"persians" poems
"Alexander son of Philip, and the Greeks except the Lacedaemonians--"
We can very well imagine
that they were utterly indifferent in Sparta
to this inscription. "Except the Lacedaemonians",
but naturally. The Spartans were not
to be led and ordered about
as precious servants. Besides
a panhellenic campaign without
a Spartan king as a leader
would not have appeared very important.
O, of course "except the Lacedaemonians."
This too is a stand. Understandable.
Thus, except the Lacedaemonians at Granicus;
and then at Issus; and in the final
battle, where the formidable army was swept away
that the Persians had massed at Arbela:
which had set out from Arbela for victory, and was swept away.
And out of the remarkable panhellenic campaign,
victorious, brilliant,
celebrated, glorious
as no other had ever been glorified,
the incomparable: we emerged;
a great new Greek world.
We; the Alexandrians, the Antiocheans,
the Seleucians, and the numerous
rest of the Greeks of Egypt and Syria,
and of Media, and Persia, and the many others.
With our extensive territories,
with the varied action of thoughtful adaptations.
And the Common Greek Language
we carried to the heart of Bactria, to the Indians.
As if we were to talk of Lacedaemonians now!
5.2k
The poet Phernazis is composing
the important part of his epic poem.
How Darius, son of Hystaspes,
assumed the kingdom of the Persians. (From him
is descended our glorious king
Mithridates, Dionysus and Eupator). But here
philosophy is needed; he must analyze
the sentiments that Darius must have had:
maybe arrogance and drunkenness; but no -- rather
like an understanding of the vanity of grandeurs.
The poet contemplates the matter deeply.
But he is interrupted by his servant who enters
running, and announces the portendous news.
The war with the Romans has begun.
The bulk of our army has crossed the borders.
The poet is speechless. What a disaster!
No time now for our glorious king
Mithridates, Dionysus and Eupator,
to occupy himself with greek poems.
In the midst of a war -- imagine, greek poems.
Phernazis is impatient. Misfortune!
Just when he was positive that with "Darius"
he would distinguish himself, and shut the mouths
of his critics, the envious ones, for good.
What a delay, what a delay to his plans.
And if it were only a delay, it would still be all right.
But it yet remains to be seen if we have any security
at Amisus. It is not a strongly fortified city.
The Romans are the most horrible enemies.
Can we hold against them
we Cappadocians? It is possible at all?
It is possible to pit ourselves against the legions?
Mighty Gods, protectors of Asia, help us.--
But in all his turmoil and trouble,
the poetic idea too comes and goes persistently--
the most probable, surely, is arrogance and drunkenness;
Darius must have felt arrogance and drunkenness.
5k
In the year 480 B.C., King Leonidas of Sparta lead 300 Spartan soldiers to the mountain pass of Thermopylae. They came face to face with over 200,000 Persians under King Xerxes of the great Persian Empire,
whose archers so multiple, their arrows blocked out the sun.
Bravely the Spartans fought, with no thought of surrender.
After three days of brutal fighting, tens of thousands of Persians lay dead,
yet the Spartans still remain. Then a local resident becomes a traitor, revealing to the Persians a mountain path that lead behind Greek lines. Surrounded, Leonidas sends Greek soldiers back to Sparta to tell of a great victory, that he knew would never be. Valiantly the Spartans stand by their king, and fight to the death. So today, even though the Greeks lost the battle, it is better known for the bravery of a Spartan king and his 300 soldiers.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
The battle was imminent.
The forces were joined.
No longer was time standing idle.
Outnumber and ******
by 100 to 1,
the Spartans stood fervid and vital.
The Greeks were united,
though the Spartans alone
were the ones charged with their protection.
At Thermopylae pass,
300 men stood
together in imperfect perfection.
"Surrender your arms"
King Xerxes demanded,
"Surrender, and let the Persians betake them."
Leonidas replied "Molon Labe!" my foe,
"If you want them, then you come and take them."
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
What was it like?
The fight?
Well I’d say it was like…
Eowyn valiantly facing off with the Witch King
It was like Obi Wan flinging droids around with the flick of his hand
It was like saying “Hi” to Scarface’s friends
It was like the feeling Shrek got when he saved Fiona
It was like the moment when we first realize Scar will betray Mufasa
It was like watching the Joker toy with Batman’s head
It was like watching King Leonidas **** Persians in slow motion
It was like John McClane actually dying
It was like the green burst of light from Voldemort’s wand
It was like…
It was like…
It was like ******* off the Don on the day of his daughter’s wedding subsequently forcing the Don to leave a horse head in your bed.
Woah dude, that’s too far. The fight between Timmy and Johnny at recess was not like that.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 4:41 PM UTC
The stellular supernal of
Translation exalting the
Absurdist rudimentary
Vale of tears; the place
Death was born blanketed
In twilight's eternal
Oblivion, breaking
Immortality-
The propitiative law
of Medes and Persians
From time out of mind,
'Whom the Gods love die young';
The amaranthine race to
Drink from the retentionist
Cup filled by Medea's ichor
Imbrued kettle readying for
The harrowing of Hell.
Eleete J Muir.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
We can not thrive
divided
but must stand together
a nation united
Not Pagans
Not Christians
Not Jews
Not Muslims
Americans
Not Arabs
Not Persians
Not whites
Not blacks
Not Latinos
Not Indians
Not Asians
Americans
Stand together my brothers
Stand for freedom my sister's
Stand for love
Stand for light
Brighten the night
And realize
We are one
We are all
We are life
We are America.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Persians gave terrorists a gift
and hypocrisy gives rise to silence.
Apr 17, 2024
Apr 17, 2024 at 3:34 PM UTC
With eyes of black obsidian
And eagle's beak of nose
Black turban of the Taliban
Worn everywhere he goes,
Warrior of God's mountainside
Mujaheddin, known by name,
Pashto is his verbal tongue
And Allah's quest, his fame.
Razored knife in braided belt
Long"Jezail"musket points to sky,
A gimlet glint to garnet gaze
One thoughtless move , you die.
Gliding fast from rock to rock
Gazelle like in his easy grace,
Silent as an adder's strike
Assassin black with turbaned face.
For centuries invaders came
To vanquish this stark land,
Persians,Romans, Russians
And British redcoats tried their hand.
And recently the Yankees
Came with automated war,
To find themselves engulfed
And fleeing for the exit door.
Inexorable Afghanistan
Has bleached their bones as one
Vendetta for the insult
While there's air to breath and gun.
Like Shah Massoud, the warlords
Descend from mountain cave
To slaughter all who venture
Be they terrified or brave.
Tribally disconnected
From Islamabad to Kabul,
Tajik versus Pashtun
Versus Koranic Islam's rule.
No prisoners are taken,
The women always use their knives
And ravines echo shockingly
As tortured slowly lose their lives.
But the sunsets are glorious
Valley mists by morning rise
And row by row of fractured peaks
Rise in grandeur to blue skies.
And the children croon to goat herds
As they graze high meadow's green
And above the taloned goshawk glides
Ever watchful and unseen.
Hulks of Russian gun ships
Litter valleys and the plain
And the ghosts of many nations
Walk these dusty roads of shame.
For the legacy of the Afghans
Is a ****** litany of war
And the road to their tomorrow
Is paved with promises of more.
Marshalg
Wanganui
30 December 2009.
www.worthyofpublishing.com
www.hellopoetry.com
Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
This tomb hideth the dust of Aeschylus, an Athenian, Euphorion's son, who died in wheat-bearing Gela; his glorious valor the precinct of Marathon may proclaim, and the long-haired Medes, who knew it well."
On the Plain at Marathon
We stood in Darius’ way.
An outnumbered band of Athenians
who the Medians sought to slay.
They had first crushed the Ionians
Then put Eretria to the Torch.
Wherever Darius conquered
the bleeding earth was scorched.
Our Hoplites held the high Ground
and penned the Persians in.
For several days a stalemate reigned.
Neither side could win.
But when the Persians spit their force
and sailed on a friendly tide.
Our hand was forced
there was but one course
if Athens was not to die.
Our Phalanx moved against each wing
of the Median horde.
Though numerous, they were lightly armed
against our spears and swords.
We burned their ships and slew their men
Their Panic turned the tide.
Aeschylus seemed to be everywhere
urging on our side.
A Legend holds Pheidippides
To Athens then made haste
to proclaim: “Rejoice , We conquer!”
at the end of his last race.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 8:39 PM UTC
In the back of her mind’s eye, she carries visions
Of ancient times she never met
Filling her day’s with riveting memories
She cannot possibly ever forget
Vividly remembering spectacular scenes of a past
She knows could not be her own
Still, feeling a part of worlds long gone from time
So familiar and yet unknown
She recalls days wandering the Isle of Rhodes
Admiring the pink hibiscus flowers
Until the Persians invaded her beautiful home
Locking her away in their towers
Blushing in sweet bliss, she remembers her Ares
Her soul mate and only desire
Nights of sweet kisses and stolen hours
By the glow of a hidden fire
In the back of her mind’s eye, she holds these visions
Wondering always, why they are there
Feeling a part of worlds long gone from time
Knowing she does not belong here
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 4:47 PM UTC
Waiting. . . Waiting for rain. Waiting for it to wash away the pain. And bring me things to gain. Its like a game. Each time the same. Standing in rain, hiding my tearz, sharing with earth my fears, waiting for the day it all clears. Hiding it all from my peers. Standing ovation, for this special occasion. Killing the hiding invasion. Knowing that i have a vision, for the unwanted version, calling them the persians. Making them see an illusion. Giving them optical ilusion. So rain do come to stay. For success my way sway. . . And keep the unwanted away. . . .
Sep 10, 2009
Sep 10, 2009 at 8:59 PM UTC
Dames dimeless during durations of
duress, unless uniform wardrobes
in cuneiform earlobes eloping in last
gasps of breath, breathed by an opposite
*** on a raft drafted and crafted by
bureaucrats that sat upon rat traps.
The fat cats gasp under last laughs.
They can yap about the fallen all day
and paid based on grades in a vicious
cycle of buy - sell - trade. They caved in
as Persians sigh at the fading world
hurled beneath convuluted swirls of black pearls.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I firmly do believe
That all children conceived
No matter what the process
Or related cost is
Are children nonetheless
And it’s dubious at best
To label them synthetic
In fact it’s quite pathetic
If you’re ever gonna
It’s enough to make you wanna
Dolce your Gabbanna
Or shrink ‘em in a saunna
Why take a position
That the family composition
Must be one way or the other
‘Cos a dad can’t be a mother
If a child is reared with love
And receives the guidance of
Two people who are wedded
Or perhaps they’re just embedded
If you’re ever gonna
It’s enough to make you wanna
Dolce your Gabbanna
Or shrink ‘em in a saunna
This thing goes far beyond
Even Elton John
‘Cos every baby born
Ain’t a Capricorn
Why cast aspersions
Or write a letter to the Persians
Because you disagree
You don’t have hegemony
So now you’re in a rut
Because you’ve shown your ****
And it’s a sordid fact
That you cannot take back
This thing goes far beyond
Even Elton John
‘Cos every baby born
Ain’t a Capricorn
If you’re ever gonna
It’s enough to make you wanna
Dolce your Gabbanna
Or shrink ‘em in a saunna
(c) Copyright, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Today, is a special day
And why is that so?
Today, in 1883, a lot were buried
In fiery volcanic ash
Today, in 479 BC, battles were won
By Greeks against Persians
Today, in 1979, soldiers were killed
From deadly roadside bombs
But 17 years ago, in this day
Moonshine was born,
Whose light shined
In each and every heart that's torn,
Whose light is caring
And guiding and loving,
Whose light is deserving,
To be loved.
A lot have happened today, in history
But none of these matter today
Except for you, Ysobelle.
Today, indeed, is a special day.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
Marathi Muslims
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Marathi Muslim
मराठी मुस्लिम
Regions with significant populations
• India • Pakistan • United Kingdom • Canada
Languages
• Marathi • Urdu • Hindi• Varhadi• Khandeshi
Religion
• Allah-green.svg Sunni, Shia, Shia Ismaili
Related ethnic groups
• Marathi people • Muhajirs • Arabs • Persians • Pakistani people• Pashtuns • Jats • Khoja • Lohanas
The term Marathi Muslims is usually used to signify Marathi Muslims from the state of Maharashtra in North-western coast of India, who speak Marathi as a mother-tongue (first language) and follows certain customs different from the rest of Indian Muslims. Marathi Muslims are very prominent in industry and medium-sized businesses. Many members of this community migrated to Pakistan in 1947 and have settled in Karachi and Sindh, contributing greatly to the general welfare and economy of Pakistan.
According to 2001 Indian census,[1] There were 10,270,485 Muslims in Maharashtra and constituted 10.60% of the state.
Marathi Muslims belong mostly to the Sufi tradition. Visiting the tombs of Sufi saints is very important to this community.
See also[edit]
Islam in India
External links[edit]
Marathi Muslims
60% Muslims in Maharashtra live below poverty line
References[edit]
Jump up ^ Indian Census 2001 – Religion[permanent dead link]
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
The battle is fought and our victory won,
My General has ordered me to run,
From Marathon’s plains to Athens Agora
to tell the elders of the battle’s outcome.
Oh gods on high grant us surcease
from threats of invasion if no true peace.
I have fought in the front line
and raced to and from Sparta in two days’ time.
Now fatigued and nearly done
I speed toward home from Marathon.
We will not suffer Eretria’s fate
Their city burned, their folk enslaved.
No! Thousands of Persians we have slain.
Our city on a hill is saved.
I’m short of breath and weak from wounds
Even as the walls of our city loom.
“Nike!” I cry! “Rejoice, we’ve won!”
As my proud heart breaks and I am done.
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 4:12 PM UTC
At Qadisiyyah, Khalid, the great Islamic leader, defeated the Sassanids or Persians in 636 AD leading to the conquest of Persia by Islam Recently there was a battle between ISIS and the Iraqis in the same place.
Firing the Kord 12.7 heavy machine gun
In the back of the Toyota was powerful
Especially in the dark
The muzzle flash half a meter long
He was an instrument of the Divine
Blessed be his name
The brothers were crossing the same red orange soil
Where Khalid defeated the Sassinids
Down that long road that led to Bagdad
Everything was so pure, so clean
No thoughts of that skinny sickly man, his father
Or mother’s tears and wailing
The swollen bodies left in ditches
All the innocent dead
Just the wind and the dust
Hands on the trigger, the road unwinding like a rope
Two f-18s sliding through the sky at twilight
All the displays lit
Coming on the convoy from behind
Missiles locked and launched, hostiles hit
Another pass, two more flashes
Back to the carrier, 10 out of 10
He opened the eye that could see
Noticed the stars burning like a river in the skies
A sickle moon setting
Faded into a dream state for a while
Images of a boy running through the ocean surf towards….
Then the pain tore him back
The heavy gun lying across his legs and belly
Something wrong with his right arm
But he could move the left
Wiped crusted red from his eye, called out to his brothers
Just silence and the wind
Moved his left hand to the trigger grip of the heavy gun
Could still traverse a little bit
Clicked off the safety and squeezed
The gun roared with a spout of flame
Now let them come
The drone jockey was bored
Waiting to go to the bar
He’d texted Jess and she’d said maybe, maybe…
Ops guy on the headset said activity on the road
So he flew the drone down to the still smoking ruin of trucks
Sure enough, movement and a muzzle flash
Target acquired and Hellfire away
Get some
Screen went white
More bad guys blown and gone
The blast uncovered part of an inscribed stone slab
The writing could have been Persian or Babylonian or…
Might have been about a battle or a grave, we’ll never know
The carrion eaters began to come
And the red orange dust slid across
The road.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
My melodious bulbs,
that spring in Mother Nature's melody,
your petals, indifferent to the next one over,
as if you were the phalanx working against the Persians,
at the Battle of Marathon.
The way the leaves always sprout,
from my tree I had always referred to as "Hank,"
as he bleeds out glistening vermilion buds,
to only release emerald plains, to expose to the world, to become a source,
of both food, and shelter.
My shelter of the world,
how the branches curl themselves around the sunlight,
as forming a dome over my head,
keeping me safe from all that is
crime
blood
offense
war
sickness
death
complexities
torture
I enjoy to watch the animals live,
as the birds soar into the sky,
singing their songs in unison.
The rabbits in the field, feeding upon the lilies and grass,
oh look, there resides a wild ferret,
and a non-domestic fox,
and soon the scene becomes bleak,
covered in flies and vulture shadows,
as the children lash out in the scene,
remaining fighters brawl for the corpses.
mother nature is happy.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
My foes were all defeated, my enemies were shamed
And for remembrance, a Holiday proclaimed
-
This year that day will fall, will fall on March the 4th
The Persians do remember, and forevermore henceforth
-
I notice a coincidence, is this by luck or chance?
A speech is to be given, in a special manse
-
The date is March the 3rd, the "manse" is in DC
The Speaker is a Head of State...we will see what comes to be
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 3:14 AM UTC
*Is my shadow my soul?
Or is my soul my shadow?
Both come with me.
Why would they be separate?
Can my soul live also in my shadow?
Can my shadow hide my soul?
Shadow in the sun, indicates fun.
Shadows in the dark always give rise to fright.
Is my shadow the duality of my soul?
My inner struggle with bad and good?
A shadow is where direct light cannot reach due to
obstruction by an object.
This I know.
Is the obstruction my soul?
The soul, in many religious, philosophical, psychological,
and mythological traditions, is the incorporeal and,
the immortal essence of a person or living thing.
So what is the shadow?
The dark part of our souls?
Or, as many would have it a scientific result.
Soul = object of spirituality
Shadow= result of science
The ancient Greeks believed air, as opposed to solid earth, to be incorporeal.
Ancient Persians believed fire to be incorporeal in that every soul was said to be produced from it.
We humans are mostly water.
We humans live on earth.
Each of the four elements manifests in us.
Our shadows and souls must therefore,
relate to human activity on the principle of "as above, so below"
My shadow and soul are me*
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
i
who would have imagined i´ d
have my very own computer
we had wooden pens in a class
of sixty..
two a third of a pint of milk every
day
(though i never made monitor..)
in the summer the milk could become
disappointingly tepid
and in the winter
the blue **** fed on the icing cream
thus rendering it unfit..
(though we drank it any hows..)
we all found that very charming
and did not begrudge their ingenious
ness..
(they who had no breakfast drank
sometimes three bottles..)
we had abacus or what ever the plural
is..
(i don´ t care..)
which if i am correct
was a system of mathematic
invented by the persians
or so..
but my favourite lesson
was propelling paint by
a straw..
(i was a budding pollack..)
the random and sub conscience..
and some old newspaper..oh yeah..
i used the same method years later
to wean myself off *****
opening up pleasure
that had been sleeping..
stimulating and fused..
now,i have a computer..!
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
the temples built of gold, silks finely spun,
a song of palaces in babylon,
where mede's daughter pined beneath the sun,
for mountain streams and hills to walk upon.
before the persians let the city fall,
great babylon held asia to the east,
the hanging gardens near the mighty wall,
their history told by an ancient priest.
if herodotus added to his tale,
he lent to grandeur with a poet's tongue,
a vision by euphrate's winding vale,
the river flowing where his story sung.
nebuchadnezzar built to please his queen,
to bring her trees and vines of verdant green.
amytis - daughter of king medes.
king nebuchadnezzar 2nd - built the gardens
herodotus - greek historian from ionia.
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 2:14 PM UTC