autumns symphonies


yearning for sevdah*
(for lesya)

<< Ah, ma chère, pour quelqu’un qui est seul, sans dieu et sans maître, le poids des jours est terrible. >> -Albert Camus

sevhad1

yearning for sevdah when

before there were roses and pomegranates
is sevdah is there is where is sita is

not then yearning for sevdah

rare lovers meeting finding unbroken harts
snowflakes melting sweet wilting fruit blossoms
is rama is where is there is sevdah is

not when yearning for sevdah

true lovers falling weaving love’s tapestry
transcending sorrows inside fermenting plums
worms emerging spreading lucent dragon wings
refining liquid gold into worlds of glory
is sevdah is there is where is is mira

not then yearning for sevdah

when true sailing beloveds unraveling kiss
as uncertainty completes certainty so
tragedy quickens comedy as all is
cupidity transfiguring chastity so
lovers probing discover love creating
is sita is where is there is is rama

when not yearning for sevdah

sevdah as lust is sevdah as sorrow is
sevdah as bliss is sevdah as nothing but
lust finitely quickening infinitely love as is
the beloved seeking lovers as all sevhad
is rama is there is where is sita is

then not yearning for sevdah

all creatures probing those quickening our musk
true love kissing pure love endlessly while
amidst stardust orchards become deserts so
is mira is here is what is mira is

now all is yearning for sevdah

is sevdah is here is what is sevdah is
crystal tears baptizing fermenting vineyards
rama’s arrow piercing brahman’s hart of harts

then yearning for sevdah is

after there were roses and pomegranates
remains what is here is love is sevdah is
sevdah yearning for yearning sevdah is love

not nothing if not krishna beneath phoenix wings
mere lust tantalizing unrequitable love

even gods cannot articulate sevdah

sevdah2

chrteién marc valentin
(© 14 février 2014/19 mai 2014)

*This poem was inspired by the film, “Sevdah For Karim” (Yearning for Karim)

Note: I had a haunting dream of walking through Haarlem with Mira last after watching the above distressingly beautiful film. At first Mira’s eyes were ice, but then at the end they were lotuses. Mira as a shadow had not haunted my dreams for quite some time now. How is it that the seed of love once planted in the hart never dies but fades into a shadow only to reincarnate itself again and again?

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