01-26-2013, 03:03 AM
Where do we begin?
Love was before us.
Prior to us.
Written prior to our being.
It is beyond the reach of learned folk.
It is within the reach of those who see the darkness.
As well as the light.
It is said war is the province of humans.
Love is the province of fools.
They who learn to give forth their heart.
Learn that even the highest of the high.
The King of Kings,
Released love by note.
By word,
By message,
What are foolish writers to compare?
Who are we but the fools that trip past.
Fools who know the sting of the blade.
Knives drenched in blood.
Yet clean as the silver of its make.
No mark shown.
We no longer remember who we are.
Just.
Or evil.
Restored.
Or broken.
No claim lain.
In love such as yours.
Pain and poison mingle.
Yet this fool remains silent.
For a lover who remains so,
Knows his mind and heart are crushed.
Yet pain forms no words.
The weight falls on shoulders.
A fool notices we cannot release it.
For the world carries its own problems.
To poison water fails many things.
To refrain from it,
Becomes another line of notes.
Death is foreign to those devotees of love.
Who know that some dreams cannot be chased.
And yet.
They know when sleep is taken from them.
When thought is consumed.
And we learn that some speak false.
We learn who is of the writer.
And it is revealed who is of the poison.
We no longer know ourselves.
We no longer know you.
In time stories lengthen.
And life moves on.
A connection lost.
A thought buried.
A poets light burned out.
The story of Abrar Alvi,
The story of Waris Shah
The story of Shakespeare.
A lie in your name.
For one candle lit by this fool is gone via the new river.
And Majnu releases his bond for Laila.
Ranjha releases his bond for Heer.
Romeo his bond for Juliet.
This fool knows that for a time,
The doors of his Master's House are closed.
Love for a time has forsaken our hands.
but in time.
When our words finish.
And come to an end,
Our poetic renditions
They shall open again.
Never do the Doors of the Temple of Love close forever.
For new lovers find the path of diamonds.
Gripped by the arm we are guided.
To that love which was before us.
Before our being and birth.
For the present is only a frail path.
The future unknown
And yet the path to the true grain of the world is before us.
This fool submits.
And knows the darkness comes to an end when love returns to those around him.
And wishes.
It only return to them.
For he knows life may be given
Heads may roll
But love fails not permanently
Even though you betray in earnest
- The Winged Messenger
"Free-Ranging Allowed, Creative Responses Encouraged".
Love was before us.
Prior to us.
Written prior to our being.
It is beyond the reach of learned folk.
It is within the reach of those who see the darkness.
As well as the light.
It is said war is the province of humans.
Love is the province of fools.
They who learn to give forth their heart.
Learn that even the highest of the high.
The King of Kings,
Released love by note.
By word,
By message,
What are foolish writers to compare?
Who are we but the fools that trip past.
Fools who know the sting of the blade.
Knives drenched in blood.
Yet clean as the silver of its make.
No mark shown.
We no longer remember who we are.
Just.
Or evil.
Restored.
Or broken.
No claim lain.
In love such as yours.
Pain and poison mingle.
Yet this fool remains silent.
For a lover who remains so,
Knows his mind and heart are crushed.
Yet pain forms no words.
The weight falls on shoulders.
A fool notices we cannot release it.
For the world carries its own problems.
To poison water fails many things.
To refrain from it,
Becomes another line of notes.
Death is foreign to those devotees of love.
Who know that some dreams cannot be chased.
And yet.
They know when sleep is taken from them.
When thought is consumed.
And we learn that some speak false.
We learn who is of the writer.
And it is revealed who is of the poison.
We no longer know ourselves.
We no longer know you.
In time stories lengthen.
And life moves on.
A connection lost.
A thought buried.
A poets light burned out.
The story of Abrar Alvi,
The story of Waris Shah
The story of Shakespeare.
A lie in your name.
For one candle lit by this fool is gone via the new river.
And Majnu releases his bond for Laila.
Ranjha releases his bond for Heer.
Romeo his bond for Juliet.
This fool knows that for a time,
The doors of his Master's House are closed.
Love for a time has forsaken our hands.
but in time.
When our words finish.
And come to an end,
Our poetic renditions
They shall open again.
Never do the Doors of the Temple of Love close forever.
For new lovers find the path of diamonds.
Gripped by the arm we are guided.
To that love which was before us.
Before our being and birth.
For the present is only a frail path.
The future unknown
And yet the path to the true grain of the world is before us.
This fool submits.
And knows the darkness comes to an end when love returns to those around him.
And wishes.
It only return to them.
For he knows life may be given
Heads may roll
But love fails not permanently
Even though you betray in earnest
- The Winged Messenger
"Free-Ranging Allowed, Creative Responses Encouraged".