14.
this is for nizami...
flowers are from the heavens
those who have not lost
or who have regained
the ear to hear the flowers’ celestial songs
can testify to the unending praise
every flower sings
even the sprouts and closed buds
and stalks with fallen petals
yielding their forms
every flower sings
unending praise of the beloved
in a stirring beauty
that makes even the angels cry
this is why
even for those deaf to the flowers’ songs
gardens have the feel of paradise
an abode more intimate
with the beloved
how often in the qur’aan
is paradise described as
“gardens underneath which rivers flow”
and so it was with this garden
commissioned by a former sultaan
whose name and kingdom lay buried
in the shifting desert sands
unremembered
although forgotten, what he built remained
the underground tunnel stretching many miles
to bring water to this isolated plain
there her footsteps nimbled through this garden
set in the foreground of the najd mountains
she moved among the fragrance of other maidens
accompanied by guardian escorts
armed with ready swords
her face was fully veiled
to protect from the beating sun
but also to grant cover from majnuun’s eyes
if he dared to spy
it would have to be from afar
unless he wanted to invite violence
there was something unspoken
as she crossed the threshold
of the oriental plane trees
to be greeted by dazzling red tulips
dancing with yellow roses
the martyrdom of the tulips had begun
tossing their discarded petals across the grass
the yellow blooms remaining upright
as unyielding flags that dispassionately declared
you are my friend,
you are my beloved,
you are my beloved friend
who is my joy
but oh, give ear
nizami now whispers his request
that i tell the tale of the tulip’s story
an invitation to embrace a deeper understanding
of the beauty and secrets of flowers
remember,
the love of farhad
how, for the sake of shinrin, he went
to carve a mountain for the hand of his beloved
his beaten hands scarred by this manual struggle
which left him vulnerable within a hopeful desperation
such that when the crafted lie of her death
reached his ear
all hope was quickly discarded
he threw himself from the mountain’s summit
thinking he was following her in death
to a destination the body could not go to while alive
in the great descent hurried by gravity’s rage
he gave up his spirit
although the corpse was marred and crushed
to a disfigured blight
the sincerity of his sacrifice yielded a fruit
for at every spot where a drop of his blood fell
a scarlet-hued tulip eventually arose
the pure red tinted by a touch of orange
opening fully to the sun by day,
its love to display
the petals closing at night to mourn
and after a number of nights
the red of each tulip’s center
painted itself ebony-black
for night cries cannot forever be kept from the day
and despite its entrancing beauty
these tulips were an expression of mourning
as farhad awaited in the next world
the arrival of his beloved
who he thought would already be there
the tulips of this world displayed in colorful array
his celestial melancholy
shaded within the interior of the base of the petals
secrets hidden in plain sight
oh, messages abounding with captivating metaphors
for those lovers who have eyes to see
beyond the surface of their beauty
the place where farhad’s body crashed
became a pool of tulips
and as the height of his fall was great
his blood, upon impact, was scattered afar
drops becoming seeds
to mature into standing tulips
a fall to stand
by the power of love
they made lasting homes in good and bad soil
surviving even among the clutches
of choking thorns
enduring with lasting beauty
within sun-scorched, shallow ground
and even living the full of their life span
in rocks without soil
yet the blood of farhad
would not be contained to the reach of his
scattered blood
the red petals tinted with orange
drew the eyes of other lovers
such that their caring hands and lovers’ tears
whether restrained or publicly expressed
became the lover’s blood planted elsewhere
a scattering that now has tulips
sing all over the earth
even if the story of their emergence is forgotten
true love,
whether spurned or allowed,
exiled or deceived,
is not bound to earthly life
it does not die with death
for its kiss is eternity
the tulip serving as another testament
of the endless continuance of love...
* * *
although the tulip’s tale is not always known
those in love can feel its story
and so she was moved
upon seeing a testament of love’s eternal kiss
flowing with the yellow roses
yet her attention
was drawn to a fallen tulip
with severed stem
its blood red petals laying intact by her feet
she took it in hand
to salvage its beauty
making it her walking companion
she continued with the maiden train
beyond the entrance to the garden
where bunches of violets played hide and seek
within the veneer of modesty
swaying with curved stems to a breeze of innocence
their song preoccupied with love
yet her attention remained upon the tulip
in a patch of shade beyond
thorny stems stood guard around rosebuds
not yet bloomed
yet their fragrance could not be kept
behind the guard’s pricky points
a message in their song
that even well-kept secrets
will find a way to be revealed
beyond what seeks to protect and conceal them
yet her attention remained upon the tulip
as they walked by a small pond
the water lilies lay fully exposed
their open petals tickling the water’s surface
although their roots and stems
pass through muddy and murky waters
their flowers ascend above
empowered by their devotion to purity
their open forms commune with the sun
abiding within this world, we should
not forget
part of love’s song is the call to never give up
there is another welcoming world,
much more wonderful
for those who remain steadfast
even if love’s rewards elude us in this world
continue to persevere through love’s hardships
the sight of lilies delighted her eyes
and imbrued this message in her heart
yet her attention remained upon the tulip
the hyacinths lay unmasked
hiding nothing of their sweet-scented wisdom
she smiled as she remembered
“the hyacinth sends another fragrant whisper
to the rose bush”
the box trees stroked the hair of their leaves
which were recently cut into the latest spring style
while the carefree branches of the pomegranate trees
played tag with their abundance of fruit
in a jovial chase
the daffodils stood adamantly in their seniority
among all the other flowers awoke and awaking
they were the first to stir from winter’s slumber
boldly proclaiming no season of cold
can last forever
she was witness to the intricacies of these
floral tapestries
and the pleasant feelings these evoked
yet her attention remained upon the tulip,
the severed flower in her hand
there was a pause upon seeing the judas tree
its flowers painted red by another martyr
but that death was the outcome of love betrayed
the tulips’ hues are of love’s sacrifice
yet the beauty of the blood-wine leaves
could not be denied
attracting the stay of vagrant roses
who in their wildness would not be restrained
to plots
and the conformity of human cultivation
they sought to wager their secrets for the sacred gift
the absolute bestowed upon the jasmines
having already been turned away by the irises
who, in their regal discernment,
reserve for special moments
the revelation of the rainbows they emit
from earth to the heavens
as fascinating as the exchange among these flowers was
still her attention remained unmoved
as a moving meditation upon the tulip
she noticed within the last stretch of the garden
ringdoves were visiting the nightingale
the “ku-ku” of the doves singing “where-where”
to the nightingale’s song of immortality,
forever free from the world’s troubles
a song it sang night and day, and day and night
to tickle the endlessness of what lays beyond time
yet something in its melody
reminded her of the sigh in majnuun’s words
which only turned her unmoving attention
more deeply upon the tulip
* * *
as the maidens sat,
she sat with them
the roaming of their bodies through the garden
shifting to the roaming of words
streams of gossip interspersed
with laughter and merriment
at times, she would offer a chuckle
but her silent discourse
was now with the nightingale
hast thou come to embellish the song of the garden
with the melody ringing from
the crown of love upon thine heart
or
hast thou come to tip the glass of celebration
with the flowers’ orchestra
which honors the eventual victory of love
or
hast thou come to levy a portion of thy coming treasures
to bid the long night passing
of love’s poverty ripening into treasures timeless
or
hast thou come with passion to drink
the inebriations of my lover’s song
a taste of wanting to console thy longing
she replied
in the silent song discontented lovers know
none of those are the prize my suffering seeks
for those will only relieve
a suffering that will only continue
my heart seeks the end of suffering
which this world seems not to offer
perhaps this garden
can show me the way to
that other garden
wherein no suffering dwells
too much thou ask for
to have, within this world,
a love without suffering
love will content true lovers
with a happiness that outlives suffering
but only after testing them,
sometimes harshly,
to prove the sincerity of their love
endure, faithful lover
happiness will come
no,
only the other garden will serve my...
with that,
the nightingale suddenly flew away
taking its song and counsel with it
she became startled and withdrew
the tulip left behind as she rushed away
in her haste
she found a private enclosure
at the edge of the garden
a place seemingly secret
to unburden her laments
after being scorned
by the nightingale’s departure
“that tulip am i
that unfolds to the sun my petals
the sadness painted in my core revealed
and too, the shade of my night sorrows
these dark spots give witness to my nocturnal cries
mere spots being the only expression
i disclose to the day
pardon what i cannot now restrain
in this hidden corner of the garden
“oh, drop of blood
which served as seed
to this beautiful mourning flower
did not the creator create us for each other
or have i misconstrued my destiny
to be a blatant mistake
this separation is the frost of winter
upon my petals
dropping upon this pristine grass,
fallen and withered
if only thou this garden would enter now
and share this seat, allowing our gazes
to directly meet
the wounds of mine heart would immediately
cease to bleed
there would be no need
for my blood to be spilled into flowers”
and then,
as if the veil was lifted from her face
he was standing before her
gazing deeply into her eyes,
her soul
she wanted to rush into his arms
but his loving stare rendered her still
she wanted to speak
but his words came first
in the voice of a stranger
on the other side of the bush
lovingly reciting to an audience of his own
sweet verses
overheard by the intended recipient of the author
his mouth moving as the stranger’s voice proclaimed
“show me a rose that grows from the beloved’s garden
into this world lacking a thorn
and i will show thee my madness for the night
but if such a rose thou canst not show me
call me not a majnuun
“majnuun...”
she could not refrain from saying his name
before bursting into a blinding torrent of tears
she felt the veil over her face again
as her tears fell with viscous descent
they sought to take root in a rock below
but the hard surface denied them entry
smashing to liquid dispersed
instead of solemn tulips
yet a testament of her wailing was not lost
as the calling of his name
and the cries that followed
was spied by one of her fellow maidens
who came to bring the fallen tulip to its owner
the intensity of the layla’s unconsolable wailing
restrained the maiden to a witnessing secrecy
she quietly backed away
to grant due privacy
to the afflicted lover
but what secret is a secret
if it is not shared with at least one other
so days later the maiden confessed this
to layla’s mother
immediately, her heart broke
as the deluge of her daughter’s pain
flooded her own being
she could feel the pull of her daughter’s love
tugging against her maternal protection
because after all,
this good youth had only become a majnuun
after the world denied him his love
so while she knew
she could not encourage her daughter’s wishes
nor advise a forbearance that would only
increase the urge to chase love’s dream
she watched with care
her daughter’s veiled torment
which became a more private torment for her
one she could not even share with her husband
or her daughter
nizami is a master
may the fullness of his mastery
veiled in clever metaphors
be realized by the sincere and pure of heart...
❍ ● ❍