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Muhammad A. Al Mahdi

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Member Since: Dec, 2004

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Popular Poetry (Action/Thriller)
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by Muhammad A. Al Mahdi

Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Muhammad A. Al Mahdi
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           >> View all 83

Although you mean well, Arjuna

Your sorrow is sheer delusion.

Wise men do not grieve

For the dead or for the living.



When fire was born

Under crimson dark skies

The hand of an eon's iron grasp seized the dawn

To descend upon dazzled whizzing mortal eyes

In a day

Time drew blood

Waves smashed the shore

One day's birth agony

Ormazd sang on the shores of the East

A mountain hawk sighed

On its way to the sun

Burned by its own rays

A fireball cast

Into firmament's vastness

Yaar, you have torn my flesh to pieces

When your soul's fire bird settled

On the wrist of my hand

In the orchards by the vineyards

Our hearts got drunk and cried blood

O God! If love could revive the dead

Or the living

Or alter my fate

Or change the course of the stars

With Bacchantic tears memory's translucid glow

Sweetened the dusk with the light-winged

Sanguine voice

Of this sanguinary tamada

Enveloped in the leopard skin mantle

Of old

In the sleeping rain of ages past

On the tops of Caucasus mountains

I saw, miragelike

The two shores of your brows

Like Amu Darya and Syr Darya

Lo, Dshingiz Khan died in the way of a mortal

As did Jahangir, Alamgir and Babur

And so died Ahnaton,

Aristotle and Mansur

Our shadows have left for a world

Where love and hatred are one

Berikatsi vaar

(I have grown old)

This is said

About us

As the sea flows

In quiet, steady waves

From shore on to shore

Let friend and foe rejoice

We have come of age

And learnt to perish

In the end there's one victor alone

As the angel of death speaks his word

And history obeys

For the past belongs to God

And so

Do future and present withal

HE alters them at will

And we,

Leaves in the seasons,



notes: a tamada is a master of ceremony at traditional gatherings and festivals in Georgia

"Berikatsi vaar" means : I have grown old in Khartuli, Stalin's native language which is one of the oldest surviving languages in the Near East. The phrase is also aliterates to a Georgian song.

As Stalin's native Georgia is a former province of Iran, I have allowed myself to make occasional use of  metaphors related to Indo-Iranian culture.

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Reviewed by Aberjhani 8/30/2005
What an exquisite roaring volcano of a poem this STALIN is, exploding with the lava of history and the silken boom of myth, and taking such commanding form beneath the unshaking hand of a humble prophet-poet. In philosophical depth, surety of structure, and strength of spiritual vision, your work continues to grow in astoundingly beautiful ways.
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 7/19/2005
Thank you for sharing this wisdom-filled poetic offering, Mahdi. Love and peace to you. Regis
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 5/17/2005
wonderful write, muhammad! well done!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in america, karen lynn in texas. :D
Reviewed by E T Waldron 5/17/2005
You write with a powerful and beautiful pen Mahdi!

Reviewed by Abdi-Noor Mohamed (Eagle Of Hope) 5/17/2005
Beautiful words of wisdom. Man shall understand truth only when he falls like leaves of the season. Thanks for this offering.
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