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	Amin Rastar
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Amin Rastar, 29 grudnia 2013

To Her, Restin in My Dream..

Fill my empty cup with thine purple lip,
The taste likes me, it sets in me fire.
Let me now, let me now thy garments rip,
Beneath, thou hast more for me t'aspire!

Attack me! With spears in thine eie,
Attack me, with thy "Force" of desire;
Lead this "War" and retreat not! Be not shy!
Wound and kill and put this bed on fire!

What will become of a child early-weaned?
Wean him not, it's too early, he sure dies;
Feed me still of those well-shaped soft pies:
Those mountains which were with milk washt and cleaned;

Prithee, sink me in vastness of thine arms,
The taste likes me, if from thee come those harms..

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 4 | szczegóły

Amin Rastar, 29 grudnia 2013

Nill forget..

Though we parted, and chose our way
Though will not come the joining day
I still can't bear thy tears,
I will not forget thy love, nay!

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Amin Rastar, 29 grudnia 2013

To Her, My Beloved..

Shall I compare her to Rose and Lilly?
Nay, She is far purer and more fair,
Ye who call this intricate love silly
Know I about ye envious not care.

She is fairer then sun, whiter then moon,
Dark as night be those eies that this deny!
What will remain of me but ashes soon
As when I look into her blazing eye..

His indifference is thy woe, mine is thine,
But this will inhibit my heart no more;
I know neither no "either", nor no "or",
Thou hast to be at last and at best mine!

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Amin Rastar, 29 grudnia 2013

She only smiles and then parts...

"Prithee it fits that thou stay".
But she says "It is my due way;
I shall go, I am to find love,
The 'who' that my heart he may move".
Is it due that thou me depart?
That thou break this lover's heart?
To tear thy lover's heart with darts?
She only smiles and then parts...

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Amin Rastar, 29 grudnia 2013

If I cannot utter that "I love thee.."

If I cannot utter that "I love thee",
Thinkst not 'tis for that my heart is cold,
What would the use of a love in words be,
When Love that's true cannot e'er be told?

Love that I cannot to her e'er say,
Love that my sorrowful heart doth host now,
Such a Love that I will ne'er betray,
Such a Love that she cannot e'er know.

Love that I cannot say and can't be heard,
Love, composed of "Thou dost not" but "I do";
Love that is more than merely a word,
Hard as rock, and this since ever I knew.

When looking at me laughing, others say:
"Can a man who is deep in love be so?"
To these I shall respond: I day by day,
Read "Love" as the story of my woe!

'Tis not easy for a man to smile,
While he knowth that his woe hath no ending,
When day by by he, himself doth beguile,
And this guile inwardly his heart rending.

How well said Byron in his song for love,
His sweet words what I list to say doth prove:

"My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
Can patience preach thee into rest?
Alas! too late, I dearly know
That joy is harbinger of woe."

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Amin Rastar, 12 stycznia 2012

I and My Love

I and my love are like plain and mountain,
Dry and dead I am, if cut be this fountain.
In thy heart, a river flow'th abundant and its brae,
In my heart, by thy power, is render'd gay.

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Pozostałe wiersze: To Her, Restin in My Dream.., Nill forget.., To Her, My Beloved.., She only smiles and then parts..., If I cannot utter that "I love thee..", I and My Love,

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Poezja

To Her, Restin in My Dream..

Nill forget..

To Her, My Beloved..

She only smiles and then parts...

If I cannot utter that "I love thee.."

I and My Love

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