Poems by Khamar Firdawsee

The Gods

a poem by Khamar Firdawsee

Seek not the Gods
In temples and churches,
Or in the mosques;
It is a vain search.

They are gods
Those who never once cease
To help the needy;
And die for peace.

Seek not the gods
In the Sacred Books
Of different creeds
With divers looks.

They are true gods
That go not stray
Who guide the world
To the righteous way.

Say not the gods
Are the Holy Spirits
Neither heirs of the Heaven,
Nor it’s favourites.

Men who work and work
Sweat, toil and die
For the poor,
Are the precious gods high.

Praise not the gods
With beauty and grace
For beauty is often
Hideous and base.

They that are kind
Cheerful and gay
Are the gods
Great of this world and day.

Friends! do not dream
Of the gods and the hoors
It is a heathen belief
Of the Pagan Moors.

Friends!! do not dream
Of the Heaven or Hell,
For what you sow,
You reap here as well.

They are the flattering Foes

a poem by Khamar Firdawsee

These that say
‘You are my love’
When you’re rich and gay;
   But when your soul
   In sorrow rends
   These ‘Loves’ shall fly away.

And when you sip
That bitter cup
Of distress and dismay;
   Soon these ‘Lips’
   Shall lo! wind up
   Your company that day.

But he that loves
And loves you too
In your darker sides;
   When you grieve
   He bears with you
   Even in stormy tides.

And he that helps
Helps in your need
And he that shares your woes’
   Oh! He is true
   True ‘LOVE’ indeed,
   The rest are flattering foes!!

Let me die at your feet

a poem by Khamar Firdawsee

I burnt my heart
all through night
to light my languid gloom;

And I lay swimming
in my tears
for your lips; before my doom.

The stars, the moon
and all those who
waited on my night;

Have all snuggled
down to their lounges,
but you’re not in my sight.

Weeping and waiting
and wailing aloud
my soul did fall asleep.

The little hope
left of seeing you
did fly away from its deep.

But patience sang
to my seething soul
that song of solitude;

You sing often
when your sorrow
climbs its altitude.

The morning got up
from its rosy throne.

Lonely morning
once again
saw me again alone.

Oh! you my love
who haunts my sleep
and you who keeps my beats.

Come and lie
in my arms
or let me die at your feet.

If I were a Jasmine

a poem by Khamar Firdawsee

Two scores and seven
gay springs among
the tall trees and green shrubs
I have been.

Proud and peerless
I have danced and sung
alike in shower and sunshine

With trees and plants
in this garden I’ve been,
of roses and jasmines, of apples
and peaches;
with creepers and cuttings
and climbers green.
a camomile blushingly
kissed my branches.

Yet often did I wish
‘were I jasmine,
a rose or at least a lily
some day’.

The apples and peaches
I dreamt to bear; in vain
I tried to tamper with nature’s way.

What will I yield
often I wonder
the gardener knows
what I must I render.