Raven

Embedded in the Sufi poem
I came across a raven,
but when I sought him out again
he had flown away
from the empty page.

I searched him out
page by page
in a frantic skimming
through my life:
those hotheaded coals
in rages of want
preceded the cooler
tide of a sunken heart.

Naive me, a sparrow
whose life is short,
Entranced to find the raven
I once glimpsed,
Only to be abashed
by his hideous beak.
Better to hide than to seek
if one confuses Friend with foe.

"Pitiless ravens do lie in wait
for this bird of the heavens of God..."

C. S. Cholas
May 5, 2022

             The Sound of a Miracle

I walk into the placeless valley knowing
Sound and silence are illusions
Snug in a sky that is wide open.

I search for love-filled words
             deeper than love songs.

I search for the pulse of love,
              beyond any fragile movement of heat and skin,

I search for a pulse, a breath, a hum,
              that rises as air and scatters through the universe

Here, along the shore of this placeless space,

              we watch ducks in the whispers of dawn
              rise from the lake, wings splashing the surface,
              as they ascend into a detachment of clouds.

The sky if full of clever spaces between here and there,
              today and tomorrow, memory and fantasy
              as a miracle descends as rain from travel worn clouds
              disguised as our imagination.

What sound has a miracle? Does it crack
Faintly like a sprout that splits
The crust of earth to meet the stunning rays
Of the dazzling sun?

Could the same be true of a soul
Who forsakes this lonesome sphere
To soar into tiers of light?
What sound comes forth from such delight?

            -- C. S. Cholas
                Fast reflection, March 2, 2005

 The Martyrs’ Song: Shiraz 1983

 "And now the handmaidens, kin of the martyred Mona,
will sing: 'Gaze upon Time' on a spring eventide
that begins on earth and ends in heaven.
Swayed by the sun, we reflect on the moonlight."

In the land of the pupil of the eye;
through creative space we fly
the Mouthpiece of God fashions our wings;
the higher we glide, the more we are awed.
A fenceless place immersed in open space;
water, air and fertile soil join in light.
Like caged slaves sprung from caves,
the burst of souls blooms in delight.

"Shab bekheir va khabhaye shirin" the Persians say.
"Good night and sweet dreams!"
The ropes give way.

The song you sing shuns all sadness;
fears flee, hearts hail the gladness.
The sky whirls in glee and sound,
o'er feet that scarcely hang above the ground.

Who among us belongs here,
and who dangles from the other world?
Somewhere, somehow, we hover
over earth and heaven,
both realms mingled into one;
the mystical mass that must leaven
the bodies tangled in madness.
Fears flee, hearts hail the gladness.

No kinder voices than yours are found
to clothe nightfall with lullabies.
Meek garments, calm seas mystify
the dreamy sounds mirrored on your souls.

-- C.S. Cholas
11 ‘Azamat 180 B.E.

 

 

In honor of the 10 Bahá’í women of Shiraz executed on 18 June 1983

Mona Mahmoudnejad, 17;
Roya Eshraghi, 23, executed along with her mother;
Simin Saberi, 24;
Shahin (Shirin) Dalvand, 25;
Akhtar Sabet, 25;
Mahshid Niroumand, 28;
Zarrin Moghimi-Abyaneh, 29;
Tahereh Arjomandi Siyavashi, 30. Her husband, Jamshid Siavashi,
     was executed two days earlier;
Nosrat Ghufrani Yaldaie, 46. Her son, Bahram Yaldaie,
     was executed two days earlier;
Ezzat-Janami Eshraghi, 57, along with her daughter Roya, 23.
     Her husband, Enayatullah Eshraghi was executed two days earlier.

We all come from somewhere.

             We all come from somewhere.

We all come from somewhere.
Before the first crack of dawn
Somewhere we have never been
Like the light at the end of the tunnel
That it too bright to see what the light beholds.

We all come from somewhere
Up and at them before we know
Anything about them or ourselves.
In the beginning that has no beginning
Somewhere in the end that has no end.

There are records of my time of birth
In a place I do not remember
At a time before the beginning of man
Before the time that man forgot
Lost in the folds of the earth.

C. S. Cholas
6 March 2023

Thoughts go wandering during the Fast

 

 

                                         SISTER

The cheerful voice
            Still leader of the pack
            Since the neighborhood days of childhood
            Lanky gang of summer evenings – curfew at nine

Now transformed into arranging networks
             And the right guests matched over dinner

Easy to faint, spilt milk as a girl, fascinated by boys
            Their psyche.  Transcended all that with sons
            Of her own, watching them grow and follow
            Similar, then different paths:
            One on whitewater rafts and mountain trails,
            One in the northwest rains with a Bosnian wife,
            And the younger, more social one
            Who struggles on the battlefield of the mind.

                                     11/08/07 Remembering Elaine