appreciation, devotion, joy, soulmate, together, true love, universe,
by Susan Ashley |
The moment I saw you
I fell in love with the universe.
Like raindrops rippling a still pond,
our concentric circles coalesced -
moving past duality and melting into oneness.
May 14, 2019
*dedicated to my soulmate and husband, Bill*
~ First Place ~
Contest: May 2019 Premier 5 (Max 5 Lines)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
*The Sufi poet Rumi wrote; “The lover asked his beloved, do you love yourself more than you love me? The beloved replied, I have died to myself but I live for thee.”
by Mark Taylor |
africa, beautiful, beauty, identity, lost love, star, truth,
tears fall from the eyes of a broken soul
lost without her mate of choice the shrunken soul
ask for the truth of the lie to be revealed.
From beyond, the Sufi whispers to the forsaken soul
frantic like a child without bottle
she to the machine has become the token soul.
Asked if her pride could bear the truth behind lies
she questioned the worth of pride to a stricken soul
and prepared to swallow the pill of truth.
summoning the mauve star of the Aladdin soul
truth blinded her eye and buckled her knee
causing her tongue to cleanse her awaken soul.
All has become enlighten to this new humble spirit
while I, Taylor, splinter an impious dormant African soul !
by Jessica Amanda Salmonson |
inspirational, islamic, love, magic, moon, myth, philosophy,
You are with me, O Moon
Thou peri-face, the gentle One,
Drawing me to you,
Drawing down to me
To our secret place of ecstasies.
Where you go, I go,
You that are my eyes, my light
Oh find me, drunk as I am;
Embrace me and ease me
Into the blissful realm of annihilation.
A peri is a female jinn, related to dark powers but generally benevolent to humans. The "Peri face of God" encountered in Sufi poetry represents God as a beautiful young woman, the beloved of mystics, much as in the Jewish ecstatic mysticism of Abulfaraj, the Sabbath Bride (or Divine Shekhinah) comes down from a heavenly realm to become the lover of kabbalists.
by Satish Verma |
the scream ends, you start
digging the shadows of
scoops the children of rape,
The tiger beetle,
will run after the winged prey
of first love.
Would you like to taste
the moon in the dark bowl
of malicious night ?
Reading about the spell
of the roses, I went to a
Sufi, for an epitaph.
by Eric Ashford |
A lady is missing.
She does not answer her voice mail,
distant friends look for signs
indications of further steps.
It can be presumed, assumed
that the end of her brilliant earth existence
faltered somewhere between night and day
where she wrote her poems.
She had come through,
she lived in the heart of Rumi.
Perhaps even now a Sufi wedding
between her and her unnamable Beloved
radiates across ten thousand heavens.
Let the sweet scent of ten thousand lovers
be her virginal wedding shift.
Let her be robed with light.
Long may her love poems
forever feed the hungry.
Live on forever Dorothy.