Odes, Tigris and Euphrates
Each thought you sound through your soft verse
I replay them to my ear
and each next line is to the first
a melody sweet to hear
as the seamless words flow with grace
they are whispered on my tongue,
you teach them all to mind their place
then commingle when their sung.
A simple truth needs complex care
colored waves complete in white
then what this simple truth I share
has no product, has no right,
on what rare tree does your fruit grow
as it stands between the two,
where Tigris and Euphrates flow
what I write, I write to you.
Envisioning your length, your reach
as you channel to the last
tributaries you seal and breach;
yet, forever in your grasp,
upon the apron of your lakes
can I but embrace them all
then nothing more my heart forsakes
as your fruit begins to fall.
Between the rhythms of your waves
life implants her tender seed
through sunlight's procreating rays
each flowering plant will feed,
upon their leaves they drink the dew
which escapes the breath of night
within their hearts the nectar pools
and transforms the banished light.
What ancient land divides the two?
What history of her art?
Mesopotamia, to you
wedged between where rivers start
and flow their course, their race to sea
then empty with a searing toll
pins the basin with their mighty
surge and fills your Persian soul.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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