Mojtaba-Iraqi
10-18-2011, 10:16 AM
The Road of Beauty
I walked in the road of beauty
Touching the shades of tricky trees
And hiding under the pale breeze
To resort to the pleasant sunshine of release
Flirting my eyes the orchards, far as the sight
Could catch the clouds in the sky of passion
Resting under the aged branches of solitude
Singing the melody of Mother Nature
There I saw an old man of naked
House, resting on his tired stick
And rustic soul, slowly under the mill
Of time and sickle of grief, alone
Rubbing his eyes with fingers of choppy
Longing to see a glimpse of hope
My drops of wonder disturbed his pool
Of sadness and the spider’s web in his stick
“Let me alone sir”; said the sage
“In my shelter of sadness and solitude
I’ve lost all, two sons in their graves
Beside that garden-fence, next to God
They passed their days planting and reaping
Making no harm nor beat nor burn
But living their joys, and hugging their lives
With a passion of fathers, and a love of husbands
They left to the town, to bring a pouch
Of joy to sons, and rest to wives
But alas! The flood of death had filled
That place, and drowned their breath in the fire
Of a car bomb, and left their flesh
Uncovered to tusks of sunshine
And bare to the hunger of dogs and sadness
Why should tear an old man’s eyes?
And be buried in a grief of dead sons
And be stolen away his peace of having a family
And tales of winter’s nights, beside the chimney
To tell the fiction of loneliness and sorrow”
I walked in the road of beauty
Touching the shades of tricky trees
And hiding under the pale breeze
To resort to the pleasant sunshine of release
Flirting my eyes the orchards, far as the sight
Could catch the clouds in the sky of passion
Resting under the aged branches of solitude
Singing the melody of Mother Nature
There I saw an old man of naked
House, resting on his tired stick
And rustic soul, slowly under the mill
Of time and sickle of grief, alone
Rubbing his eyes with fingers of choppy
Longing to see a glimpse of hope
My drops of wonder disturbed his pool
Of sadness and the spider’s web in his stick
“Let me alone sir”; said the sage
“In my shelter of sadness and solitude
I’ve lost all, two sons in their graves
Beside that garden-fence, next to God
They passed their days planting and reaping
Making no harm nor beat nor burn
But living their joys, and hugging their lives
With a passion of fathers, and a love of husbands
They left to the town, to bring a pouch
Of joy to sons, and rest to wives
But alas! The flood of death had filled
That place, and drowned their breath in the fire
Of a car bomb, and left their flesh
Uncovered to tusks of sunshine
And bare to the hunger of dogs and sadness
Why should tear an old man’s eyes?
And be buried in a grief of dead sons
And be stolen away his peace of having a family
And tales of winter’s nights, beside the chimney
To tell the fiction of loneliness and sorrow”