbox
Me and lucy opened it when cynthia wasnt around
Lucy cried, I almost died, u know what we found?
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, honey
Maybe youd understand
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Starfish and coffee
Cynthia had a happy face, just like the one shed draw
On every wall in every school
But its all right, its 4 a worthy cause
Go on, cynthia, keep singin
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine
And a side order of ham
If u set your mind free, baby
Maybe youd understand
Starfish and coffee
Maple syrup and jam
(starfish in your coffee, you will love it, told ya so)
(starfish in your coffee, you will love it, told ya so)
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tulip Bed At Greeley Square
You know that oasis, fresh and fair
In the city desert, as Greeley square?
That bright triangle of scented bloom
That lies surrounded by grime and gloom?
Right in the breast of the seething town
Like a gleaming gem or a wanton’s gown?
Ah, wonderful things that tulip bed
Unto my listening soul has said.
Over the rattle and roar of the street
I hear a chorus of voices sweet,
Day and night, when I pass that way,
And these are the things the voices say:
“Here, in the heart of the foolish strife,
We live a simple and natural life.
“Here, in the midst of the clash and din,
We know what it is to be calm within.
“Here, environed by sin and shame,
We do what we can with our pure white flame.
“We do what we can with our bloom and grace,
To make the city a fairer place.
“It is well to be good though the world is vile,
And so through the dust and the smoke we smile,
“We are but atoms in chaos tossed,
Yet never a purpose for truth was lost.”
Ah, many a sermon is uttered there
By the bed of blossoms in Greeley square.
And he who listens and hears aright,
Is better equipped for the world’s hard fight.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Rose
It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;
And the sun, like a bashful swain,
Beamed on it through the waving trees
With a passion all in vain,--
For my rose laughed in a crimson glee,
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The honey-bee came there to sing
His love through the languid hours,
And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king
Might boast of his palace-towers:
But my rose bowed in a mockery,
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The humming-bird, like a courtier gay,
Dipped down with a dalliant song,
And twanged his wings through the roundelay
Of love the whole day long:
Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The firefly came in the twilight dim
My red, red rose to woo--
Till quenched was the flame of love in him,
And the light of his lantern too,
As my rose wept with dewdrops three
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
And I said: I will cull my own sweet rose--
Some day I will claim as mine
The priceless worth of the flower that knows
No change, but a bloom divine--
The bloom of a fadeless constancy
That hides in the leaves in wait for me!
But time passed by in a strange disguise,
And I marked it not, but lay
In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes,
Till the summer slipped away,
And a chill wind sang in a minor key:
'Where is the rose that waits for thee?'
. . . . . . . .
I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain
Of bloom on a withered stalk,
Pelted down by the autumn rain
In the dust of the garden-walk,
That an Angel-rose in the world to be
Will hide in the leaves in wait for me.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Jasmines
Your scent is in the room.
Swiftly it overwhelms and conquers me!
Jasmines, night jasmines, perfect of perfume,
Heavy with dew before the dawn of day!
Your face was in the mirror. I could see
You smile and vanish suddenly away,
Leaving behind the vestige of a tear.
Sad suffering face, from parting grown so dear!
Night jasmines cannot bloom in this cold place;
Without the street is wet and weird with snow;
The cold nude trees are tossing to and fro;
Too stormy is the night for your fond face;
For your low voice too loud the wind's mad roar.
But, oh, your scent is here--jasmines that grow
Luxuriant, clustered round your cottage door!
poem by Claude McKay
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Norumbega Hall
Not on Penobscot's wooded bank the spires
Of the sought City rose, nor yet beside
The winding Charles, nor where the daily tide
Of Naumkeag's haven rises and retires,
The vision tarried; but somewhere we knew
The beautiful gates must open to our quest,
Somewhere that marvellous City of the West
Would lift its towers and palace domes in view,
And, to! at last its mystery is made known--
Its only dwellers maidens fair and young,
Its Princess such as England's Laureate sung;
And safe from capture, save by love alone,
It lends its beauty to the lake's green shore,
And Norumbega is a myth no more.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Palm trees
There’s palm trees that grows in a row
down Nelson Mandela drive
and I wonder how they survive
and are full of life and vibrance,
while the one or other pest
destroys the rest of the palm trees
and eats them from the inside
and my neighbour’s palm
is yellow brown and dead.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I, John
(words & music by william j. gaither)
Oh well, i, john, he saw might numbers
A way up in the middle of the air
I, john he saw might numbers
Way in the middle of the air
Got to mighty move, john, you saw mighty numbers
Way up in the middle of the air
Well there were three gates in the east
And there were three gates in the west
Three gates in the north
Three gates in the south
And that makes twelve gates to the city all square wide
John, you saw might numbers way up in the middle of the air
Well john declared that he saw a man
He held twelve bright stars in his right hand
Well his eyes flashed fire like the burning sun
Old john got scared and he wanted to run
Well he wanted to run but his feet wouldnt go
Cause he felt the gospel cutting like a two-edged sword
And he heard a voice that said john, you take a look
And read what you see and then you write it in a book
And he saw twelve angels in the east
And there were twelve angels in the west
Twelve angels in the north,
Twelve angels in the south
Thats a total of forty-eight angels to the city, four squared wide
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Kid's Promise!
(composed on Universal children's day-2011)
I'm a lovely kid of my small house
With sprightly, sparkling eyes...
Holding my computer's mouse
aspire to shine and rise...
With extra care i take my food
And play my games, but then...
i get scared of Mamma's mood
When someone takes my pen...
When Papa says, 'you'll have to work',
I keep on studying books...
When Mamma says, 'it's time for rest'
I pass her grateful looks...
I'm fond of juicy, chocolate creams,
And want to be a Sultan...
My glittering eyes are rich with dreams
I see for Pakistan....
I love my lovely home and school,
And love my friends and teachers...
I'll guide and work and follow rules
And make my better future... :)
poem by Shahzia Batool
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Spanish Jew's Tale; Kambalu
Into the city of Kambalu,
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan,
At the head of his dusty caravan,
Laden with treasure from realms afar,
Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar,
Rode the great captain Alau.
The Khan from his palace-window gazed,
And saw in the thronging street beneath,
In the light of the setting sun, that blazed
Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised,
The flash of harness and jewelled sheath,
And the shining scimitars of the guard,
And the weary camels that bared their teeth,
As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred
Into the shade of the palace-yard.
Thus into the city of Kambalu
Rode the great captain Alau;
And he stood before the Khan, and said:
'The enemies of my lord are dead;
All the Kalifs of all the West
Bow and obey thy least behest;
The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees,
The weavers are busy in Samarcand,
The miners are sifting the golden sand,
The divers plunging for pearls in the seas,
And peace and plenty are in the land.
'Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone,
Rose in revolt against thy throne:
His treasures are at thy palace-door,
With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he wore;
His body is dust o'er the desert blown.
'A mile outside of Baldacca's gate
I left my forces to lie in wait,
Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand,
And forward dashed with a handful of men,
To lure the old tiger from his den
Into the ambush I had planned.
Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread,
For we heard the sound of gongs from within;
And with clash of cymbals and warlike din
The gates swung wide; and we turned and fled;
And the garrison sallied forth and pursued,
With the gray old Kalif at their head,
And above them the banner of Mohammed:
So we snared them all, and the town was subdued.
'As in at the gate we rode, behold,
A tower that is called the Tower of Gold!
For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth,
Heaped and hoarded and piled on high,
Like sacks of wheat in a granary;
And thither the miser crept by stealth
To feel of the gold that gave him health,
And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye
On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark,
Or the eyes of a panther in the dark.
'I said to the Kalif: 'Thou art old,
Thou hast no need of so much gold.
Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here,
Till the breath of battle was hot and near,
But have sown through the land these useless hoards
To spring into shining blades of swords,
And keep thine honor sweet and clear.
These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;
These bars of silver thou canst not eat;
These jewels and pearls and precious stones
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones,
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour
From climbing the stairways of thy tower!'
'Then into his dungeon I locked the drone,
And left him to feed there all alone
In the honey-cells of his golden hive:
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan
Was heard from those massive walls of stone,
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive!
'When at last we unlocked the door,
We found him dead upon the floor;
The rings had dropped from his withered hands,
His teeth were like bones in the desert sands:
Still clutching his treasure he had died;
And as he lay there, he appeared
A statue of gold with a silver beard,
His arms outstretched as if crucified.'
This is the story, strange and true,
That the great captain Alau
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan,
When he rode that day into Kambalu
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Harem Man (Gods & Monsters)
Alright alright alright alright woah!
Well yeah
Well I'm your harem man I was paid two by two
Well I'm your harem man I will sing and dance for you
Oh Baby say it
My love is great ???
Well well
Lay your hails down 'till they race over me
Oh sweet pussy cat race your hails all over me
Oh you're so sweet, your pussy cat i'm gonna show you where it's at
Why don't you think I can ?? free
I wanna be your fire when it's cold
It's raining outside mama don't wait until you get too old
Take home a liter and push it in me
I wanna inject you in my blood
I wanna set you free
Well well
My world my world... my love
I wanna be your harem man
Oh baby save you do anything I can
I'll keep you waiting in a room of my own
A man can't be free until he's older
My my my ... woman, man
I wanna be your harem man
I wish I was your 45 dollar bill
Spend all your money pay all your thrills
I wish I could be your walking shoes, step all over me
And take away my blues
My world my love
I wish I was you
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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