"euphrates" poems
Eid in Babylon sits on his high chair, on knees of snow. Grandparents smile for the beloved alleys of Babylon and overlook the mighty Euphrates. Eid in Babylon is a bright face of dawn. Magic smiled on his hands like the hearts of the Babylonians. These civilizations have occurred here, do you not see all these lighthouses and the sounds of eternity? Don't you see dew hearts where lovers' poems here mired in their dreams? At sunset, we will bid farewell to the spirit of rebellion. At sunset, a new Eid will be rise in Babylon.
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 3:37 AM UTC
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
***** turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
3.8k
I’m walking up hilltop, two men pass, one says,
'Fuck the French, they never have the bottle for a fight’.
To have got here they passed the old Cathedral.
Did they glimpse it as a relic - exploded by incendiary,
ostracised in dubiety, seen fit to feature
only in the focus and snap of foreign tourists?
It is two days before Ramadan. Tonight Tornados
will tear between the Euphrates and Tigris
to illuminate Babylon... live on CNN.
At the top of the hill I pause,
staring at stained glass fragments
still suspended in the apex of frames
and view snacking office workers,
seated upon the benches that have replaced the pews.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 12:30 PM UTC
Starting from the Euphrates
wayfinding a trail toward Babylonia
to divert her waters
mapping her ancient towers
her eyes
her desires
her pudendum
egressing out of the bitter river
surrounding her temple
until enlightenment
glisters betwixt the frangible pages of her
Dialogue of Pessimism:
~
*"Who is so tall as to ascend to heaven?
Who is so broad as to encompass the entire world?"*
~
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
"O GOD ! only hand--- only leg
bleeding, hanging to the chopped body --o god !?!"
enough ! to discharge the debt of the soil.
"o god!
these little babies who are supposed to be the metaphor of passion,
are forced to be the product of flesh trade !
these tender hands , supposed to paint the alphabets
are made to clean the riffles !
o god !
they are eating mud--
they are drinking the ***** of animals...."
yes! the survival is important
to break the shackles of this soil.
"O GOD ! O GOD ! O GOD ! O G>>"
no !. no!. sympathy? charity ? i am not the beggar !
do not come on the wings of eagle holding the dove.
if you have a human soul..
demand those who are shedding crocodile tears.
i demand the answer , not the bread of consolation.
do the sons of my soil robbed these big-brothers at any time?
tell them not to declare the renegades as the protectors of my land.
**** **** ***** **** **** **** ****
tigris and euphrates, ganga and godavari
amazan, dandakaranya
somalia, rhodesia---- red with blood
santiyago, madrid, -- echoing
tahir square, beijing, brasilia... burning--
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
i may be falling down-- but i will rise ...
o big brother... you are not god
you can declare yourself as jesus
i am the child of spartucus
"o god ! are you a terrorist? are you a revolutionary?"
ha ha ha--- let it be.
now , the deserts having oil in lap
the forests having minerals in heart
the voices demanding the natural justice
are these the shelters of terrorists.. revolutionaries ?
let it be!
i am a revolutionary........
to discharge the debt of my soil !!
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
The cicada husk of the crescent moon sheds in cyclides light,
Molted whispers of life, spread like perfume behind the ear,
Or like silver earrings unadorned and scattered around the night-lit table.
Here too, the garden gown of Babylon lies heaped in soiled ruin,
Beaten down to sand at the foot of the bed of the Tigris and Euphrates.
Though the dunes are its aerial, root-bound springs,
Though the underground nymphs tend with cicala wings,
And underspurt of incessant summer song to lure
The resurrection rose of Jericho to bud once more,
In desert-faith for the hanging garden of a full moon.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC
(Commemoration of Earth-Day, 22nd-04-09)
Earth hath
Been Weeping!
Nature lacerated & pleading?
Extinct species beseeching;
Antarctica mercilessly melting,
Noxious gaseous emissions heating.
Have you ever wondered?
“Of the Greek mythology!”
women warriors of Scythia astray burned off the
Right ***** to try
to habituate the bow and arrow in sly,
arsenals of terror abound harsh shear ploy!
Hitherto, the atrocious force upon Nature ne'er stops.
Wherefore-now the lost leaf of the conifers?
Searching for the nearest route to the Savannah Plains,
Waiting pro the long anticipated cascades of the tropical rains. Babylon wrests & clinches intimately thy adored hanging gardens that black slaves tend no more hasten. Euphrates in the Persian Gulf wanders uncertain; Everest looks down in pitiful scorn…
As it wobbly looses its molecular activity in pain.
Humanity squirms in an enamored Trance
to heave a foundation Of conscious Purpose
That Earth day waits Upon us
To elucidate a divine Hypothesis.
~~/|\~~
Namaste'
~~\|/~~
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 4:49 AM UTC
Symphonic
My fist was first five fingers
Flowing Favonian into the palm of my radiant mother
As cheeky as a sprite, soon I revelled in the
Crisp light of the fridge and all its chilled visitors,
A skin-deep draft last week, a raging harmattan yesterday,
Barren among the fruitless lands of Mesopotamia.
Crawling, my sergeants and I led the way through our childhood fantasies.
Ali Baba's fortress, the ruins of Babylon, and up to the lately perturbed Euphrates.
I dropped my automatic rifle,
hurriedly snatched it up in the unforgiving desolate,
just in time to
narrowly dodge the absent onslaught of enemy gunfire
Only to witness a serpentine strike and an explosive splash
Of metal violating my infantile hand, a hand that was trusted and was caressed
Now merely a bludgeon to satisfy the steel-clawed slash of the shrapnel
A buffer to the skin of my wide-eyed physiognomy.
Waking up in the loose sheets of a completely unremarkable beige bed,
With the deoxygenated breath of the novice surgeon liquidizing in my veins,
It was almost too much to handle (if you'll pardon my pun).
These days it is
The good hand with which I
Uncork, pour, and serve.
It's with the utilizable limb with which I
Ignite, shift, and steer.
It's with my brain that I
seethe
And it's with my stump
That I knock.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Spring grapes die on withered vine
Wine of wrath flows bitter red
Isis' son seeks Babylon
Avenge by death the deed of Set
Along Euphrates course they fled
From march of madmen to the throne
And wine of wrath flows bitter red
Eagles flock to hawk by drone
Hung within a garden high
Black masks the march of death
Give new life to Levant's lie
And wine of wrath flows bitter red.
r~ 6/17/14
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
'' In Love With The Euphrates''. (Eng.: 'yufreytiiz ", Greek: Ευφράτης)
A Love-Eternal, as long as its waters flow, far before the 'Now'.
One tiny soul, yearning at the River’s banks, below the palms with their soft, feathery foliage, waving in a languid breeze.
Staring at his bright shining surface, the emerald translucency ,here underneath the azure sky and shining golden solar disk.
The curves of its lines, made of very fine, soft sparkling sand and swaying reeds ,the alluring splash of its waves.
The mighty Euphrates smiles, beckons with the spirit of its life-giving waters:
'' Come, ... come to me....''
"ONE CAN NOT BE IN LOVE WITH A RIVER!''
…a furious mass, roars, somewhere out in the gray, remote coldness.
But this glowing heart beats every earthly comprehension and that-is-what-common.
A body, unclad as when life first began.
Sliding into the silky warmth bringing waves of its waters, and floating, blissfully drowning and surrendering to Euphrates' tender caress.
Nothing so sincere and pure….
The rapture of this insignificant, transient creature ....
The mighty Euphrates beholds, with his empathetic, loving spirit., as with a fatherly smile ...
And both enter that fathomless centre far beyond matter, time and the sublunary.
Euphrates’ clear blue whisper mingling with the energy of that passionate violet light, which is softly about to explode in radiant scarlet and purple rays of light and energy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
A Dream about the River Euphrates.
As far as the eye can see.
Sandy beaches, reeds along the River’s shores, widely stretched out sand coloured rock formations, plain desert grounds.
Lone palm trees rise up just as other vegetation randomly sown, throughout the landscape.
Just one soul behold this beauty.
His sapphire waters gently flow.
Shining brightly with dazzling radiance.
Changing colour into a clear emerald translucency.
The scent of his liquid embrace fills the heart’s desire to Love.
Afloat on Euphrates’ whispering stream.
Warm, soft and smoothly.
Blissfully.
Is it me who is that lost soul?
It seems it is.
It feels that way.
Time, space…. they seem to have vanished , they are just absent.
Just being there together.
Mighty Euphrates, beckoning to enter into his soft waves…
Sensing Euphrates’ sweet caress while the heart unfolds.
His waters softly cuddling.
Feeling his soul –healing powers.
He could drown me, take my life….
But he does not.
Weightlessly floating through his tranquil, bright emerald.
Golden rays of sunlight enter the realm of his translucent flow of life.
As body and soul surrender ….
Unclad as on the first day….
Euphrates’ sweet caress …my soul breaks adrift.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
There is a cross
Overgrown
In a stand of trees
Next to the bank
Where
The Tigress and Euphrates
Became a sea
Upon this splintering frame
Hangs a sign
Bleeding from the weight
Of the name
These nails must bear
It marks the gate
Where an angel once stood
To remind us all
What we left behind
But there is still life here
They welcome you with open hands
Grab you by your weary shoulders
And usher you inside
Sweet melodies fill this place
There is dancing
And shouting
A constant celebration
Of what we call
Mankind
All rejoice the fact
That all they need
Is at their fingertips
Everything to make
Everyone feel
Identical
And here you sit surrounded by
These dancing fools
In silent awe
When into your hands
They place a
Fruit
You peel back the skin
And find that
This is filled with
Color coded
Pills
Share our food
Share our feast
We love you
Don’t you see?
And so teeth sink in
Finding home
In this forbidden fruit
Here in the garden
Where
The Tigress and Euphrates
Overflowed
There stand a cross
Bearing the name Eden
It is the last marking point
Showing where humanity
Washed away from
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
Imagine a world.
What do you see?
Do you see a place of paradise?
Do you see the rivers?
Tigris and Euphrates?
A place where all is bountiful,
And the sun forever shines
And darkness is forever lost.
Or do you see a world drenched in fire?
Overcome with the emotional grief
Of the death of it’s natural resources,
Of echoes coming down the corridors,
Starved bodies lying on the floor,
And villains run amuck?
A long time ago, a man wrote about a Lady and a Tiger.
His mission is mine.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
The ghosts of old raindrops
mock and scold.
Their scorn writ large
on these dusty roads and in these dusty throats.
To tote the barge but not lift the bail
ain't no kind of protest.
Spit in the well and
hope the master draws up that bucket-full.
Wishes.
Still, the giver of life
serpentines through this valley
like the Euphrates did
in that one book, but
it does not matter
since the scythe swings
in such wide circles
this time of year.
We can bring in sheaves until dusk
then fish for men in the morning but
our souls are still corrupted.
Our hearts are rotten like old pears.
I'm so thirsty.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
Power of a Picture
Little girl from a place far away in the world do you know that you are a part of forever you stare so intently does it mean you are one who sees beyond the common bonds of your home. The field is small the house barely marks the world you hold a emblem of wood covered with art from your culture it is in the form of a cross is this meant as a grave marker to one that you have lost. Or is it the touch stone you use to contact the Great Spirit that lives in the mountains and valleys. They speak of such places on the earth where the raw power exerts such force as you open yourself mystery and reality come into focus its only a deep valley a barren land a high mountain but in these climes as in no other the vestiges of the long forgotten seep into the curious mind fertile pollination lightly brushes inquisitive petals from this small impetus ever wider do the rings expand from just the single tossing of a small stone.
The wise know a road that seems to wound aimlessly through the heather across the moors its reach spans the globe it is home in the Gobie as well as the great cultured cities that as diamonds shine with brightest thoughts words to ignite the mind of the seekers. To all who make a purposeful sojourn from humble villages to the ends of the earth? The mind has no equal problems its meat with digestion then the course altered it is fixed it answers only those who believe there is rich and soulful meaning to the world no matter how cold and brutal the abrasive veneer may appear can this life be less than the total of the wonders to be found in every vale and sun drenched corner that has had the greatest evidence of the divine because there is found the foot prints of man. Whether Redeemed or not together the world and man are intertwined by glorious holy design.
What a great world you are part of we would be incomplete without you, a small unknown stream somewhere will join the great Euphrates or the unending Amazon or the sweet tender flow of the Brazos but all are an integral part of a larger whole dust was thought to be nothing then the dust bowl happened Steinbeck immortalized this tragic upheaval in the Grapes Of Wrath. So thanks little one you speak a lot with your eyes of innocence.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
*Ash forests, Tigris and Euphrates meet
Pistachio scent slithers through my nose
He was no saint.
He feeds me forbidden fruit from Eden
Touches my face with his fingers
The warmth burns me inside like inferno
"Hell," he says, "does not exist"
And calls me his Heaven.*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
No longer let our voices fall to a whispering
march of death. Jam your baritones and
inflections through songs for a god gone
dead
Make the earth shudder under your footsteps
as you let the wind take the pages like
a flickering flame
Make your presence known through the howling
sleet and rain - scream in the faces of distorted
kings, spit on their robes and **** in their eyes
Cast your fury like the waves and witness the smoke
of god vanish in the shadow of a cat, feast upon the
words that wither like the grass
Smear the self indulgent prophets in sweat and mud,
drown the child of the Euphrates and **** on his
holy stone
Go horse in your burning wrath, ******** wretched
Isaiah, suffocate him in the wallowing tears of Job,
let the blood of your hatred flow like wine
Drink of your consummate supplication steeped
in rage and disgust.
Let it sustain you to shake the pillars
and columns of his temple to the ground
Dictate your commands and bask in the boundless
power your existence brings to bear upon the weak
and know you and the fake god you hate
are one.
This is an old one from my depreciated poetry blog found here: http://www.letthewords.blogspot.com/
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Hakim sat
on the banks of the Euphrates,
his discarded newspaper
lifting, page by page,
on the warm wind.
He had been reading of the countless dead.
Of course, his mind played first
over those he had known.
An uncle, two brothers,
his mother
and a grandfather of ninety six.
All of them,
definitely gone.
But according to the paper,
atop the official body count
some twenty thousand souls
may or may not
have survived the conflict,
and his head swam
with this crowded limbo
and the knowledge
that no-one knew.
Enough people
to populate a small town,
possibly dead.
Not important enough
for anyone to be sure.
And Hakim, eyes
glazed in the dusty sunshine,
began to wonder
whether he was one of them,
the uncounted,
the unacknowledged,
wandering vacantly
through his outstayed welcome,
simpy waiting
for someone
to write down
his name.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
though they are whispering,
and my hearing muted by the years
and the cluttered clang of today,
their voices sift softly through the trees,
a ghost chorus, chanting
late songs from the killing grounds,
wafting warily around the trunks
on the backs of bent breezes
their names come like seeds
in the hopeful spring rains
as if they yearn to be born again
but the earth does not bring forth
their lost and longing faces
new names take their places
not in the choking jungle canopies
among the rubber trees, the bamboo,
the Mekong’s murky, mournful flow
where I last heard their plaintive pleas
drowned by the roar of chopper blades,
and my own metal screaming
but now in the desert, under
the Tigris’ and Euphrates’
unforgiving suns
still, I hear them, a labored litany
through the trees
yet asking to return
to sit with me, as the sun sets
white, on my gray eyes
and new voices silence
their wraithlike song
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
I saw a vision I stood in modern time on my feet but in the spirit I stood only where immortals breathe in
The sacred land of ancient days the Native American people came to life before my eyes there was a
River nameless but of truth the mighty Euphrates or more correctly the river of life heavy and rich
Were these waters glory stood bank to bank the mesquite and cotton wood seemed to be made of
Silk they flowed dreamlike as flags over a free land the day was far spent and in the dying sun she came
To bathe but not in the natural waters but her quest was to worship the great spirit in which all true
Cleansing occurs she wore the dress of her people white doe skin with red and turquoise bead work
And her reddish skin did glow she sent a treble across the distance to where I stood when she lifted her
Hands of faith and hope skyward in surrender beauty untold before materialized upon the burnished
Sand all of nature fell silent as she called on the Great Spirit stillness took on new meaning vastness was
Restricted drawn back from it natural means to this tiny spot of ground the air charged with the deep
Longing of her soul the trees crackled as heavy mist descended mellowness pervaded this place made
The wood the rarified earthy throne of God himself as she spoke oh the face shown with uncustomary
Wonder did the unexplained become common knowledge for her it did in this grand display of
Emotional release she bridled the breeze before horses were ever found in this land she drew heaven
Down all was quiet and empty in this clearing and she filled it with noble words that honored Him who
Deserves all praise we live on error and garbage when we should be feasting on spiritual riches to know
All that is yours it takes you joining this Indian maiden come not rehearsed and filled with self but as the
Lowy penitent subscriber for his free gifts these most treasured thoughts came as I watched a young
Woman praising our great father remarkable circumstances that are your birthright if you only exercise
Them God bless you
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
I cant sleep,
I'm afraid that I might dream..
For most,
dreaming's common, some even have themes,
Some even foresee the future, some even have schemes,
Some have a plot and ****** even opening scenes,
Some even might get frisky, have you opening jeans..
but my dreams differ.
my dreams, are dreams, of the Tigris river.
my dreams, are visions of an old poor giver.
Old, forgiver.
walking along the side of the Euphrates with Hades,
go figure.
my dreams differ.
at times i hear the angels in the heavens as they bicker.
At times i see the time of my own death on a ticker.
click click....
I always try to slow it down. Its become a regular thing..
But the Fates are constantly pulling my string.
using it as a guitar, Such a harmonious scene.
Especially for a man, not destined to dream.
My mind wonders, but more so it wanders,
Its plausible that lack of sleep will be my demise...
But till that day comes, i'll continue to daydream, because my only nightmare is closing my eyes...
-afj
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
I am become fire
Destroyer of self
Fueling my rage
To stave off my end
Rock and iron
Silver and gold
Liquid at my ever-slipping reach
A frantic search for foot hold
The center calls
Eternal Rome to which all roads lead
Hermes flock
Euphrates depth
Melt
Down
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
White Dove
I saw a vision I stood in modern time on my feet but in the spirit I stood only where immortals breathe in
The sacred land of ancient days the Native American people came to life before my eyes there was a
River nameless but of truth the mighty Euphrates or more correctly the river of life heavy and rich
Were these waters glory stood bank to bank the mesquite and cotton wood seemed to be made of
Silk they flowed dreamlike as flags over a free land the day was far spent and in the dying sun she came
To bathe but not in the natural waters but her quest was to worship the great spirit in which all true
Cleansing occurs she wore the dress of her people white doe skin with red and turquoise bead work
And her reddish skin did glow she sent a treble across the distance to where I stood when she lifted her
Hands of faith and hope skyward in surrender beauty untold before materialized upon the burnished
Sand all of nature fell silent as she called on the Great Spirit stillness took on new meaning vastness was
Restricted drawn back from it natural means to this tiny spot of ground the air charged with the deep
Longing of her soul the trees crackled as heavy mist descended mellowness pervaded this place made
The wood the rarified earthy throne of God himself as she spoke oh the face shown with uncustomary
Wonder did the unexplained become common knowledge for her it did in this grand display of
Emotional release she bridled the breeze before horses were ever found in this land she drew heaven
Down all was quiet and empty in this clearing and she filled it with noble words that honored Him who
Deserves all praise we live on error and garbage when we should be feasting on spiritual riches to know
All that is yours it takes you joining this Indian maiden come not rehearsed and filled with self but as the
Lowy penitent subscriber for his free gifts these most treasured thoughts came as I watched a young
Woman praising our great father remarkable circumstances that are your birthright if you only exercise
Them God bless you
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 7:24 AM UTC
Jacob was a man, he grabbed his brothers heel [1]
And his Birthright too, this started the ordeal
-
This ordeal continues on, with hatred so severe
It's coming to a ****** "Jacob's Troubles" do draw near [2]
-
Gathered round about him, every nation of the world
EXTERMINATION they all want, their Flag of WAR unfurled
-
Coming from the East, 200 million men draw near [3]
The Euphrates will dry up, there will be a quaking and great fear
-
To Armageddon they do march! Armageddon's drawing neigh!
The Rider in the White Horse, is coming from the sky [4]
[1] Gen 25: 24&25
[2] Jer 30:7
[3] Rev 9:16
[4] Rev 19:11
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
I saw a vision I stood in modern time on my feet but in the spirit I stood only where immortals breathe in
The sacred land of ancient days the Native American people came to life before my eyes there was a
River nameless but of truth the mighty Euphrates or more correctly the river of life heavy and rich
Were these waters glory stood bank to bank the mesquite and cotton wood seemed to be made of
Silk they flowed dreamlike as flags over a free land the day was far spent and in the dying sun she came
To bathe but not in the natural waters but her quest was to worship the great spirit in which all true
Cleansing occurs she wore the dress of her people white doe skin with red and turquoise bead work
And her reddish skin did glow she sent a treble across the distance to where I stood when she lifted her
Hands of faith and hope skyward in surrender beauty untold before materialized upon the burnished
Sand all of nature fell silent as she called on the Great Spirit stillness took on new meaning vastness was
Restricted drawn back from it natural means to this tiny spot of ground the air charged with the deep
Longing of her soul the trees crackled as heavy mist descended mellowness pervaded this place made
The wood the rarified earthy throne of God himself as she spoke oh the face shown with uncustomary
Wonder did the unexplained become common knowledge for her it did in this grand display of
Emotional release she bridled the breeze before horses were ever found in this land she drew heaven
Down all was quiet and empty in this clearing and she filled it with noble words that honored Him who
Deserves all praise we live on error and garbage when we should be feasting on spiritual riches to know
All that is yours it takes you joining this Indian maiden come not rehearsed and filled with self but as the
Lowy penitent subscriber for his free gifts these most treasured thoughts came as I watched a young
Woman praising our great father remarkable circumstances that are your birthright if you only exercise
Them God bless you
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC