Tag Archives: Light

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Núr or `Light'”

Bahá’ís throughout the world commemorate tonight after sunset and tomorrow before sunset, the first day of the Month of Núr [Light]. To each and all, a beautiful Feast!

“Sonnet in Honour of the Feast of Núr or `Light'”

He is much more than what He attracts; refraction of it all,
In lucid words these polished mirrors,
This luminosity in splendourous waves
that soothe all blatant latent fears
Within spheres of objectivity;
smartly uniformed, high-buttoned, tall,
Erect and unembellished,
capital of some fine handwriting
Scribbled there along the temple walls.
Script, the random code found
Wanting notwithstanding bolder strokes
of solace and credulity crowned
In serifs; lightest lightning
strikes a newly seated summer’s sighting,
Calligraphy to the eyes, herald of eternity…
…to the beholder; what? there
Upon the Holy Cliff, His brow–
the spring from stiller waters, golden pools;
Yes, clues. Siren and alarm
made moot above the spools
and threads that agitate creation’s needles’ dance
and aggravate of what remains where
Once there was a void. He leaves His mark
and we remain the ghostly detail of the lace;
I need not tell you Whose the eyes,
Whose the illumined brow; I’ve seen His face.

Rumi
“Light and Shadow”

…Thou art the shadow of divine Light.
We are Thy shadow in this world.
Who has seen a shadow
separated from the Light?

Sometimes the shadow stays next to the Light.
Sometimes it disappears into the Light.
If it is next to the Light,
Light and shadow are equal to each other.
When it disappears,
it merges and unites with the Light…

When it realizes it’s disappearing,
the shadow grabs the Light tightly
with the hand of desire.
In order to have God’s radiance,
this desire takes him to God.

The story of the union and
separation of light and shadow never ends.

“The Pastels, the Liquids”

colour

“The Pastels, the Liquids”

The pastels, liquidity in the glass are given sight
In purest motives from the richest reds,
Blues, or better yet, outrageous magenta shreds,
Cobalt indices within the tincture. The slight
Is, for the moment, intended, frozen, then released
In lucid translucent turbulence held captive by seals
Between the wards as ever-churning shapes reveal
The signs of bailiwick again.  The artist, her fragile ovulation, speaks
In stains, then thoroughly intoxicating flames, and then is gone. She’ll appeal
To hearts in refraction, a natural reaction in framed compassion.
Stationary, held inert, or in the running freely, stasis rationed
Rarely if at all, she invites movement along with zeal
Induced by pure delight in candlelight in the dance
Of elvish fingertips upon the eyelids, no smile left to chance.

colour3

…art at bottom by Art Adams…