Gulistan or Bustan

the one who speaks to your soul
you ignore
you came of your own accord
the one who sees you as light
you slight 
you came here by birthright

these guides hide behind
as the sun 
peeks through clouds
as hearts lack recognition 
of roses in their very garden
Gulistan or Bustan
Junaidi or Bistami
every nation has a Saadi;
the nightingale of Shirazi
a Jami or Rumi
what does it matter
when their utterances
are one 
no former or latter 

learn from
the Persians 
who bowed to their poets
raised them as prophetess 
as saviors and sages 
flocked to tombs 
to be perfumed
in rose gardens 

contempt and skepticism
you hold for causes and isms 
poets who breathe empathy
remind us of reality 
their heart’s sing
a heavenly melody 
you listen discreetly
assumingely a stranger
yet her words speak volumes
to hearts who seek 
the wine of Divine
through words sublime 
the time is nigh
to hang poetry high 
in mosques and temples
where once upon a time
idols reigned 
when Okaz brought fame
to tribes and nations
now what has become
of Arabs estranged  
from the language 
of love that runs in 
their blood 

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