Writer on Wings

Ramon K

[ramonswriting]

The hue of the rose mourns in Iran, and the scent of longing therein is afar and untraceable. Yet the ink of the Sufi poets remains animated more than ever, being chanted amid the soaring tide of death.

 

A woman stands elegantly, serene in appearance, yet with a furrowed brow—the mark of courage at her behest. Her jet-black hair bathes in the sun, and within her, the river of virtue meets the ocean of divine. She turns towards what are the spears of tyranny, yet gives little heed to them for flowers mark the ground before her. She mourns the sacrifices, the blood of so innocent a people, and with such reverence to them, her tears buoy their bodies to the glorious horizon of remembrance.

 

What noble lineage she bears, and deeply intimate is her association with the past. Then, with such haste in desire, she retraces her steps towards the seed that was planted on fertile ground long ago and sows once more a seed to renew and give birth to a long-lost history. The stirrings of freedom, rose to rose, heart to heart, in the land of Iran are breathing, inhaling the gismat of a new dawn, mystical yet apparent, ever near, closer to her life’s vein.

 

She speaks her truth: the land of Iran has within it a destiny unlike any other, one that will come together from the supernal spirits that came before, those who are yet to be born, and those that have sacrificed themselves.

 

The resilient lion lies awake, emboldened and undeterred, with readied limbs to fulfil and restore the noble station that befits Iran.

[ramonswriting]

Be less distracted of the world to know yourself and its truth. Don't take every opinion as fact, do what you love, find precious time to form good habits, effortlessly give kindness to everyone around you and free the hesitation of your truth to spark a mind, to free a captured soul, and to shine a light hue on life's unpredictability. Find humor in what is intended to hurt you. Finally, be humble in all places.

[ramonswriting]

Crossing horizons,

Distant people of pure form.

Humility learned.

[ramonswriting]

Contemplation is the deep intuitive well, from which is drawn the water of resolve, knowledge, peace, and tranquility.

[ramonswriting]

So long as we are passive, akin to selfish individuality, and so long as we are not of outward orientation, we will be remote from the waters of collaboration, of action-building, and of consulting upon the next goal to achieve.

[ramonswriting]

The Night's Thief

Slumber serried to thy silken sheets.

Comfort was desire,

Comfort was warmth, is desire, is warmth—No!

Comfort was pastures in which

thy hearth stirred aflame, flagellated,

by iron tongue, truth by ember, ember thy truth—

Thy eyes open to the worlds eternal night,

stilled by thy hands, gathering to alight

the lamp’s wick;

And so flickers the tender flame,

casting a reflection of thy shadow

as shadow beyond ascends;

groans of thy gyre staircase sound.

Such haste the gavel of judgment vibrates thy home

does thy ear revel to the night’s thief.

Attired Thessalonian, clay of Tarsus:  

Fear thy Lord and open thy room.

Attar’s nearness unfolds,

over the threshold it flows, rousing thyself,

God’s eternal Rose.

Thy separation bemoans,

So array thy trembling fingers with comfort:

Fear thy Lord and open thy room.

Reunion the vineyard’s gathered wine

To

Thy

Lips,

A sanguine-dye to thy heart,

Sprit,

Soul.

Loosen thyself even as rain over meadows—

Parched blades of grass

for Revelation and altar await not.

[ramonswriting]

We have to reconcile ourselves with our highest self, or else we lose ourselves in the whims of the old order (seemingly continuous but will meet a fateful end) and move along with it, ending our perception and the grasp of a new, unfolding order to things, concepts, and systems. This outcome, this lower self, and its realization is through a passive conduct that sees things as it is, unalterable and untangled from the worst conditions present in this world. But to reconcile ourselves, to see things anew in the world is a gift.

R.K

[ramonswriting]

The resource of hope is perhaps the greatest resource there is. To go beyond what everything has brought you now, and to look to tomorrow, when the dawn breaks; it is to see a potential new richness that will overcome all of yesterday.

R.K

[ramonswriting]

The DC’s expansive universe beginning from Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel (2012) was destined to be other than what it is now, something that wo

[ramonswriting]

[ramonswriting]

The Lioness’ Of Shiraz

“I will not.” One after another the moving melody of the women’s words was made Sweeter like honey on their lips. When like peals rending asunder authority they routinely refused To give in for the nightingale’s destiny is to reach the Rose. “I will not.” At every sigh or tear, their inner mirth led to the Gate of Love and They entered; And to the Blessed Spot and Valley they journeyed. “I will not.” For the will was not theirs, and they knew For their words were a fire created in darkness by His Hand. “I will not.” Such was the litany of answers like they were one body, breathing In the Word of God to gain a devoted sustenance. “I will not.” And they smiled for every morn the obligatory prayer was recited; Each utterance, how great the quake in their hearts, How great the immersion that one can see the faces of union. “I will not.” It was their stage to command. No theatrics of lies, no remark, And curse, and no act turned them to turmoil For there was naught but His Presence and Words. “I will not.” They must have thought of Tahirih, the solace of their eyes. And Anis, the friend, Quddus, the letter, Badi, the bearer, And the Martyrs afore. Let their strength before the dawn be ours they said and it was. “I will not.” Holding each other’s hand, the feast of joy commenced, And the éclat of true wealth and with it true poverty was invoked. The Trumpet Blast sounded off— the look in their eyes, And in the women’s hearts, precious and free, The bird seeing out from the cage. “I will not.” Martyrdom, that declaration, to kiss its robe! To wear the beauty upon their skin! They chanted to its praise and its starry light, And looked upon it, smiling in that silent moment where self was no more; When the spirit ascends, witnessing the Threshold of His Abode, Keeping hold the ecstasy of the reverie of the next world. The silent contentment; of things made new;  of principals that were their Glory; The children they educated; the embracing of virtues as though time were limited; And mirroring the love of the thought of the Final embarkation towards the Plains of the Beloved. “I will not recant.”

[ramonswriting]

Evil Dead Rise(s) and so does the amount of blood in this outrageously successful horror flick attempting to gouge out the eyes of the audience to let them bleed dry. The Evil Dead Franchise has no...

[ramonswriting]

Eternal Is Fate’s Love

Youthful lovers! abide by the hand of fate Wherein the nest of eternal love awaits. Few know the verity of this rapture In the heart; and nothing can fissure The cause of the love that is the make Of divine semblance and it courses great; It winds and meanders like Eden’s river Towards the Oceans wherein pearls do tether To embrace and adorn the youthful lover’s necks. Eternal ripeness abounds as no sliver and speck Of vacillation is there but to create On their fingers two rings of Fate. Timeless is the sheen of amber gold, A glimmer that makes the flowers unfold. They haste as souls to forsake the world and wed, To be as one, to elate in love as their daily bread. So strong the union that even as one who is dead, in separation, their hearts from immemorial is sewn by thread.

[ramonswriting]

It was just whispers, nothing more. What a tearful acquaintance Love can bring for some things remain folded, placed in the shadow forever, deprived of the suns glaze

R.K

[ramonswriting]

It seems ignorance is a muscle that has been flexed for the time being. And those whom fight against such ignorance and maintain to educate others, hope to make the muscle move eccentrically, away from the concentric force, which amplifies the structure and fabric of ignorance itself.

R.K

[ramonswriting]

What repose there is in music and writing. In combination, the feeling multiplies when the writing is assured by the embrace of music.

R.K

[ramonswriting]

The escape we find ourselves partaking in called the true cinematic experience is a joy; it takes the moviegoer into another world and gives them a story full of heart and unique never-before-seen...