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Phrases

Here’s another old ghazal from the archives, slightly modified for flow and imagery. I’m starting to wonder how many of these I’ll end up resurrecting as I go through them. Note that this post is backlogged to the date the ghazal was actually written.

Phrases

Teens drive by in rides that thump out caustic phrases,
And yet nearby brown robins chirp out lyric phrases.

Calling from the minaret, a scowling prophet
Feigns to see with empty words in vatic phrases.

Winding, rippling in the wood and through the meadow,
Streams converge and weave to town with rustic phrases.

Shattered concrete, fallen bridges, broken towers:
Ravaged structures heard the call of seismic phrases.

Pooled in valleys, morning mists floats up the canyons—
Water rising from a lake of magic phrases.

Hiding deep in yellowed fabrics, cracked and tearing,
Wisdom fades into a scrap of relic phrases.

Bald eccentric maples stand by bony poplars;
Autumn shadows speak with dark and mystic phrases.

Shielding life, a veil of blue shuts out the heavens,
Then at night the curtain parts to cosmic phrases.

Call them pearls or gems or beads or what you fancy;
Still, the necklace forms a string of strophic phrases.

Relax, Zahhar, and just write ghazals till your done;
Countless thoughts can still be formed in distich phrases.

This is my 112th ghazal.

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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.

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English Ghazal

I later rewrote this ghazal under a new title, “Ghazal to the Ghazal”.

English Ghazal

The soul its depths may know within the amorous ghazal
So poignant as it may within the dolorous ghazal.

What forms with simple ease in languages of the East
Stands impervious to English, the onerous ghazal.

Dare not disgrace the history and beauty of its form
With bold attempts to reinvent the canorous ghazal.

Well before the very first of English words were formed,
A wonder spread by poets was the prosperous ghazal.

This heart had lost its aspect in the dismal realms of grief
But found its shape anew within the rapturous ghazal.

In time a stone shapes well within the sculptors mindful care;
As such, the mind is honed that works the rigorous ghazal.

Blessed profoundly is the heart and all its depths fulfilled
That strives to form in English mold the decorous ghazal.

The ghazal’s essence flows within the spirit of Zahhar;
Let this be an example of the flavorous ghazal.

This is my 41st ghazal.

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These Aged Pines

I am posting this as a backlogged post to the day it was written. Presently it is November 2, 2012. It is very likely this poem was inspired by my early walks in Montgomery Woods, an old-growth coastal redwood preserve about 30 miles west of Ukiah, CA.

These Aged Pines

Amid a lush fern carpet stand perpending pillars;
Lost in the closing cover, rise impending pillars.

A constant calm hangs in the quiet shaded gloom
Beneath enshrouding shelter of attending pillars.

Ringlets firm encircle ancient seasoned hearts,
Shielded deep within the broad suspending pillars.

Silent witness to the flow of countless ages,
A subtle presence grows amid ascending pillars.

More than stately; more than magnificently made,
High up into the heavens reach transcending pillars.

Zahhar forgets a thousand woes among these giants,
A torn heart held uplifted by extending pillars.

This is my 19th ghazal.

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Guidance

There was a time when I was more religiously minded. That was a long time ago. This ghazal was written a long time ago. Still, religious or not, it never hurts to seek the guidance of a higher power.

Guidance

Our souls and spirits, minds and hearts all need God’s guidance;
It seems we have the most to gain to heed God’s guidance.

When all the worst occurs and you lose your only footing,
A cry of need into the sky will speed God’s guidance.

When relentless fears assail with crushing weight and swell,
You will be blest beyond a doubt to plead God’s guidance.

Ask for knowledge of his will and willingness as well,
Else there is a likeliness to just misread God’s guidance.

It benefits to cognize his way is not our own;
Without trust in his will we retrocede God’s guidance.

When his loving way is shunned we dimly walk alone
And stumbling comfortless in pain impede God’s guidance.

In leading us he tends to veer for growth and learning;
There may be pain, but nothing can exceed God’s guidance.

Zahhar himself has walked through fearsome blazes burning
And has availed in knowing to concede God’s guidance.

This is my 11th ghazal.

Publication History:

The Penwood Review — Spring 2003