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Nov 16, 2009
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The Dance Of Shepenet (The Poet's Ecstasy):
I
In her blood is the dance of Shepenet
In her heart is the flight of the swallow
In her heart is the blade
In her breast is the garden
The breeze which danced between
Zaydun and Wallada
The flame which flew from the breast
Of Hazm
Which cuts all previous ties
Where charity dwells
And the place where charity goes to die...
II
Beyond the canopy of space and time
Where signets and the rule of emirs
And blood to powder dries
As the sands of the desert
She is above all the rubies of Badakshan
More cherished than all the precious
Lost treasures of Cordoba
She threaded the streets of Jerusalem
When the Beloved could not be found
She is the sanctum where love is born
And the place where love
Must as a pilgrim go to die...
III
Men will say she is unchaste
And not the the jewel among women
Yet men have a breast
And it is a hive for serpents
Coiling in darkness
Who love the night
And smooth the salt knives
of their invectives
As they pluck out their eyes from within
Which have grown blind with age
And blind with no love in their depths
Love is the depthless ocean
Which flows beyond this life
When all that is written has turned to dust
Beneath the eye of the most blessed God
And all that is must die...
In her blood is the dance of Shepenet
In her heart is the flight of the swallow
In her heart is the blade
In her breast is the garden
The breeze which danced between
Zaydun and Wallada
The flame which flew from the breast
Of Hazm
Which cuts all previous ties
Where charity dwells
And the place where charity goes to die...
II
Beyond the canopy of space and time
Where signets and the rule of emirs
And blood to powder dries
As the sands of the desert
She is above all the rubies of Badakshan
More cherished than all the precious
Lost treasures of Cordoba
She threaded the streets of Jerusalem
When the Beloved could not be found
She is the sanctum where love is born
And the place where love
Must as a pilgrim go to die...
III
Men will say she is unchaste
And not the the jewel among women
Yet men have a breast
And it is a hive for serpents
Coiling in darkness
Who love the night
And smooth the salt knives
of their invectives
As they pluck out their eyes from within
Which have grown blind with age
And blind with no love in their depths
Love is the depthless ocean
Which flows beyond this life
When all that is written has turned to dust
Beneath the eye of the most blessed God
And all that is must die...
— Dalton, Nov 16, 2009
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Critiques
Kailashana
16 years 6 months ago
It is to love, as no one has
Electric Blue
16 years 6 months ago
Shepenet
Ravenshakti
16 years ago
Hello John...
Dalton
16 years ago
Dear Raven