It was my heart and hands that brought me to the wineshop door;
But my head and feet our respectability would restore.
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The whale-way is unending, and the nights on the wide plain are harsh;
But fear sits on affection’s fences and there is much binding in mood’s marsh.
Click here to read the full ghazal #141 and commentary.
My grief is so deep and my trouble is so wide that one tear
Has become the five oceans across which the ships of the world steer.
Click here to read the full ghazal #142 and commentary.
Even after obtaining residence in Love Street
The journey seems unending—each breath is so indiscreet.
Click here to read the full ghazal #143 and commentary.
Now am I also with my face to a wall, Raferty, aplaying music unto empty pockets;
Eyes without light—not blind as you were, but stone of stupor sunken in sockets.
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This piece of ground that I have cultivated with much sweat
Yields me a harvest of straw with no ears of golden wheat.
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No one knows the pain of stone—its dull dream and slow lust.
Yet this is the halfway stage from man to singing dust.
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All lovers are poets: only some have voices and some do not.
They are the Life-tree’s sap thrusting beyond materialism’s rot.
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Since I cannot remember one moment of my immense journey,
Time is an aberrative viewpoint having no reality.
Click here to read the full ghazal #148 and commentary.