Posted on by EAT

Occurrences

Found this hiding in the folder for February, 2003, which contains five ghazals. I managed to polish it off a bit and steady the meter some before posting.

Occurrences

Ridges slope to meet the waves in gradient appearance;
Foliage climbs to each lone peak in variant appearance.

Soft the half-moon’s halo glows in the subtle haze of night,
Where undulating ocean foam gleams salient appearance.

Endless in collapse upon a steady, slow expansion,
Shedding light, the sun maintains a radiant appearance.

Countless shades of blue reveal within the arching heavens
Something more felt than seen in all its ambient appearance.

Ten thousand modes of thought assume that life is nowhere else,
That we alone dream near the rim, a sapient appearance.

Emptiness can only hold the ceaseless apparitions;
Where would we have, without the void, to orient appearance?

All these forms that seem so real are passing just like thought—
Zahhar, you too are simply but a transient appearance.

This is my 109th ghazal.

Posted on by EAT

Openings

Empty spaces have always intrigued me, especially when framed around a striking foreground.

Openings

Faces fade as lovers share a common glance in the void;
Sifting through the crowd, they meet, alone to dance in the void.

Falling from the azure depths, at one with wind in the heights,
Bold skydivers pull the cord and play with chance in the void.

Horses thunder through the fields—look how they race with the clouds!
Boundless freedom sings where neighs and whinnies prance in the void.

Distant rumbles barely heard in silent depths of the night
Leave a moonlit trail that gleams a silver lance in the void.

Stark against the setting sun and wild crash of the sea,
Growing lone, a cypress holds a mighty stance in the void.

Beating midnight wings in time, a raven lights on a branch;
Soft, a sable feather falls, then floats askance in the void.

Strive each day to wake, Zahhar, and lift the veil from your sight—
Shifting dreams can only serve to break your trance in the void.

This is my 108th ghazal.

Posted on by EAT

Transfigurations

A random write that has an abstract, metaphysical feel and focus. There’s really not much more to say about it, except that I think it turned out pretty well.

Transfigurations

Sprawled across a dusty couch, a fiend shoots dope in silence;
Lone amidst a warring world—one way to cope in silence.

Underneath the shifting heights, in tempest roar or sunshine,
Sitting on a rock, a monk expands his scope in silence.

On a hillside, old madrones unfold their hues to heaven;
Probing roots fan out and weave beneath the slope in silence.

Chanting in cathedral gloom with eyes fixed on the rafters,
Solemn voices rise and fall as thoughts elope in silence.

Tender faces turn in vain on seeking love or counsel;
Countless children walk the streets alone to mope in silence.

Shadows phase in depthless dark like phantoms but imagined;
Lost amid the shifting forms, the spurned ones grope in silence.

Clumsy creatures claw in fear and strike with fangs of venom—
Shield your heart with care, Zahhar, and hold each hope in silence.

This is my 107th ghazal.

Posted on by EAT

Havoc

A lot of my ghazals have explored the havoc of dukkha, or karmic suffering. In a way my life has been a study of this phenomenon, for I have striven to gain insight into its workings enough to maybe begin to pull free of it. But for most, myself likely included, even this process takes many comings and goings.

Havoc

Why are grown men sighing? Fear is dim by nature.
Why are children crying? War is grim by nature;

Angry hornets swarming—countless stinging voices;
Kingdoms manifest a battle-hymn by nature.

In this swelling madness, hearts are weighed to breaking;
Overwhelming sadness runs abrim by nature.

Rains can never cleanse the earth of all our bloodshed,
Blades and bullets slaying round her rim by nature.

Those who wake from dreaming, like the fading seagull,
Leave no tracks in parting, flying trim by nature.

Most are lost in chaos, like the flood-tossed salmon,
Helpless bound to homing where they swim by nature.

Providence, though gentle, has been known to ravage—
You will learn, Zahhar, to know her whim by nature.

This is my 106th ghazal.