This poem is written on Epic scale. It’s not yet completed so I wanted to preview the first part. It’s long though, but I hope you like it. Feedback is appreciated.
“Pearl of Love”
By Ali Makki (AKA Amylian)
Started: 4th May, 2011
The Seven Heavens I implore
To sing in me this Ancient Land’s folklore,
Of Dilmun, of Kings, of Pagan gods, and of war,
Spurring youth’s dreams, spreading witless abhor.
Oh, Arous, bestow upon me a miracle to chant
Sorrow’s lullaby and Sennacherib’s gristly rant
That shed blood. Lamentation overflowed Lulu Square,
The cries of children trebled, thundered everywhere.
Ah! The harrowing of the Hate-Inflammation did pace
In the cursed-loved land, against the Other Race.
Valentine was the day change staggered,
As Other Race screamed of love, bullets rattled.
How so like the rain, it hit without warning,
Striking the gray sand and all there is, fading,
Tearing skulls bare, spouting on Lulu’s grass limbs and brains,
Oh! How impudent! Oh Tyrant, unfold the strangling chains
Off your people. All can grant death; it is wretchedly rife,
But not all can give wishful, desired, and dignified Life.
Aliad, beloved to Baharna, dear to hearts, rose with rage,
He, an unforgettable and aggressive resistance, would later wage
“I am to this resistance, this war of to be or not to be,
I shall shatter the earth beneath. I am to face that enemy;
I have no destructive weapons, but I am too furious for you
Have laid your dirty hands on our beloved women. Woe!
Wrath! I can tolerate these travesty no more, petulant fools.
Days of yore! Give me strength, give me strength to rule.
From cloistered villages within the Land, Resistance ensued,
And the mad King, Sennacherib, slew men and women,
He would linger in his lewd indulgences,
Suddenly, there was no life, no joy,
All have gone, all lovers passed away and buried.
Moans accompanied the lonely dusk in the Land,
And their laughter echoed in the ears of the dead,
No kingdom, no country offered aid, only silence.
Depravity within people deepened,
No longer were they content with a passionate embrace;
They suffered enough, thus, what lived in their heart was rage.
Aliad was laid on the ground, hands and heart to the World Maker,
Aliad, the Other warrior, thus spake, “Mine soul’s Taker:
I endow what I am losing to the cause of those who shall inherit
My death that would stem their bravery and instill in minds the wit
They lack. It explodes now; I am delighted. Oh Gentle Breeze,
Blood covers my vision; I wish to watch my allies from above so please
Make their grieves, loss, suffering clear for the World to wondrously behold,
One day, joy will be glossing, reigning supreme, our stories to be forever told.
Mother: Deeper I sink, into the intercepted Dark,
Discreet, but alloyed with seductive furl
Like a bird of grace that swims the heavenly sky,
And delicately dancing like an inverted butterfly,
Sennacherib prohibited our art, and slew our hearts,
Pierced them with arrows, struck them with swords.
Deeper I sink, and brighter it becomes more,
Throw at me, mother, the love you carved for me in store.
Ah! How serene,
How lovely is this grave,
How pure are those lilies.
Here I am delighted; no repulsive pain,
Remember, I have died, to make a better future,
To shape a true, and a happy Bahrain.”
Thus spake Aliad, his eyes stopped at the sight of his mother,
Who stood dismayed, tears in her eyes, demanding clean water,
Hoping to revive the brave warrior –her son- whose head
Resting on her lap as he was long departed, covered in red.
Oh Great Zainab, your virtues are carved within, exhorted to appease
Aliad’s mother, who did mourn her son with a heart displeased.
The anguished mother, with waning spirit, not yet curbed,
Kissed his forehead and spake, “Oh my son, you have served
Your people valiantly. Oh my son! Why have you left me alone?
Me, your own mother? Your own flesh. You left so young, so soon.
How like at your birth when I first heard you cry; I laughed a little while
And now I see you enclosed with blood, bullets wretched and vile
That penetrated your sacred flesh. Oh! Look at the trees, weeping
Your death. Look at how beautiful they are, sorrowfully wreathing
In pain over your loss. I could hear them. I hear your dirge
Being sung by branches, music plays so your soul to purge.
Thou Tyrant! Did you believe that we have become humble and contemptible
Because of our own captivity and the martyrdom our gallant people?
As you have obstructed all paths for us, and took us captives,
Driven from place to place, we have grown strong and adaptive,
You dare suppose Allah has taken away his blessings from us?
You dare suppose killing the innocents you have, thus,
Become great and respectable that Allah will treat you
With special grace and kindness? Wretch, you are God’s foe.
You have made yourself so inflated by your unbearable arrogance,
You have made yourself boastful, lost sight of all that is substance.
You have forgotten what the One says: Must not believe,
Disbelievers, that Our respite is for your good, We weave
Time to let you increase your sins, for you, there
Will be a humiliating torment, not a second to spare.”
The dismayed mother ended her speech and she stood
Looking at the eyes of people. The tormented mother could
Live not without her son, which causes her deep grief,
Oh! Divinity, sweep away her tears, bless her with relief.
The gentle leaves of the weeping trees flew on calm air,
The tempestuous blore wreaked the enemies’ lair,
So stood the people and shouted, “May Heaven cripple you
Tyrant, may our victory emerge, so all shall proudly see.”
Such will, such faith glowing out of spirits like roses rise
From earth to embrace the rays of the sun, to grow wise
And to bloom to its true beauty. I heard a blue rose
Grew from the grave of that warrior. The wafted woes
of the grief-stricken mothers reached Heaven for a sign,
Far to the clear sky, Woes did reach The Throne of the Divine.
Oh Heaven! The clouds parted, the sun disappeared I heard
Divinity spake to the people as were seen many a red bird,
Of grace flying the twilight, swimming the blissful sky,
And delicately dancing like one inverted butterfly,
Deeper they sank, into the intercepted, gloomy moon,
Clouds stirred strangely, the stars were glumly strewn
With seductive furls of fiery auras and halos. So many did rejoice,
But in awe they beheld, and believed it was God’s ultimate choice.
Indeed it was. I have never seen such a wonder in life, a sign
That strikes one’s soul with fear, with splendor and awe so refined,
God spake to his creation, to nature, to all that is living,
His Divine words flowed, golden, sublime and smoothly spiraling,
“Think not of those whom death claimed in Allah’s way as dead.
Nay, they live, finding their sustenance in the presence, instead,
Of their Lord.” His glorious words echoed throughout the Dark Sky.
The Grace of God, the Kiss of Freedom for its incarnated, majestic truth
Of the triumph ahead and of attribution to pure bloom of youth.
In the middle of the night, the people, under one roof, sat together,
Telling their Stories at Pearl Square. What exactly happened there?