Poems from the newest book by Fahredin Shehu

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Her

A beam of sunlight shined
on the emerald grass, wet from
the morning dew, and the shades
of the willow were soothing
old burns of their souls
A Cornucopia sat on the blanket
long days of earthly delights
await to entangle with
the caught-up genderless souls
Whose art, this mystery? They and we
have no idea, nor has anyone ever attempted
to decipher those codes

Him

They got him to come back home
from the school he loved
earlier than usual.
They had him circumcised
at the age of seven,
as if this number was
added to his entity
to endorse his maturity.
They never asked him
where he shall be born,
nor did they ask him how
they shall name him.
So, he bears the name
that means “a Torchbearer”.


Why Would One Want More?

The last few words
I uttered were full of hope,
hope-giving, hope-dreaming
When one shuns his own light
and the rest goes astray,
when the Sun shines potently
on the Spring Solstice,
all I want is the blooming
of cherries and acacia,
the latter being a sigh of relief
. . . relief from a day
full of daily burdens and
the fear of the unknown
then, next to the acacia fragrance
and the chirping voices
of the birds, my lungs
can get full and the green-hearted
Chakra will radiate love
Why would one want more?

Great Things

Far from those important
things that always happen
in silence, for the time
when your own shadow
disappears, here on the hill,
some clouds are giving
their last breath
The sun-rays diffract
silently as if the funeral
of a mere farmer walks on heavily
the procession, in a hush,
mourns, and white pigeons
safeguard the tomb
Again, for all those silent
moments that happen in a hush,
great art emerges amidst
the labor, pain and thrill
the kind of art that needs nourishing
to mature and ascend to
Theurgy – to equal creativity,
to equal the existence,
to merge in the Universal Consciousness
where all great things happen not in vain.

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