“Pearl of Love” — Ali Makki


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[1], 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 generous,

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.”[2]

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?  


[1] According to Imam Ali, Arous is the Sixth Heaven. Al-Burhan fi Tafsir al-Qur’an. V. 5. pp. 415

[2] From Zainab’s speech to Yazid. The Surat is Al-Omran.


The Musician’s Madness

The Muscian’s Madness

By Ali Makki

Once in a lifetime, his whole tones slowly faded out amidst the overwhelming whispers of the invited guests of his friend, Lilia.  She invited him to her wedding party, but ten years earlier, in their primal love affair, she had asked him to compose the finest, loveliest and most romantic symphony so that everybody could enjoy and celebrate their love together.  It didn’t work out; she cheated on him and had another man on her grasp.  She lured him — and every man — with her luscious beauty, and intense desire to get what she wanted.  It was easy for her.  It wasn’t easy for him. He kept his feelings hidden, and locked in his heart. All the hate, all the severe grudges toward her he kept hidden. She came one day to his apartment to explain the situation and he met her with a so heart-warming smile.

“Ah, Stark, if I could only explain it better for you to understand,” she said to him, resting her hands on the piano keyboards and strolling from Major C to Minor B unknowingly.

“I understand perfectly Lilia.  It is your life, not mine,” Stark told her whilst resting his hands on her shoulders, looking straight into her brown eyes and sweet pink lips. “You shape your path accordingly, and I admire that. Plus, your earrings make such divine sounds and it’s so soothing when you walk.  I hear them singing.”

“Oh Stark, you’re so sweet,” she said, blushing.

“And to prove my love to you, I am still working on composing the finest symphony you asked me to and I shall orchestrate it in your wedding party InshAllah in the future.”

She kissed his forehead and then kissed the violin.  He stood still looking at her.

“That kiss should bless your work,” She threw these words with so much confidence, which irritated him, but didn’t hint that for he was good at hiding what was inside.

Then they spent around one hour discussing Greeks and Sumerian Mythology, music, poetry and philosophy.

“Tell me Stark, was Gligamesh’s friendship with Enkidu pre-willed?” Lilia asked, hoping for an answer for she truly loved Stark when he talks serious about matters.

“Well, Enkidu could have been born in another time and space, don’t you think? So we should ask ourselves, why was he born and created at the exact time when Gilgamesh started to realize the Truth of Doom.  Maybe Enkidu serves as a reminder of Truth.  And by Truth I mean all kinds of truths, the truth of friendship and its importance, the truth of strong will, the truth of impaled love, all truths.  I also, besides that, the gods wanted to have fun, to play with human lives.”

“Was Enkidu a human?”

“To me, he is more human than Gilgamesh.”


“Enkidu is born free of sin, refuses to sin whilst Gilgamesh immerses himself in sin for he indulges in forbidden sex — takes others’ wives, murder and besides that, his pride challenges death itself.  He doesn’t want to die. The idea freaks him out. Why would he want to die and leave all the treasure on Earth? Living glamorously by feeding on people’s happiness is never a good thing, don’t you think?”

“And with that I couldn’t agree more,” she said and stood up, “I guess I’d better leave for now; I am late. Ali is waiting for me at my place. I should hurry.” She waved him goodbye and left. When she left, he took the violin that she kissed and broke it in half, went straight downstairs and threw it in the garbage.

“Ah poor Violin, that kiss caused sedition between us. No hard feelings,” he talked to himself, next to the garbage can he leaned his back on it and started weeping.  People were walking down the streets, heeding no attention to him as if he existed not, as if the whole world seems departing away, covering their faces, their ears so they could avoid hearing his music and voice.  Those thoughts came like a swirl, looming, and sweeping away what comes near its path. He seemed so lonely.  His hate towards Lilia grew more and more.

After that, he didn’t see her for nine years. On the tenth year, he received a letter stamped with a kiss and it was an invitation to Lilia’s wedding party:

Dear Stark,

    I heard you have become quite the composer.  Your music is very well-loved here.  Girls are falling for you.  Anyways, putting the jokes aside, I want you to attend my wedding party.  I am getting engaged to Ali. He is the one I’ve been dating and having sex with for ten years now. I hope this kind of sex relationship is not a sin.  So please be at Marma City at 8 PM and please Stark, never forget to perform your symphony you promised me one day you would.  I beg you. You were my first lover, and now this, I don’t know what else to say, but I hope it’s not a problem for you.

With love,


 He remembered the Symphony he promised he would compose for her wedding party.  There were only few touches left to make it the finest piece ever composed. Stark had led such a twisted life when he was a kid. His weird attitude was presumably due to the death of his parents at an early age, which left him in the care of his aunt who was in no mood for kids and would always beat him with a stick till he screamed, “Stop it, I cannot take it anymore.”  His aunt used to clean the house each day and was so obsessed with cleaning.  If she didn’t clean one day, she would catch a fever or she would go on beating them.  It might have been fun for her to enjoy herself torturing Stark.  He had such soft flesh that many girls wanted to eat it raw.

“Stark,” ordered his aunt one day while he was practicing on the cello for 4 hours and that made her angry. In the course of his life, this particular aunt – of all the aunts he had — used to nag him a great deal, beat him, spank him, slap him, whip him, try to pierce her thumbs into his eye sockets, and skip cold water on his face each morning at 5 am.

“Stark, you really annoyed me? I am going to come up right to your room and break those instruments in half.”


“ You’re in my house, that’s why.”

 Stark felt not pleased to be compelled to live in a particular place because of familial issues. He felt like a victim in need for defense.

 “But I need them and I want to be something big,” he said in a frightened manner.  His aunt found herself in his room in no time. She glared at him like a thirsty lioness with sharp, gleaming eyes. He bowed his head.  She approached and slapped him on the right cheek.

 “Don’t ever talk back to me, you hear?”

 “I will not,” he promised her.  He stepped outside the house after being ordered and she took a stock whip and started actually whipping him.  He cried tearfully.

 “Say you won’t ever utter a word what I talk to you,” she demanded as she was conspicuously whipping him. He was covering his face with his right hand to protect it and his defining genital with his left hand.

 And so, this was Stark’s life until he reached the age of 16, that only then his body began to grow robust and strong. One day, he raged on, threw his aunt harshly on the ground and broke her back, and pierced a stake on her stomach.  She couldn’t breathe and he escaped to the wood. There he discovered new sounds as if the forest was speaking to him. It was so natural and more clear and lovely than the sound of an instrument.

 The droplets of rains were observing the ground of the village of Mameria, making the sand their targets. War it looked to him, between heaven and earth that grandly God had shaped since a long time ago.  Stark was sitting on porch, and examining the passers who looked pleased not with the rain.  A woman with a black veil appeared in his world and on her head a pot.  He continued looking at her as she disappeared.  It was so quite that it was too much for him to take. He remembered the letter Lilia sent him, and somehow it made him irritated and at the same time he felt good about himself. Those mixed feelings that human never quite understood as if yet lingered within him.  He stood up, and walked through the narrow streets shaped like a maze. There was little daylight.  Once he finished his stroll, he went home to get rid of the depressing state that culminated him. Overshadowed by imminent gloom, he tried hard to sway it away, but even at home, waiting for him was the grand piano, the new violin, and the arrangement paper. Stark’s story is so unique that it builds feelings of sympathy, and of cruelty; that is, his creator must have planned quite a fate for him.

Stark settled in Mameria.  In his humble room, he stretched his fingers, sat straight and took a deep, larger-than-life gulp of air and struck hard the keyboards or the piano that produce a dissonance. He smiled and said to himself, “we were all born beggars.”

And so, Stark’s finest piece was composed. In his own demented world, he stared at himself in the mirror and he could clearly see how exhausted he’s been. He tried to run; to escape from composing the finest piece to the one he hated the most, Lilia. What makes a man confront such a challenge is so uncertain. Maybe it is a denied love. A love he cannot express yet can hold no longer. It is not a false hate.  Stark stopped at nothing. Nothing stood in his way. What was on his mind was not known to any man but himself.  He seemed different.

He grabbed the musical piece and headed to call of his friends who would take part of the orchestra in Lilia’s wedding party. On their way to the party, the servant, an elegant old man with sweet smiles greeted them and led them to the hall.  The feast was so huge. People of different color attended the party in which Stark didn’t feel a sense of belonging. He loved his own, cluttered room. Perhaps, Stark’s untainted heart could not allow him to refuse the invitation, or perhaps there was something else planned. So full of mysteries is this Stark. What lies ahead? What will become of him when he sees the once loved one kiss another man, holds gently her waist, get close to her and later on sleep with her in a dark room to make love.

The orchestra was set. Everyone was ready. The delicate tones approached the listeners’ ears and entertained them.  The Violinists were so swift, so refined.  The pianist ventured deeper than any.  The rest of the orchestra was massacring the people with tones they hadn’t heard before in their entire life. It was something so unique, so new. Meanwhile, Lilia came out of her room with her husband. She greeted everyone in the hall. She knew Stark was looking at her instead of listening attentively to his own work. She was about to give a welcoming speech, but Stark, stood suddenly, with crazy eyes he stepped on, and shouted, “I see what lies ahead, and it is terrible indeed.” The silence prevailed, but the orchestra never stopped playing, and moving on to the next section of “Ruins of Hearts.”

Lilia hurriedly approached him to calm him down.

“Stark, what has gone wrong?” She asked him with a hesitant tone. “Don’t you like my party?”

“Everything is laid down in its place, and the music is playing and we shall see what might happen.”

“I love your music. I am in fact listening to this one whilst speaking to you. And what might happen?” She seemed to lie, but no one knows. Not even Stark.

“You see Lilia, life is so fragile, with a swing of sword, we can end lives, and with a swing of your hypocrite lies, you end feelings.”

“I thought you were over this.”

Whilst the two were talking, Lilia’s husband went on to dissolve the orchestra, beating the lead Violinist brutally. Stark, knowing this, he charged at Lilia, and stabbed her right breast, and then the left one. The people were so amazed that they could not move a leg to aid the situation.

“I was over you, but I was not over this,” he whispered in her ears, whilst she was striving to catch some air to breath. “Most would abandon the quest they set, but not I, my quest was to kill you in your wedding party. Terrible indeed. This force, this love is what made me do this. So long Lilia, depart to heaven.”

Stark then went to Lilia’s husband who was busy beating the lead Violinist. Though being beaten, the orchestra never stopped. Stark took the Violin and crushed it on his head. He picked up the bow and started beating him brutally until he poked his eyes with it.

“Stop,” Stark order his fellow musician. He smirked at the attendees and said, “Enjoy the party.”

Stark could feel pity no more. He was free, but alas, what forces could drive him to commit such an atrocious crime. Was he not afraid? I fear that fear itself was afraid of him. I followed him; I played the Oboe in his own orchestra. I was following him since he was a child. No pain was etched in his heart I could sense after killing Lilia. What has she done that he loved her so much as to kill her? That I do not know.

The next day, Stark was not in his room. He disappeared. Till this day, no one knows his whereabouts.  A man delves so deep, but most of us do not know what confronts us. Stark knew what would confront him. So he must have been aware of what could happen to him, but not us. I want to know what happens to him. He might be lost, but he didn’t lose himself. When he killed Lilia, he was so focused. Stark, wherever you are, many of us face reality without knowing the consequences, but I am sure that you know. So long my friend, Let love take your mind not, it caused you bitterness, unleashed the evil within you, and stopped the limits of your musical abilities. It could kill you my friend. Love is a killer, but in the end, you killed it.