Bahá’í World/Volume 18/Verse
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VERSE
On Hearing of Enoch’s Murder
The sunlight is black
The sunlight is black
What raven wing
Covered my sun at noonday?
In my mouth is the salt of tears I cannot swallow so much salt . . .
Blood is so beautiful
Blood is so pure
Why do the people let blood Run in the street?
So long it took
To make this man Noble and good
His mind and his soul Expanded like sunlight At noondziy.
Why did you kill him?
Are you pleased at this riddled shell. This mangle of bone and flesh?
Did you think your deed in the dark Was a bright light?
Everything is pulsing, Throbbing and throbbing! There is no answer
And the sunlight is black.
Go Enoch go!
Go to Musa on the hill
Go to your Master
Go to your Guardian
Go to the Kingdom of Light!
But ask not of us
Nor of your people
Who have plucked a sin
Big enough and dark enough To blot out the noonday sun!
Woe to Africa!
Weep as you have not wept before, Weep on your knees,
Weep your eyes blindv
You have murdered Abu‘l-Futuh, The Father of Victories is dead
At your hand, at your hand!
Your jcwelled crown
Placed by God on your head
Is rolled into the grave Weep, weep, weep your heart away.
Riilziyyih (Amatu'I—Bahd Rúḥíyyih Khánum) (Limassol. Cyprus) [7 Seplcmhor 1979
Tribute
A translation from Persian of a poem written by a Muslim woman who was a cell-mate of one of the recent Bahá’í’ women martyrs. For the author’s protection, her name is withheld.
Do you remember that you told me
'How tight is our cage! How difficult
to breathe in this close and terrible place!’
You wanted to sacrifice yourself.
I wanted to be freed from prison.
but you wanted to sacrifice yourself.
You looked at the door of the cell
in such a strange way, as though
someone called you from heaven.
I saw in your gaze the look of a
fulfilled and proud lover.
I saw the desire for flight in your eyes.
as though you were going back to the nest.
At that moment you murmured into my ears. ‘Life is vanity; why should we stay
till we rot?‘ We both said the same thing,
that life is meaningless, that at the end
we have to go in any case. But behold
how beautifully you spread your wings,
broke your cage. Your umbrella was of flowers. Now even the Seven Heavens are not vast enough under your feet.
How well you knew that to take wing
is the best way to go home.
You had a power equal to the whole world; your heart was like an ocean.
It is my humiliation to see that you are up there and I am still here.
I am in this swamp of the earth
and you are with your Beloved.
I am still drowned in wonderment
and you have arrived at your destiny.
Do you remember that you told me,
‘How tight is our cage! How difficult
to breathe in this close and terrible place!‘ Are you aware that I cannot erase your memory from my heart throughout eternity? You are a proud eagle. My heart
is a captive bird.
Even if it were not imprisoned, it is a captive in the world.
You are not here
but have taken to your wings.
I stay, and I rot, and I die.
Translated by Hushmand Fatheazam
983
[Page 984]
984
’l‘HE Bahá’í WORLD
From an Iranian Prison
In mid-1982. a Bahá’í was told that the Islamic court had decreed that he should be put to death. 0n hearing the decision, he composed the following poem for his son.
My Soroush, behold your father and see how perplexed he is.
He keeps to himself and muses.
He is captive in the hands of the oppressors,
like Joseph in the well of Canaan.
My Soroush . . .
I miss your love and your sweet voice.
See how the enemies ruined our home. at this fall season which is followed by winter.
You trembled like autumn leaves in the bosom of your mom.
when you heard that your father was in the hands of the enemies.
They attacked our home . . .
Books, pamphlets and notebooks were all taken,
picture of the Beloved too, which was so dear. . .
At this time I heard a sweet message:
Why is the bird of your heart so sorrowful?
Don’t be so sad; this is the bounty of the Beloved
that you are in this prison corner.
His calamity is His providence. rejoice.
Good for the head which is given for His path.
Drink the everlasting wine from the cup-bearer‘s hand.
If they took ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s picture, why worry?
it is engraved on the wall of my heart.
If they took the prayer book,
many tablets are hidden in my heart
If they broke the tapes of the voices of the friends.
the bird of my heart is a sweet-singing bird.
They cannot drain the fountain of the Sun. even though clouds are now ruling in this region.
E 211 calar della notte
Look at the tiny prison cells
which are lilled with the melodies
of prayer and the mention of God.
Listen to the cry of ‘O Bahá’í. O my God‘. which echoes like a thunder and roars.
The sound of the ‘remover ol' dil‘lieulties‘ chanted by the friends. flies to the Heaven of God like an eagle.
One friend is saying the son‘sy of ”Praise be to my God the exalted‘,
and the other is Chanting the verse ol~ ‘O Beloved look at Thy lovers‘.
One is full of joy from the song ol~ ‘O God‘.
and the other is weeping zit the chanting ol~ ‘AlMustaghz’ifl'.
One is drfik with the wine of ‘Our God the Most Pure',
and the other is astonished zit the inehriety ol' the wine ol~ if there Were no calumities‘.
We must make the most of these vzirious-eolored wines.
since the cup-heurer is the beauty of the Beloved.
I wonder from which cup I should drink, since there are so many wines in this happy l'ezist.
Although the cell is filled with absolute darkness.
the beauty ol~ the Beloved is shining' in the garden olmy heart.
If the judge finds out about my joyous state.
i am sure that he will regret his decree.
Drink from the wine ol‘ true understanding' in secret, O friends.
and whip lashes will be your punishment.
Look at the degree of the ignorance of the guard.
1 am fully drunk and he wants order.
Thanks to God since with the help of the Beloved
prison has become a palace to His lovers.
quella strada seintillante sul mare mi porto in un mondo diverso dove l‘oro e nei cuori e le gemme nel petto.
Giuseppe de Marco (Sicily)
[Page 985]
VERSE 985
La Ballade dc Mullá Husayn Yd Sdhibu'z-Zamdn/ a Cheval, 0‘ héros de Dieu.’ Bien—aimé. avec humilité, j‘ai orné ma tétc de ton turban vert Avec orgueil, j‘ai hissé bien haut l‘étendard noir, en marchant 2‘1 découvert.
Avec mes trois cent treize compagnons, pour Toi, j’ai chevauché dans les ténébres L‘ennemi a fui; pourtant, Tabarsi m’accueillera avec dcs cris funébres.
Avant que mon émc ne s‘envole, 51 mon confident qui cxtirpa mon doutc Au Tabernacle vivant de Dieu, je dis en mourant: mon bien-aimé. écoute! Avec mon sabre. l'arbre, le fusil et l‘homme, je 165 ai coupés
Avec ton nom, Báb, j‘ai fcndu l‘erreur dc tes ennemis regroupés.
Avec mon cheval fougeux, j‘ai porté l’épouvante chez les impies Avec ma foi, j‘ai effacé la home de ma patrie assoupie.
Sous la pluie et les balles, j’ai combattu 16 Vice et la corruption Sous lcs malédictions, j’ai découvert ton ineffable dilection.
Sous les outrages, sans faiblir. j‘ai combattu ces mullés éhontés Sous le lourd tourment de ton absence, j'ai bu au micl de tes bontés.
Sur mon corps amaigri, mes vétements fiottent comme des oripeaux Sur mes lévres, tes priéres vibrant, pour claquer comme des drapeaux.
Sur mes os, ma peau livrée aux morsures de la glace s‘cst tannée Sur 16 [cu ardent dc mon amour, mon rcste d’égo fut calciné.
Avec mes fréres, j‘ai bu Ionguement au calice de la souffrance Avec eux, j’ai humé au champ dc l'oblation ta subtile fragrance.
Avec nos poitrines nues, nous avon‘s couru au-devant du danger Avec joie, nous offrons notre sang pour que Toi. tu puisses l’engranger.
Pour la vérité, nous avons rongé le cuir, mangé l’herbe ct l’écorce Pour ta Cause, j’ai voulu te servir jusqu’é l’extinction de ma force.
Pour ta lumiére, j‘ai chargé les canons, afin qu’elle puisse éclore Pour le monde qui attend, nous avons brisé la gangue dc l’aurore.
La poitrine trouéc, mourant, je retournc au fort, au pas, l'éme inassouvie Maintenant, bien-aimé, maintenant, puis-je frapper 2‘: la pone de la vie?
Gilbert Robert (France)
Táhirih BridaI-white and calm For she would be victor this was her hour. by the silk scarf she carried ‘Yicld or be death‘s cold sister!‘ when the execution knot And she: would close lovc’s halter home. ‘Beyond this point—no quest. Martyn Burke (Belgium)
Beyond love’s talk—no tale.’
[Page 986]
986
Paul Haney: A Reflection
No one will stand that tall among the columns of the Báb’s Shrine, Your back in its lean grey coat bending to us in the dark, Ushering us delicately into firm belief, like a benediction, like the long, arched curve of humility that bows from self to nothingness before Him.
No one will approach the Threshold from such special height, Nor in that same long-boned, sparse-stepped waySway so like the reed t0 the darting currents of God’s will, More obediently gather greatness down to the scattered petals there.
Oh, blessing—that once we witnessed this, Witnessed you backing to the door
so awkwardly graceful, That we were privileged to walk
the gravelled path beside you from the Shrine, Pacing our steps with yours
over the acquiescent stones . . .
No one will walk that tall.
Audrey Marcus (Israel)
Bahíyyih Khánum 15 July 1982
We 2in
over donkere paden gegaan; zacht knerpend grind
onder de voeten;
een knikje, een glimlach, maar allen zwijgend
in de stille cypressenlaanr
Verzameld
bij de marmeren koepel
in schijnwerperlicht
dat schaduwen werpt hoger dan de bomen reiken herdenken wij haar
met ons gebed.
Daarna stille,
aandachtig zwijgen,
allen naar haar toegewend terwijl boven ons
de motten fladd’ren, aangetrokken, als wij, door haar licht.
Armeke Buys (The Netherlands)
THE BAHA‘I’ WORLD
The Gift
. . . somewhere in the list could we perhaps slip a plea for consideration that we surrendered our lives that men may be happy and free? From last letter of Mihdi Anvarl’ executed in fliréz 17 March 1981
Do you remember now as you went on your way many a holiday
with your rogue children running on and the whole world blue and gold under the blazening sun
and the ornamental streams whispering paradisal promises in Sa‘di’s Garden and the scintillating roses scented
like rose-water—do you remember
if perchance you saw him that silent man who gave his life for you?
Geoffrey Nash (United Kingdom)
Alláh-u-Abhá
Aux enfams bahé'z’x de par le monde
Chantons
enfants du monde
le royaume d'Abhá
au royaume d‘Abhá enfants du monde
seules les danses et les joies chantons
enfants du monde
le royaume d’Abhá
sont sujets d’amour d’unité et de fétes
au royaume d’Abhá chantons
enfants du monde
le royaume d‘Abhá
le royaume est 2‘1 nous
qui taisons nos préjugés et qui aimons les autres au royaume d‘Abhá chantons
enfants du monde
le royaume d’Abhá
de par le Ciel de sa Beauté Regardons Bahá nous sourire et le Maitre nous appeler au royaume d’Abhá chantons
enfants du monde
le royaume d'Abhá.
Kaluba Dibwa Lumbaya Muadiamvita (Zaire)
[Page 987]
VERSE
Bemba Song
Ileloline Nasumina Mulinani, Bahá’u’lláh Chorus: Yé Bahá’í‘u'l-Abhá (4 X)
Natutashe kuli lesa Watupele nkombe ipya
Bushe chinsi tulolela? Nkombe ipya naise lelo.
In this day I believe In Whom? Bahá‘u'lláh
Yé Bahá‘u‘l—Abhá (etc)
We give praise to God. He has given us a new Messenger.
Yé Bahá‘u’l-Abhá (etc.)
Why then do we still seek? The new Messenger has now come!
Yé Bahá’u‘l—Abhfi (etc.)
Simon Chanda Fesenge (Swaziland)
Bahá’u’lláh Words sung to a Quechua melody
Ya Bahá Tu reinarzis. Anuneiamos siempre Tu Reino. Unidos siempre en rczar, Unidos siempre en cantar.
Viviremos en nuestra Fe, Con la ayuda de Bahá’u’lláh, Con la luz de un nuevo dia. Que brilla en nuestras almas.
Con la luz de la verdad. Quitarés nuestra tristezu, Con cl pan de Vida etcrna, iPerdonad‘ Senor. pcrdén!
Hacia Ti levanto mis ojos. En Dios pongo mi esperanza‘ Por la justicia social.
Rufino Gualavisi Farinango (Ecuador)
Does the brand go to the burning, or the yearning brow Go to the brand?
Does the knife curve to the killing Or the willing flesh Curve t0 the knife?
Does the rope coil to the hanging, Or the martyr's neck Coil to the rope?
A udrie Reynolds (A [aska)
987
Cup of Martyrdom
This is no tepid milky tea-drink
[0r swallowing mildly in shallow conversations. This drink burns strong and bold on tongues yet tastes as sweet as honey.
It gathers courage thrusting forward
the prior timid towards lands of crawling grasses and stands them under flying bat-wings
to test the bitterness.
The hearts beat louder with each deep drink slowly drawn from the cup of golden utterances. A zealous song begins its bleating
0n lovers' battlefields:
‘Loving, loving‘ (in new translation) ‘for dying ties the lovers‘ knot,
in a chain a dancing chorus
chasing down a worldly rot.
Slipping through the hangman‘s fingers from the noose escapes the sigh;
they cannot slice 3 soul in splinters; they cannot quell the joyous cry.
Churning, churning‘ (amalgamation) ‘the bones can pile t0 the sky.
They cannot break the throbbing spirit; they cannot char the name, Bahá’í.’
Judith Partelow Provost (U.S‘A.)
Die Seele
So zart und klein
bin ich, so rein
und so vom All durchgliiht Du gibst dem Keim
den Leib, das Heim.
O, bleib‘ um mich bemiiht!
ICh wachse hier,
Due glaub‘ es mir.
was heimlich in mir ruht. Da leuchtet Er,
und das ist mehr
als Hirn und Herz und Blut.
Noch ferner Klang
zum schweren Gang
ins Zeitliche gebannt,
zu Freud und Zwang, zu Jubelsang,
zu dir, mein Heimatland.
Adelbert M iihlsch'legel (Greece)
[Page 988]
988 THE BAHA‘I’ WORLD
The Banishment
Accompanied by a number foi'ail-bwlivtl men 11ml children Ql'lender ugt" . t .
It is how one imagines
that long winter trek
over bleak and wind-scarred ranges as this day, reaching its sparing light forces us to spend another night against a whispering mountain.
Three months the journey lasted through hardships and hunger and the sharpest embrace of cold, sometimes He rode in the howdah ill after being so long in chains. into that frigid strangulating air whose sharpest gales extended
so negligently against them through sweeps ofdrifting snow that often blocked their passageuntil the single officer
from the Imperial guard
yearned only to turn back.
Caught in the currents of air we slip into the deep
crevice Of blue-gray rock
as the evening advances,
all manner of thoughts retreating somewhere
out there above the tree line
One seesthe opal mists gathering them in drawing together like glassy pearls the cluster of frozen tents so stark in the scaling wind. the pungent scent of horses breathing heavier than before their frosted manes now silver against the extending dark.
His eldest Son. barely a youth chanting in chilled air
within a frugal atmosphere. everyone lapsing to silence
as the gentle sounds of the prayer ascend the lamplight shadows.
Through purple daybreak
between rain and singing wind
we descend, impatient to catch
the sun's clear warmth
continually caught up
by that deliberate banishment.
One is overwhelmed by just the thoughta throat accustomed to the touch ofsilk scarred and insensibly maimed
by rusted iron fetters.
And thereHis daughter-ehild cloaked in the mistrul morning a shield to the negative cold. her attitudes transform the day rekindle their tranquillity.
Beyond each obscure summit
they move so slowly forward
into a dazzling austere sun
which soon expands to merge
one vague plateau into another
The world‘ like those callous heights. indifferent to His journey.
Yet picture the peasantry blinking into the white light. no doubt insensible t0 frost bite leaning forward. anxious to meet those Exiles:
to see His face to touch His robeto catch one glimpse might soften the untamed heart obliterate the harshness.
One overhears‘The gentle Lady offered us golden buttons in exchange for a little cooking oil and a small amount of rice.”
The village people sensed
a Great One passed among them accepting deprivation
that man might gain
immaculate Fire . _ .
BelievingWhen He departed they would see Him again and again in memory. recalling it through an ever-changing light. the arching winter sun framing His shoulders.
Crossing this iey scree
each pebble seems to shine
in pristine glaze
a mass of beauty but oh, how profusely
in the flush of spring
can one visualize
the fragile mountain flowers blooming where He had rested!
Larry Rowdon (Canada)
' Bului‘u'llzih, referring in part to His exile luwurds ‘lrziqt See Gm] l’m‘m By. pp. 106409. ilnd Bulytizi. H.M..
Buliri'u'llzili. the King ofGlary. pp. 1027105.
[Page 989]
VERSE 989
Indivisible from Us
I believe many of us share today deep pain for the waste Ofthe precious lives ofchildren everywhere . . .
Indivisible from us, these children walk their last inevitable miles a marathon from no free choicehoping to snap the finish line
alive. When they cross bridges
they cannot recall a starting
point, nor see how near
to the race end: just catch their breath, and take one further step.
They die and live in us, these children. holding spirit tight to body, as if
a loosening grasp might mean a stop, an end too soon—without
a second chance, no way to travel back. Tomorrow, brothers, sisters,
may well not start the trek, lie
under blankets at some camp, having overslcpt their human time.
Victor de Araujo (U.S.A.)
Lullaby
—for the sleeping ones In the heart of a stone
A bird grew wings
Grew eager to break
From gravity to flight.
He thought: ‘there, in the air‘s open cage.
Is my rezIIm—my first and natural domain.‘ Bird into bird he then became.
His wings opening in ecstasy
The stone ceasing to function about him.
The air became 2| kingdom of waves and paths And he had motion to express. to celebrate Becoming a truth in the joy of a truth found As much as you in the empire of dreams may know.
Martyn Burke (Belgium)
Despertar
Un mundo mortecino extiende sus alas hacia la Inflnita Luz del Alba. iPobre humanidad adormecida!
Ya Ilegé el Dia con resplandores de fuego, ardiendo en alegrl’a.
Ya eI Gallo canto con Clara y profunda voz, dando la Buena Nueva, inundando los corazones desde las Altas Ramas del Reino de Abhá.
Pero ellos , . . ,‘JSienten la Luz en sus entrafias? Desesperados. bostezan los hombres.
10h m, Pueblo!: Amanece. puntea el Sol en las colinas. Nunca més podrés cerrar los ojos ante la belleza del Paisaje.
Abrclos. pues . . . N0 dejes que el egoismo nuble tus pupilas y no veas més que transfiguradas apariencias, cayendo en el fango de tu existencia.
Abrelos, pues . . . Y que tu espiritu vivificado por el Esplendor de la Aurora aleje, dia tras dia, las vanas fantasias de un ego moribundo.
iVuela hacia la Luz. Hermano!
Mary Carmen Lozano (Spain)
Elegy
Here in the Gardens, on the paths
Where sparrows with brown tabby wings
Skip bright and simple
Catching up each pilgrim’s crumbs,
On the shaded sward where blackbirds
France and cock their saffron beaks,
Where a red crowned woodpecker, upside down, Hammers at silver twisted bark Here in these Gardens we walk and grieve The scars on one child’s downy leg,
The mark of every stone that‘s flung,
The deaths in prison, told,
The loss of every dear and helpless man.
Yet in these gentle Gardens, at dusk A robin trebles undisturbed,
And. at dawn, surprised by prayers, Frail ears flick, a rabbit scuds Breathless among roses, unpursued And stories weep from lip l0 lip.
The honour of dishonoured names,
A peasant woman‘s burning hair, Raped innocents, their souls unstained, And payment for each bullet used.
While here, in our sweet Gardens, still, Green wood-sparrows will bow the twigs
Of Cypress trees, and sunbirds
Flicker among shifting leaves
Where purple bougainvillaea teems,
And blossoms ripen into fruit, even
As the broad summer’s flame tree flourishes.
Shirin Sabri (Cyprus)
[Page 990]
990
Having loved Thee first
in contemplation
sweet prayer
and my soul’s debauch (drunken with Thy wine); dropping daily to the knee
in adoration
to all things as I thought preferring Thee
(or else that uterine sensation); I was none the less rocked, held in holy arms and fed. Filled were all the empty places deserts, grey desolate dead stretches of loneliness
and my bloodless heart
devoid of all graces,
blessed and brought to
moist and beating life.
A living heart, pulsing
with the rhythmic dance of feeling servant of a serving soul
finds less time for kneeling.
Carol Gr Handy (U.S.A.)
Passando in Treno Davanti a Portofino
Pensieri
come bianche vele sull’azzurro mare
nel sole
di Portofino vanno sulle ali del vento . . .
E l’eco,
di rimando,
in un sussurro
di preghiera,
col treno in corsa ripete e va:
Alláh’u’Abhd/. r r Alláh’u’Abhá/I . . Alláh'u'Abhdf. . . Agnese Boerio (Italy)
THE BAHA’I’ WORLD
Why I Like Religion
Some people say it’s an existential guilt reaction Due to anxiety repressed during childhood, And only now,coming t0 the fore.
Some people say it’s a miracle.
Some people tell me it’s related To being helpless, and wanting to change the system.
Other people are very sure
That it’s because I have a sense of my own mortality, Or perhaps a vague awareness
Of some of the larger themes in life.
Some people say it’s because I hate my mother.
I say it is waking to wind chimes,
The sound of rain,
The smell of bacon,
The sudden jolt of spiders on my skin, And the knowledge that sometimes People aren’t enough.
I say it comes from dying, And living again.
Charles P. Martin (U.S.A.)
A Glance at History
If there is yet time
My children will play by the fireside. And someday they may
Shake their heads in disbelief
As they stride forth from these ruins With hands clutching tightly
Their children’s hands
And their hearts clinging to
A larger blueprint,
A greater Revelation.
The future is assured:
Millenniums are
More lasting than decades.
Ron Beavers (Israel)
Naw-Rúz Hoje é Naw—Rfiz Hoje um dia mais amai a Unidade de Amor n0 Proleta um dia mais que esta junto de nés de Luz na participagéo
em cada coragao
Hoje e’ Naw-RCIZ neste mundo dos. homens meus irmaos
das oragées na verdade de Abhá
Hoje nao estamos sés Hoje é NaW-Rfiz
Carlos Salomda (Portugal)
[Page 991]
VERSE 991
Aunque Somos Asi
Somos los cimientos de una nueva tierra, somos las semillas de un nuevo jardin. Ingenuos, sencillos, humildes y pobres,
con mi] problemas, con mil deficiencias, hemos sido escogidos para ser transformados, para ser portadores de una nueva luz.
De negros carbones nos ha hecho Dios sus diamantes; dc granos de arena, ahora somos sus perlas mejores; somos las gotas de agua transverberadas por la Gloria del Sol.
Ninguno se puede gloriar de 51’ mismo,
nada de me’rito es nuestro.
No ha hecho falta casi ni valor.
Sélo dejarse llevar como la hoja en el viento por la Fuerza Suprema que todo lo elige.
lo cambia, lo eleva, lo orienta a su fin.
Somos las piedras de la celestial Kaaba, Somos los ladrillos _de una nueva Jerusalén. Nuestra fuerza es la esperanza
de que el Dia ha llegado,
la obra esté en marcha
y surge radiante una Nueva Ciudad,
la ciudad sin santuario, sin sol y sin luna porque 5610 la alumbra la Gloria de Dios.
Jasé Luis Marqués (Spain)
{JQué Pudiera Yo Decir? — Para cl Báb ioh! LQué pudiera yo pensar después de conocer tu Vida y tu Cjcmplo, tu prisién y tu martirio; dcspués de vcr tu cuerpo perforado por la descarga brutal dc sctecientos cinquenta fusiles infernales?
(,Qué pudiera yo sentir. al vcr cl santisimo santuario de tu cuerpo colgando destrozado (como péndulo inmolado), marcando cl tictac del tiempo venidero cuando todos Ios hombres tendrén que regirse por la hora exacta del reloj universal que [11 echaste a andar a la hora de tu muerte?
[,Qué pudiera yo decir. cuando siento en mi 61 reflector potente de tu amor, que atraviesa lado a lado cual cspada enmorada. mi alma tristc y lorturada por el mundo y el dolor?
g,Qué pudiera yo decir. cuando siemo que me envuelves en tu hélito divino y me llevas tras de ti; que me arrastras con tu mamo, tu mirada y tu bondad. y me llevas al sendero de una gran tranquilidad?
Báb—Heraldo, Puerta, nécido cn Oriente y fulgor dc Occidente, rayo matn’z de la unidad, espejo radiante que proyecta cl fulgurante anhelo dc Ia humanidad; yo te declaro protector, iniciador, canalizador, orientador, océano inmenso que bafia con sus olas la maravillosa tierra que nos vié nacer. 505 el precursor de la armom’a y de la maravillosa gracia que Dios manifesté, 505 la base principal y punto de apoyo espiritual de la fuerza redentora. 505 el [2120 universal que une corazones. 505 el alma dc ‘cristal‘ que riega bendiciones.
(,Qué pudiera yo decir'.’
Dennis Pilarte Arcia (Nicaragua)
[Page 992]
992
(On reading letters written
'l‘HE BAHA‘I’ WORLD Lines from Last Letters
in 1980—1981. by Bahá’í prisoners in trim, to their families, within an hour of
their execution for refusing to recant their faith.)
How simply the fictive hero becomes the real; How gladly with proper words the soldier dies If he must . . .
Wallace Stevens
I leave a wristwatch and a blanket; please collect them . . .
Brought to the extremes of our commitment
let us not speak of torture but say
death simplifies our gestures. pries us from abstractions. The cloak and flourish put aside we seek
21 humble order, a final dignity.
our testament the cordial instruction
of vacationing householder to milkman.
If] have offended anyone I ask forgiveness . . .
Finality too has its protocol.
If we die well and decorously
it is our sanctioned custom.
We are reconciled to our convention
though no one sees
and the world‘s cameras and microphones distractedly avert their glance. We have heroic models in these matters, know our end has meaning if only light and shade
come clear again in a blurred age.
I had no time to finish weaving bracelets for our daughters . . .
Reasonable men desire to leave mementoes
and we are reasonable men,
moderate even in our regret and gladness. Death might blush to call us from our innocent concerns but nothing checks that wastrel’s rasher whims.
Kiss the children for me and beg them not to mourn . . .
How simple it all is. the human pang domesticated in a penstroke.
Even the callous might not deplore our final modest question,
the one we cannot put to God:
My dearest wife, are you well pleased with me?
Lord, Lord! accept these as the proper words. Roger White (Israel)
On Time Riding my days like hump-backed whales Riding the creature He formed for me or dolphins that dauntlessly dart, that dies when we once arrive, wondering when it will start: hoping to get there alive the Day of Light with its timeless sails. where the sun is the essence of sea. Riding leviathan-style— Dolphins. whales, must you dive, above‘ beneath, and in-between— must you plunge so endlessly“? can t View the sun-struck scene Bret Breneman (U.S.A.)
or see supernal smile.