Azizakam

Azizakam

Only when your springs are bleak, ashen winters

and your summer rain

is tinged with a lasting, swathing sadness

and the hematic rose-tint of sorrow

blinds your frosty days.

Only when the once wild, rare bird

inebriated on the wrath of repentance

gladly sheds her feathers, one by one,

Refusing to ever fly again

wildly.

Only when the dancing fluency

of the nye and the flute

echo the broken chambers

of your heart.

When even in your dreams

you wake up lonely.

When even in spring

your once lush,

fertile, sensuous forested garden

shed their leaves and flowers, one by one,

anemic, colorless, yellowed with loss

When you can only smell

sadness and sorrow

On the easterly wind.

When the poet breaks his writer’s pen

And burns all his nectarine pages, one by one

Scattering sooty poetic ashes in the wind

And replaces his devotion

With piety for the beaten wine cup.

When despair is your Bedouin desert tent

Sheltering you from the

Wretchedness and grief

Of your melancholy, sickly soul’s

Solitary soliloquy.

When deliverance

the graceful dervish’s dance for salvation

your weary soul

Pursues desperately,

but can no longer find

on a single inch of this twirling earth.

Only then.

You know you have loved,

and lost.

Hawzhin Azeez, Azizakam (my beloved)

One thought on “Azizakam

  • January 6, 2019 at 5:45 pm
    Permalink

    You are a superb poet my friend. I keep reading your work over and over and enjoyed it tremendously.

    Reply

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