jasmine

The Wind, One Brilliant Day

Gill Washington Antonio Machado, Poems, Spirituality , , , , , , 0 Comment

By Antonio Machado

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

‘In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.’

‘I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.’

‘Well then, I’ll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.’

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
‘What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?’

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Without the eyes…

Gill Washington God, Poems, Rumi, Sufism , , 0 Comment

By Rumi

Without the eyes – two clouds – the lightning of the heart:
The fire of God’s threat, how could it be allayed?
How would the herbage grow of union, sweet to taste?
How would the fountains all gush forth with water pure?
How would the rosebed tell its secret to the meadow?
How would the violet make contracts with jasmine?
How would the plane tree lift its hands in prayer, say?
How would the trees’ heads toss free in the air of Love?
How would the blossoms shake their sleeves in days of spring
To shed their lovely coins about the garden wide?
How would the tulip’s cheek be red like flames and blood?
How would the rose draw out its gold now from its purse?
How would the ringdoves call like seekers, “Where, oh where?”
How would the stork repeat his laklak from his soul,
To say: “O Helper high, Thine is the kingdom, Thine!”
How would the dust reveal the secrets of its heart?
How would the sky become a garden full of light?

Translated by Annemarie Schimmel

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Garden Of Nostalgia

Gill Washington Hydeh Aubon, Poems , , 0 Comment

Passing the dark corridors
of old longings
I inhaled Jasmine and roses
wiped my tears and walked to the
garden of nostalgia.
Rosaline and Anton
were dancing.
And I cannot recall who
was playing music.
The passionate soulful
and melancholic music.
My poems,
my unwritten poems are
running like live blood through
this image.
Maybe it is the ache
of missing you and knowing
that this spring nor on
any spring to come,
would you smile with me at
Rosaline and Anton.
And I savor all the
graceful movements in
the garden of nostalgia
because your poet heart
is beating in me and
Rosaline and Anton can dance forever,
they will dance forever
as you grab my hand
and dance away in the
garden of nostalgia while
the blossoms pour like rain
and the red apple in my hand is
shared only with you.
“Forever and always”,
you say.

Hydeh Aubon (4/4/08)