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Volumes
Volumes
Volumes
Ebook144 pages36 minutes

Volumes

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A journey against historical time upon the pillars of carved sayings, with each poem portraying a version of their prose, fantasy and moral, all combine to form Volumes. A book of poetry based on Arabic Proverbs and Sayings partitioned into nine volumes with a following fabricated theme, transitioning like the seasons, the sky with the horizon, Nature, Gardens, Oceans, Religion, Lost Paths, Darkness, Tradition, Breezes, Love, Loss and many other similar but ignored topics of every day lives, creating art. 

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 30, 2018
ISBN9781386905547
Volumes
Author

Faisal Iqbal Khan

Faisal Iqbal Khan studies engineering in the UAE. He is very passionate about the art form of literature. After reading the great works of F. Scott Fitzgerald, J. R. R. Tolkien, Edgar Allan Poe, Oscar Wilde, and John Green, he fell in love for the written word. He started experimenting writing short blog posts, and short stories on his WordPress blog with his group of writing friends. Continuing to write privately and sharing among his group of friends, he came up with the idea for Volumes discussing the morals of Arabic Proverbs with a friend. He continues to read all kinds of literature and praises the works of all kinds of art local and abroad.  

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    Book preview

    Volumes - Faisal Iqbal Khan

    A journey against historical time upon the pillars of carved sayings, with each poem portraying a version of their prose, fantasy and moral, all combine to form Volumes. A book of poetry based on Arabic Proverbs and Sayings partitioned into nine volumes with a following fabricated theme, transitioning like the seasons, the sky with the horizon and the sea and creating art.

    I am not going to mark which poems stand on the pillars of Arabic Proverbs, as that would defeat the purpose of art and equality among all the other poems in this book. There is also no punctuation period(.) in any of the poems because I believe beauty does not end, and in order to enhance the equality of beauty, all of the poems are written in lowercase.

    Those who can apprehend the omens of sayings and proverbs, they will.

    Art does not need a reason to exist.

    Volume 1: The Rose, And Her Muse

    Take time to smell the roses. – Proverb

    I.

    Twenty-one rosebuds are fallen

    perished lovers and their rotting hearts

    ponder around the majestic inflamed fountain

    where she tore her spines to create beautiful art

    II.

    The rose petals fashioned in her beauty,

    flourish blush in the tumble of to-day

    as wealthy as pale skin with a shimmery shine,

    she tales delicately near the seas,

    as they journey below her glamour, gleefully,

    the stars arise bold to attend to her,

    when they flash and gloss, amused and minding,

    when she hearts into the valley amid the woodlands,

    the grasses nurture emotionless from her odour

    then all the rose sprouts that may sprout

    render in admiration to the fellow being

    III.

    For every rose that is mature

    a mistress writes a poem for her muse

    it allusions the loveliness of nature

    solitary to yield tender smiles

    embraces those given out in the calm

    the orchard only grows beyond roses

    for roses are only floras with thorns

    they arose into an occasion for the dearest

    while the fathom colourblind would lonely

    realise them as uniquely dead

    love is merely gaily frozen

    is why memoirs frequently have no colour

    IV.

    Her smile in instances short,

    and my heart seizures absolute,

    and many admirers fall hurt;

    but what wounded is to form that?

    i interrogate myself and turn; we might die:

    in the method of distinct liveliness

    our spirits and love, in the end, will rot;

    but what actions will endure in that?

    i cry upon the lovers in the heaven

    someway, in the end, it will all be even

    when flowers and kisses from her are given;

    but is that really what my heart desires?

    V.

    Walk beside me, my lover said,

    as she strolled along the edge of the cliff,

    and i saw the noiseless tone

    breezing her hair back

    in a magnificent striking waterfall,

    her eyes brusque with silent fear

    of the advancing tornado of the high windfall,

    i gaze into her beauty and grin with virtue,

    holding her reality and letting myself go,

    far, far away into the distant lands,

    i have finally made a sacred home

    VI.

    The utmost suffering of all is

    meeting the fallen rose petals

    and viewing them with

    unconditional love; as

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