[Feminism is] a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians...
Unknown "~Sahrazad~" Wild - 16 years, 6 months, 9 days ago

the lyrics to one of my favourite ilahis, Demedim Mi (which means ‘Didn’t I Tell You?’). So, here it is. Ma sha Allah, I absolutely love this ilahi. May God ease our weary hearts with these beautiful lyrics.

Demedim Mi (translation & lyrics courtesy of Hakkani)

Guzel asik cehrimizi cekemezsin demedim mi
Bu bir riza lokmasidir yiyemezsin demedim mi

O beautiful lover, you can’t bear our countenance, didn’t I tell you?
This is a morsel of acceptance, you cannot swallow it, didn’t I tell you?

Demedim mi demedim mi, Gonul sana soylemedim mi
Bu bir riza lokmasidir yiyemezsin demedim mi

Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you, O my heart didn’t I say to you?
This is a morsel of acceptance, you cannot swallow it, didn’t I tell you.

Yemeyenler kalir nacar gozlerinden kanlar sacar
Bu bir demdir gelir gecer duyamazsin demedim mi

Those who do not eat will remain out, blood pours out from their eyes
This is a moment, it comes and goes, you cannot hear it, didn’t I tell you?

Demedim mi demedim mi, Gonul sana soylemedim mi
Bu bir riza lokmasidir yiyemezsin demedim mi

Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you, O heart didn’t I say to you?
This is a morsel of acceptance, you cannot swallow it, didn’t I tell you.

Pir Sultan ALI Sahimiz HAKKA ulasir ahimiz
On iki imam katarimiz diyemezsin demedim mi

Pir Sultan Ali is our King, our sigh reaches to the Truth
The twelve Imams are our train, you can’t say, didn’t I tell you?

Demedim mi demedim mi, Gonul sana soylemedim mi
Bu bir riza lokmasidir yiyemezsin demedim mi

Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you, O my heart didn’t I say to you?
This is a morsel of acceptance, you cannot swallow it, didn’t I tell you.


Unknown "~Sahrazad~" Wild - 16 years, 7 months, 6 days ago

"Hell of Heaven"
Candles. Lights.
Will-o’-the-wisps on the bedside table.
Not the paschal long wax candle
but the pagan fire of Druid rituals.
Let us adore the body
unequivocal sanctuary of the verb and of being.
Golden eyes blink
in the polished brilliance of the mirror
where you are my ivory tower.

In the flask I pour the aromatic oil.
An odor of jasmine musk cathedral incense
soaks the wind the nostrils.
Your head far away. Your arm outlined
The texture of wide nervations. The wide obverse of the foot.
Centaur feet. Ugly your feet, exciting. Like the hoofs
of the unicorn removing bushes with its horn of infinite spirals.

There is no equilibrium more exact than that
of a man and a woman returned to primeval clay.
The shoulder blades jump; the thigh-bones are smashed to smithereens
The rigidity of the skeleton abandons itself to the tremulous flesh.
The light of the candles dashes on the mirror mystical visions.
Medusas. Cyclops. Satiated Saturns.

I don’t know where your hands
in this labyrinth of magnificent monsters devouring each other.
Who are you contorted creature that thus strip me
of my priestess decency?
Your skin is fluid and burning.
The wax melts in the crystal vessels.
Your mouth chatters on mine.
Or is it the flame spluttering?
The fire finds its own conflagration.
Only the oil of the night
burning sails lap the still lake
of the incandescent mirror.

There my foot.
The red nails. The impossible extension of a lone leg.
The white landscape. The skins submerged in igneous lava
panting bubbling vaporizing. The fire
comes and goes with the sound of the sea on the reefs.

On the consumed, charred bodies
the candles go out one by one.

I shake my hair. I get up, phoenix from the ashes.
I am a hell of heaven.


Gioconda Belli

Translation by Nicolás Suescún


Unknown "~Sahrazad~" Wild - 16 years, 7 months, 9 days ago

From – Twenty Poems of Love


I can write the saddest lines tonight.

Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’

The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.

I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.

Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.

What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.

That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.

As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me


The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.

Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.

Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.

Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her.

Pablo Neruda



Unknown "~Sahrazad~" Wild - 16 years, 7 months, 18 days ago

Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks


All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.

Pablo Neruda


Unknown "~Sahrazad~" Wild - 16 years, 7 months, 18 days ago