The men of God are kingly men indeed—
Scions of light, not begotten from seed.
Click here to read the full ghazal #59 and commentary.
Today I looked in the mirror, and saw a dead man’s eyes.
A mirror when questioned always faithfully replies.
Click here to read the full ghazal #60 and commentary.
Nowadays men are concerned with structures of bones,
The bones of machines and buildings—never with thrones.
Click here to read the full ghazal #61 and commentary.
Dawn is a friend who comes to rouse the lover from grief,
And enemy, for from his pain he wants no relief.
Click here to read the full ghazal #62 and commentary.
Our tears are a fountain of self-deception, a waterfall
Between us and the Reception being held in the Diamond Hall.
Click here to read the full ghazal #63 and commentary.
Put a pig in a drawing-room, they say, and it remains a swine;
And a ‘metho’ drinker’s palate is dead to vintage wine.
Click here to read the full ghazal #64 and commentary.
It’s a queer lot that fortune has brought together round this camp fire
From different walks in life in a common quest and desire.
Click here to read the full ghazal #65 and commentary.
In the Street of Barefoot Lovers there are peddlers of song, clowns.
Dancers and acrobats who have come in from the surrounding towns.
Click here to read the full ghazal #66 and commentary.
In the matter of love and art I have never been a niggard:
That the woman was loved, the poem written, was my reward.
Click here to read the full ghazal #67 and commentary.