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Poetry

Harvesting the light

Dara S. Esfandiary
September 15, 2005
iranian.com

Gazing at the moon, it’s you my sun I see

Seeing your eyes, it’s your soul I feel

Feeling your soul, God ravishes me...

Raptured by the Siren’s enchanting song,

Not a hundred angels could set me free.

Love, the greatest antagonist of the strong,

Lasciviously lulls with unpretentious glee.

 

Eyes shut, I intoxicate over the refrain

As further and further from myself I sojourn

Thru God’s foggy playground of water and fire

Wherein, light years prior, my star was born

Of heroic passions burning an almighty pyre.

In love’s epic struggle, ‘tis I the gallant martyr.

Orphaned from myself, in you I seek shelter:

Your soul’s my home, your eyes my windows.

A glimpse of life’s true face my singular prayer,

Faithfully, I toil in the dense and lonely shadows

Harvesting the light until truth finally glows...

 

The image of a moon within a sun gathers a pose,

As the sound of the Siren within a man still echoes.

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