TheWornOutSoles @thewornoutsoles - Tumblr Blog

Into the mist!

Dusk

The tender branch sways low

From the load of the crow’s falsetto.

Sun sets behind the cirrus clouds.

Wonder I do where the swallows go.

#poetry

Sound of Music

Voice, rolling velvet.

Debating world trade matters,

The only blemish.

#poetry #haiku

Epitaph

No movement in departing

No rest was in staying behind.

Branches follow the roots yet

This tattling breeze

Had no secrets to share

Worthy of the leaves.

My love’s maiden is an estranged mother,

As a hasting star

Eternally runs

On a melancholic orb.

#poetry #translation #Shaumlu

May Day

Frolics on the sidewalks,

Glistening with remnants of the night’s lights,

- melancholic brew -

Freed, light, a wide

Smile on her face,

As though eternity was born

Right here in the Magnificent Mile

Just for her to eschew.

Where are you going?

She cannot tell.

After

The hairdryer breaks through

An otherwise bright morn.

Never mind the noise for the

Eminent flight of white doves.

Spring

From a balcony afar

overlooking the mulberry slopes

with sunshine and breeze on one palm

tar of the night poised on the other,

from her vernal omniscience of an eternal equinox,

she need not open

her honey eyes to watch.

Step

after

dreadful

steady

step,

pause

after gasp,

I do not need to look back to know,

I feel

the tiny weight of her gaze

on my back

from a balcony afar,

a blackstone of an armchair on a balcony afar,

overlooking the green of the mulberry slopes,

out into the yellow, the grey, the blue, onto the white.

She will not leave the balcony as long

as I have not crossed

the mountains I dread -

a black dot

in a Brownian motion on the sea of white,

dreading the cross of the passage

of seasons.

You, rain clouds of forever! Weep!

Drain

your endless tears

over the sheepish daffodils

of this melancholic spring

and those to come,

for this year

“no flower would bemuse,

no wine would I peruse.”

#poetry #vernal equinox #nowruz

Stamps

Several hundred of them

a few older than me

some older than the others

some just older-looking

most worth pennies if even that

all waiting

inside fading covers of an old crowded disintegrating collectors book

hiding behind glass doors of an IKEA cabinet,

dark cherry.

Signs

of a vast,

calm,

lonely,

inwardly

world

of being ten.

What will happen to my library, I asked on SMS,

after I pass.

Silence is a virtue

of the millennium.

#poetry

gathering tears drown

the sparkle shining all day.

departure time nears.

#poetry #haiku

thewornoutsoles

Translation of one of Shaumlu’s several poems titled “Love Song”, from the 70’s.

“Seek solace in solitude for only woes loom upon souls entwined.”

دلا خو کن به تنهایی که از تن ها بلا خیزد

Rumi (رومی)

#poetry #rumi #quote #translation

The Settling

Absence of presence morphing into frost bitten presence of absence.

#poetry #haiku

thewornoutsoles

Will Be Awaiting You

Will be awaiting you. At night,

…

When shadows dim in the thicket by the road

Spreading sorrow over the hearts desiring you,

I will be awaiting you. At night,

…

When slumbering valleys resemble lifeless pythons,

When lily’s fingers entrap the lonely spruce,

Remember me or not I

Will not part with you, I

Will be awaiting you.

thewornoutsoles

10 years....

pit

a wounded soldier under friendly fire

a beached whale under summer sun

words are riven toys

dispersed on the floor

of the empty cold barren gloom

of lonely

#poetry

August

Fresh snows brush the hills. The spruce listens to nothings. Footprints of a wolves.

#poetry #haiku

Scenes from the life of a scattered mess

Playing the life's palate. Snatched soon by sudden dark claws, thrown into abyss.

#poetry #haiku

flower

“perhaps you plant one tree like that,” she says with a smile as subtle as a passing bee in a field of spring flora shining from the sparkle in her eyes. it’s her first time here, overwhelmed by the greenery and the bold scent of the crape myrtles weaving through the summer nights of virginia.

clumsy cicadas reign on her second trip. we travel far and wide and exact details of everything and of the wild cherry blown up by lightning one hazy summer day she faithfully recounts for years to come with her brush of bliss and simple amazement she carried within from the fresh highland air of the caucuses.

“I am getting too old for long trips,” she says, her darkened eyes exploring the vast expanse of her final trip, as if she knew as if she knew as if she knew, as if she knew, and these idle hands still have not planted the damn tree.

the following years over the phone or over my fleeting visits swept in the rush of trivialities masked with urgency of this or that kind, it always escaped me, like rain- drops in the desert, to break the news to her that now a red crape myrtle blossoms july after july where the wild cherry once fell waiting for her touch of motherly care on his bark and leaves, that I kept my promise, but that I forgot to make her happy when it counted, simple and true, just like her.

a view of the green valley, cool shade of the mulberry trees, and chatty swallows swooshing in the breeze will greet you soon. stretch your legs then take a long yawn and close your eyes give your fatigue to the earth and grow again.

#poetry #rest in peace

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