My Friend

Friend Winter

My friend Winter stole my garden bright,
Happily hid it beneath a garment white,
Friend Winter then stole my warm summer day,
Stood outside my window and asked me to play.

--farhad

Man with Wings

"Man with Wings" Luis Royo.

Poem 50 ("I lost my way, I forgot ...")

I lost my way, I forgot to call on your name. The raw heart beat against the world, and the tears were for my lost victory. But you are here. You have always been here. The world is all forgetting, and the heart is a rage of directions, but your name unifies the heart, and the world is lifted into its place. Blessed is the one who waits in the traveller's heart for his turning.

--Book of Mercy by Leonard Cohen.

Every Breath

Goddess at Waterfall, Kauai, Hawaii.

Every Breath

Goddess giving and receiving,
You are the keeper of secrets,
The dreamer of dazzling dreams,
Every breath you take,
Is another heartbeat of the universe.

--farhad

Raven Steals Light

Raven Stealing Light. Haida Creation Myth.

Before there was anything, before the great flood had covered the earth and receded, before the animals walked the earth or the trees covered the land or the birds flew between the trees, even before the fish and the whales and seals swam in the sea, an old man llived in a house on the bank of a river with his only child, a daughter. Whether she was as beautiful as hemlock fronds against the spring sky at sunrise or as ugly as a sea slug doesn't really matter very much to this story, which takes place mainly in the dark.
Because at that time the whole world was dark. Inky, pitchy, all-consuming dark, blacker than a thousand stormy winter midnights, blacker than anything anywhere has been since.
The reason for all this blackness has to do with the old man in the house by the river, who had had a box which contained an infinite number of boxes each nestled in a box slightly larger than itself until finally there was a box so small all it could contain was all the light in the universe.

The Raven, who of course existed at that time, because he had always existed and always would, was somewhat less than satisfied with this state of affairs, since it led to an awful lot of blundering around and bumping into things. It slowed him down a good deal in his pursuit of food and other fleshly pleasures, and in his constant effort to interfere and to change things.

Eventually, his bumbling around in the dark took him close to the home of the old man. He first heard a little singsong voice muttering away. When he followed the voice, he soon came to the wall of the house, and there, placing his ear against the planking, he could just make out the words, "I have a box and inside the box is another box and inside it are many more boxes, and in the smallest box of all is all the light in the world, and it is all mine and I'll never give any of it to anyone, not even my daughter, because, who knows, she may be as homely as a sea slug, and neither she nor I would like to know that."

It only took an instant for the Raven to decide to steal the light for himself, but it took a lot longer for him to invent a way to do so.

--Bill Reid and Robert Bringhurst, The Raven Steals the Light, Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1984.

Poems for a New Year

Returning

Hafiz of Shiraz (Khwaja Shams ud-Din Hafiz-i Shirazi, 1326-1390)

The morning breeze comes back
and from the southern desert

the lapwing returns

The dove's soft song about roses
I hear that again.
The tulip, who understands what the lily says,

went away, but now she's back.
With the sound of a bell,
strength and gentleness.
Hafiz broke his vow and damaged his heart,
but now, for no reason, his Friend forgives that,

and turns, and walks back up to his door.

I am Like a Rose

D. H. Lawrence, 1917.

I am myself at last; now I achieve

My very self, I, with the wonder mellow,

Full of fine warmth, I issue forth in clear

And single me, perfected from my fellow.

Here I am all myself. No rose-bush heaving

Its limpid sap to culmination has brought

Itself more sheer and naked out of the green

In stark-clear roses, than I to myself am brought.

The Princess and the Water Carrier

The Princess and the Water Carrier
The Ballad of Shehn and Salim

Farhad Dastur, Nairobi, December, 2006.

In old Jaipur, under an azure sky, where peacock did fly,
Dawn’s first hushed kiss brushed the royal face.
A tale is told both tragic and true,
Of tears and woe and virtue upheld,
Of a princess and her heart that like a shooting star fell.

Thus we begin at the Sultan’s palace on the lake,
And dawn’s first hushed kiss painted on that royal face,
Rising to greet both God and bright day,
Young princess Shehn, in single thought and purpose bent.

From gilded cage her highness did gaze,
Beyond the hyacinth lake to the hill country haze,
To the village where the water carrier’s head still lay,
In restless sleep upon his pillow of hay.

What is love but two souls in eternal dance,
Ever the flower yearns for the Golden Sultan’s glance,
Stone and bone bound to earth in locked embrace,
While the heavens above, reflect God’s adoring face.

The news, happy and sad, that morning broke,
Princess Shehn to wed neighbouring prince Ashok!
By Moghul decree would peace and wealth thus guarantee,
By tonight’s beguiling plan, she must this burden unyoke.

Two shadows met by the green garden gate,
Under pomegranate tree, a promised flight on a promised date.
With Moon as silent witness, their compact softly spoke,
To escape the next night, ere king and queen awoke.
Sealed with a kiss, their secret known to only sky,
The princess and her water carrier would tradition defy.

Oh Moghul King, why anger, why shake?
Vexed at the conspiracies a maiden’s heart may make?
Know that never before did passion’s blood beat more pure,
Than beat in the bosom of your own daughter of Jaipur.

Ashok’s promises of jewels and fine linen failed sway,
The princess and her purpose: to Salim ever and a day.
Candied plums sweeten not a tongue that cannot taste,
And lullabies sung to a deafened heart are a waste.
Keep your Samarkand emeralds, your blue Kashmir sapphires too,
Some treasures only reside in the soul’s timeless space.

Night’s stage curtain dropped on a city unawake,
The palace glowed with light of celestial make,
A masked form clothed in robes darker than ink,
Upon his skiff he crossed the abyss of the lake,
Toward earth, fire, breath, and ache.

But what is this, what strange apparition here?
Not the water carrier borne, but a messenger come near.
From phantom cloud, a dark countenance appeared,
An old man with folded note; handsome Salim disappeared!

“Sun of my day, Sun of my night,
Roots of my tree, eyes black-pearl bright,
You are my flame, my one candle light.
Marry one day, but not this cursed night.

I am but a poor boy, from the village afar,
With neither title, nor rank, nor a fortunate star.
I bring not riches, not position, not fame,
Splice this bond, ere I bring you royal shame.
Forsake me my precious, in a future age remain,
When we meet again as equals,
And two become one in deed and in name.”

The old phantom withdrew, the princess stood still,
On fallen knees her soul’s misery did spill,
To be cleaved from her other in so cutting a way,
Oh bursting heart, even the heavens betray!
The yellows of summer, now endless winters of gray.

Across time’s snowy valleys and high mountain passes,
Across successions of kings and empires vast,
Among crowded souls of many an age marching,
The once-princess of Jaipur spent centuries searching,
With only the stars gazing down with their uncommon grace,
One day to illumine her once water-carrier’s face.


Written in celebration of the love story of aunt Shehn and uncle Salim.

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