The Poetry of Arthur Vaso

The Middle East is a land of magic, history, beauty and a diversity of peoples and cultures. It is also steeped in literature and poetry. Some of these poems are from personal visits there, and stories I have listened too. Others simply on the timeless history of the lands and peoples.
As I have written many poems on the atrocities of war and events in the middle east, I shall provide a link here, should the poems or the images be too graphic. I realize that for many this is a sensitive issue and especially for those who have had to suffer such horrendous events. I do write these stories, as I believe only by learning from the past can we move forward, and also so that others may get a glimpse to the suffering of war, and therefore have compassion for all of humanity regardless or race, color, religion. DO NOT CLICK if you do not wish to see graphic images.    Poems about War and Suffering

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Between Graves
 
Parents cold as stone
he lies in a blanket of blood
lifeless
sleep offers no comfort
only nightmares of tomorrow's bombs
explosions to kill dreams
tyrants sing as the child cries
clinging to the dead heart beat
of mother and father
in the sands of Syria
there exists no oasis
only the smell of death remains
rulers play the devils violin
pain drowns all notes
no more fairy tales
Brothers Grim offer no comfort


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Genocide
 


Erdogen polishes golden bullets
in his corrupted palace
genocide their historic specialty
Assad joyously gasses his people
triumphant
the distant world watches
over and over and over
a whisper heard
no friend but the mountains
Americans run away


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The Phoenicians

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From turbulent seas
rise mighty noble Phoenicians
sailors and masters in commerce
twenty two constant warriors
ancestors of our language
four vassals, thriving Phoenician pride
furnished the Persian kingdom
from the mountaintops
tall cedars, sculpted to fine ships
humanity forever
sleeps in Byblos
ancient city bathed in
supple cream soft moonlight
sea winds carry messages
ancestors whispered to me
 
Fragmented, listless
an abandoned seashell
split in pieces
like Phoenicia


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The Village of Hardine
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The Village of the Windmill

 

I may do things the old way
Milling grain with windmill dreams
Slowly, that's how we caress our desires
While the windmill turns
My ears listen to the birds that sing
My village is quiet now
Love letters left here long ago
So I mill my grain, as wildflowers grow
Softly I dance inside my head
Wishing my lover, she was not dead
 

Habibte, my memories are for only you
I sell my grain, and pay my dues
Within my heart, is only, only you
Droughts and war, habibte our love stronger still
Holding you, now a silly illusion
Back then so soft and so true
Our love
          Torn from our grasp
 
 

Dream of me habibte
I know you are high above
Dream of me
Soon I will hold your angel wings
No wars or evils shall keep us apart
I mill my grain on this dreary day
Knowing soon, we shall both fly up and away
 

Love has escaped us here on earth
The seventh day I sit by your grave
I sing you songs as you did to me
Oh habibte, let death bring me to thee
I sigh each time at your vision of splendor
 

Let kassab make us this miracle
Love has patience, habibte
Wait for me
As I wait for you
Kisses forever, boukra


A Prayer for Lebanon
This prayer and poem, dedicated to to the victims of the terrorist attack in Beirut, Nov 12, 2015, no matter where evil strikes, we humanity with open hearts shall condemn and hold hands with all the suffering peoples.

I wish to offer an immense thank-you to a person who provided inspiration, and retrospection for me, a poet in her own right whom I hope to display here as a quest poet! Eileen Manassian. How wonderful that fellow parts from half way around the world can share ideas cultures feelings and thoughts.

Let us Pray
 
Let us bow our heads
Let us shed our tears
In memory
For Nov 12, 2015
For all that has past
Do we not now share a bond?
Remember those who came in peace
So that you may live today
To cast your doubts
They too, need your hearts
Bear no guilt
For we are all humans
With human fragilities
Let us as one
Both remember and weep
Shed tears and soul to keep
For the lover lost
The child departed
We light candles
For all of you
Both near and far
Beirut loves you one and all




The Twelve Angels of Beirut

They huddle together in the heavens
Muttering amongst themselves
Confused as any human down below
 
We bestow upon them the ancient teachings
Not once, not twice, variations to please all walks of life
Yes thrice
 
They may choose the ancient books they follow
They may keep the traditions yet must adapt to modern intellect
Such literate men who seem not to read
 
Who can cast his eyes at his child?
Feeling nothing but love and endearment?
Who pray tell us is displeased to arrive at his home at dusk?
 
Angels we twelve have nourished
We have showed you both love, morality and compassion
Yet ye who divides faith, chooses battle
 
You so easily prefer to drink blood
Rather than bestow a red rose upon breast
Olive trees so ripe have no meaning at all for you
 
Like a tree that reaches the sky
All things change, as evolution’s duty dictates
Yet you fight to keep perceptions frozen in time
 
You cover a woman’s face
When its you who should hide in shame
Modesty is how we bestow good deeds to strangers
 
It is how we look at our hearts in the mirror
A woman’s beauty should shine to the heavens
Competing only with a mans debonair style of chivalry
 
Honor you mother and father
Honor your tribe
Not with traditions and rented cloth
 
Honor with your whole heart
Feed the poor and kiss your enemy on both cheeks
The skies will become your friend
 
We sit here waiting in torment and anguish
Crying to the heavens that surround us
We gave you hearts and minds
 
You return us blood and bombs
We are ashamed of our duties
For we have obviously failed you
 
Forgive us, you tribes of the three branches
We are the twelve angels of Beirut
Whose tears give you your sea


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SILENT ONE

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Seated upon misfortune
Alone in the dust
Ruble all over
As far as the eye can see
There is truth in war
Only dead bodies know the score
 
He sits all alone
An exploded bomb his new throne
His family all gone
They call him
The Silent one
 
For he speaks not a word
No smile, only stares at the absurd
He has not a name
All of six, he holds a wobbly cane
Made of fractured splinted wood
 
Trucks and tanks moving down ruined streets
Soldier’s triumphant, thinking they’ve won
If only they saw the stares
Of the Silent One
Wars make tears very cheap
 
Something in his eyes
No tears, just a wonder of the why
The hospital is up ahead
I stop, no longer the destination I dread
I can not move
He can not talk
 
I gently pick him up
In my arms, he shivers
I grasp tight
He holds on with his tiny might
Not a word is spoken
The Silent One
 
Our hearts beat in rhythm
He gently embraces my hug
I whisper ever so softly
You are safe silent one
Forever is now with me
In each eye, a lone tear appears
Shhhhhhh Silent one
One day
You will sing again
I promise
 
Back to black
Back in time
Back to wine
Can’t solve the worlds crimes
If only I can save you
This one time


The Muslim
 



She looked into my eyes
There were tears, she wept
She was filled with remorse
But her past was not of her doing
 
Senseless death is never accepted
Never understood
Her sister is gone, no tear undone
For wanting to smile, to love, be young
 
Cultures grow old, wither and die
Some linger on, and make us cry
So stand up, when it becomes too clear
Defend those of the weak, those in fear
 
With voices loud, and filled with love
We shall rejoice, unveil 1000 doves
Kiss away those tears, the pain of so many years
Look into her dead eyes, take comfort, she will smile
 
From her grave, she will surely see
The anguish left, from barbaric acts
This hatred of man can never last
A child is she, a shining light
 
Sister, she would grasp your body an soul
And whisper, you must continue this fight
Forgive those who walk in blindness
And cherish those who forgive with kindness






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May humanity know that a woman's smile, is the gift of peace and love for us all, never shall any man for any cause be allowed to take captive the joys of life that belong to all mankind.



Stones belong in the past, The Garden of Hope with roses, belongs to this day.
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The Syrian Devil
 
Children lie dying
Punished for waking up one more day
In unbearable heat, in a dirty war
They have no generals
To defend them
From the evils of men
They have no advocates for peace
All the gods seem to be sleeping
As so many infants weep, into deathly silence
They exist no more
Good men take no action
As evil men fight for more blood
We must stand up to the horrors
And give breath to those too weak to stand
We must march on in honor and face the faceless
Who wish harm to all with good will
Sadness created by Assad
For many a year
Infants give only love
Can we not promise them?
Shoofakboukra?
Marhaba

Written: Aug 12, 2013
Notes:
Shoofakboukra = We will see you tomorrow
Marhaba = God is Love
 
Inspired not only by recent events, but by interviews with people who at the time were children playing with unexploded phosphorus bombs dropped by the Syrian regime in Lebanon.
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  • Home
  • Vaso's Blog
  • Current Poems
  • Introspection
  • Humanity-People
  • France
  • MIddle East
  • Dark
  • Gothic
  • History
    • Woman in History
  • Humor
    • Limericks
  • Love
  • Stories
    • ChildrensPoems
    • StoryTelling
  • Guest Poets
    • GuestBio's
    • Guests2016
    • In Memory
    • Collaborations
    • Dedicated To
    • Music of the Week
  • ARTGallery
  • Music
  • Support