IN THE NAME OF GOD | Sharifah Sazita

1.
O Muhammad
You are the Perfume of God's Essence
The Rose of His Heart

Yet you were betrayed by your own people
Those who profess to follow you and to love you
Those who profess to believe you
Those who killed your family
Those who beheaded your grandson
Those who tortured and turned into captives and slaves
the women and children of your family

In your name
In the Name of God

2.
O Isa
You are the Light of God
God's Love

Yet you were betrayed by your own people
Those who profess to follow you and to love you
Those who profess to believe in you
Those who pretended not to know you when you were taken away
To be tortured and killed

In the Name of God

3.

O Musa

You are God's Wisdom

His Strength

Yet you were betrayed by your own people

Those who profess to follow you and to love you

Those who profess to believe in you

Those who made a golden cow into their god
the moment you turned your back

Those who have broken every single commandment God has given them

Those who think nothing of stealing land from the innocent

Those who humiliate, torture and kill the innocent

In the Name of God

4.

I feel your great pain

I feel your deep sorrow

I weep endlessly from your pain and sorrow

I feel the agony of your betrayal

In the hands of those you trusted

Those you guided

Those you loved

The anguish in your hearts is also in mine

I have nothing to offer You except -

My heart

My faith

My love

My loyalty

My life

In the Name of God.

~ Sharifah Sazita ~

source technology of the heart

cybershamans (karmapolice) / CC BY-NC-ND 3.0

GOOD NIGHT SWEET MOON

cybershamans (karmapolice) / CC BY-NC-ND 3.0

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When You Are Old

By William Butler Yeats 1865–1939

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Buy or borrow this book:

Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989) 

 

 

~Magickal Graphics~

cybershamans (karmapolice) / CC BY-NC-ND 3.0

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FRUMOASA VENETIANA-DANGEROUS BEAUTY

Great movie, great actors, great subject, great images...A Venetian courtesan becomes a hero to her city, but later becomes the target of the inquisition by the Church for witchcraft.(IMDB)

FULL HERE

HER POEMS HERE



Inspirata de un post de al Pandhorei, mi-am reamintit de splendidul film 'Frumoasa venetiana', povestea reala a Veronicai Franco o adevarata femeie a renasterii, de o inteligenta si cultura exceptionale.

Filmul este realizat cu o scenografie excelenta, reliefind somptuozitatea Venetiei evului mediu, dar si prejudecatile ce inchistau acea societate patriarhala...sa nu uitam si jocul excelent al actorilor precum Jaqueline Bisset, Rufus Sewell, Naomi Watts si Catherine Mc Cormack

Cu siguranta un film ce merita revazut.

SUBTITRAT AICI



cybershamans (karmapolice) / CC BY-NC-ND 3.0

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LIFE IN PICTURES

Purity

Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs. I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind. I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart. And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act. Rabindranath Tagore

O INITIATIVA A LUI COSTIN COMBA

cybershamans (karmapolice) / CC BY-NC-ND 3.0

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BEAUTIFUL ANGEL

Beautiful angel falling asleep
tired of the broken pages
he long time ago wrote with a finger of fire
pages of beautiful stories he once called worlds

beautiful angel falling asleep,
dozing with the head on the shoulders of clouds
feeling finally safe and at home
nightmares of wars and dreams of love disappeared

beautiful angel falling asleep
down and down and down
through a tunnel of soft gold light
to a remote place from his memory
called earth.

Beautiful angel don't fall asleep
or the garden of Eden we planted
and seeded and watered waiting for you
will wither away
swept by the hot winds of desert
you bring with your fall
when you innocently smile to the storms
you call brothers.

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She Walks in Beauty= Lord Byron

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

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The Diamond Cutter and the Tasawwuf

Tonight
the tip of my pen
has become
a fish hook
pulling toward me
my last supper.

You see...
last night
I heard
another call
from the desert.

I was hesitant to go.

I stepped lightly
toward the void
for I knew
whatever is said out there
means change.

The frosty chill on my neck
nearly caused me
to turn back,
but the promise of fire
and a chance
to gaze
once again
into the eyes of my teacher
drove me forward.

She has been a Diamond-Cutter.

I have been a raw diamond

destined for an ego-cutting knife hilt.

As I journeyed
through the darkness,
I realized
qawwali songs were guiding me.

Ecstatic.
Mourning.
Longing.
Welcoming.

Somehow stitched to my DNA.

I arrived and saw that my teacher was not alone.

A man
in a cobalt turban,
and a shawl as white as snow,
smiled.

Somehow familiar, he gave me wine.

Symbols and sigils
of every tradition
were tattooed into his skin.

They glowed.
He glowed.
The fire glowed.

I had the sense
he was just in
from a long trek.

I had the sense
I was about to go
on a long trek myself.

He told me he would be like a rock;

that it was time

to learn

the refined art

of making life

a work of art.

He pointed East

and said: "Remember!"

You never
come back
from the desert
the same.

___________________________

from Agape: Poems from the Desert of the Mind
(c) 2008 - 2009 / Frank Owen

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THE LAST UNICORN

THE UNICORN-RAINER MARIA RILKE

The saintly hermit, midway through his prayers
stopped suddenly, and raised his eyes to witness
the unbelievable: for there before him stood
the legendary creature, startling white, that
had approached, soundlessly, pleading with his eyes.

The legs, so delicately shaped, balanced a
body wrought of finest ivory. And as
he moved, his coat shone like reflected moonlight.
High on his forehead rose the magic horn, the sign
of his uniqueness: a tower held upright 
by his alert, yet gentle, timid gait.

The mouth of softest tints of rose and grey, when
opened slightly, revealed his gleaming teeth,
whiter than snow. The nostrils quivered faintly:
he sought to quench his thirst, to rest and find repose.
His eyes looked far beyond the saint's enclosure,
reflecting vistas and events long vanished,
and closed the circle of this ancient mystic legend.

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RAINER MARIA RILKE

You, you only, exist

You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.

To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!


Translated by Stephen Mitchell 

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