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GA14listan: A Home of Flowers by Sayeed New 9781728303000 Fast Free Shipping-,
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- PublishedOn
- 2019-03-21
- Title
- GA14listan: A Home of Flowers
- ISBN
- 9781728303000
- Publication Year
- 2019
- Format
- Hardcover
- Language
- English
- Book Title
- Gülistan : a Home of Flowers
- Publisher
- Authorhouse
- Genre
- Poetry
- Topic
- General
- Number of Pages
- 180 Pages
關於產品
Product Identifiers
Publisher
Authorhouse
ISBN-10
1728303001
ISBN-13
9781728303000
eBay Product ID (ePID)
5038403134
Product Key Features
Publication Year
2019
Topic
General
Book Title
Gülistan : a Home of Flowers
Number of Pages
180 Pages
Language
English
Genre
Poetry
Format
Hardcover
Additional Product Features
Intended Audience
Trade
Synopsis
This is an autobiographical and fictional collection of poems and narratives exploring my distinctly Indian perspective, welcoming readers to a world of raw beauty, true emotion, and sometimes painful reality.Life is an individual journey--taken collectively, so I fantasize . . . a lot!The baring of these personal truths, the sharing of our encounters and the nature of our viewpoint, however, is what creates a sense of community and shared experience that fulfills us in ways we cannot replicate alone. It is the paradox of being human: our aloneness and togetherness at once integral to whom we are. For me, baring my soul to the world, releasing these intensely personal thoughts and feelings, is a freeing experience. Within these pages are solace and inspiration, happiness and sorrow, and a warm feeling of connection and shared understanding. Free verse poetry and flash fiction, it relies on a stream of consciousness and (hopefully) ethereal connection cascading into awareness rather than preconceived rhythm and rhyme. I have tried to artfully craft poetry and prose of myself and my homeland and have tried to bring smiles with the conversations of grandchildren on these pages.I am hoping that my words portray my emotions with resonance and beauty and with fearless honesty.Here are a couple of my poems to tease your fantasy with.ApoptosisMy grandmother always saidWinning is not the end all and be all~By winning, we sanctioned avarice.We need to learn and be wiseWisdom lasts and lasts.But we gain wisdom by losingAnd by yielding, we become the sky!But what of dying?The deaths I have knownOf people known and unknownOf loves that were here and goneAll in split seconds.And soon anything means everythingWhat is left of dying?A heartache?A wail that tears the sky?A sob that echoes through the night?The shell of a body loved and lost?Each cell shriveled and disintegrated?Such games a human gets to playAll in the name of fate!(Apoptosis is defined in medical lingo as "death of cells.")Cabin FeverI turn to poetry in times of sadness, darkness, loneliness, and many other times. It is delusional really to be so into my moods that I have to write poetry. Most of my poems are love poems. They don't rhyme, there is no name for them, and I do not follow any rules. I just write whatever comes to mind. Telling me to write a certain type of poetry literally chokes me.If you had my eyesyou would see this river going south, feeling the sky at its horizonand holding the wind on its breastIf you had my eyesyou would see it hiding behind the little hillsyou would see the flowers lower their gazealong the bends of our dreamlandsIf you had my earsyou would hear the hush of dawn the turtle doves on the windowsillthe cicadas buzzing and the sound of water lapping on the riverbankIf you had my heartyou would come to mebreathe my breathand know the fragrance of jasmine in my hairIf you had my heartyou would not leave me alone herebut take me outside and sing our songsand talk to me about our loveAnd if you had my heartyou would let your thoughts surrenderto the rush of the river, the road, a piece of skyanything~to get me out of here, my love!--Zakiah Sayeed, This is an autobiographical and fictional collection of poems and narratives exploring my distinctly Indian perspective, welcoming readers to a world of raw beauty, true emotion, and sometimes painful reality. Life is an individual journey-taken collectively, so I fantasize . . . a lot The baring of these personal truths, the sharing of our encounters and the nature of our viewpoint, however, is what creates a sense of community and shared experience that fulfills us in ways we cannot replicate alone. It is the paradox of being human: our aloneness and togetherness at once integral to whom we are. For me, baring my soul to the world, releasing these intensely personal thoughts and feelings, is a freeing experience. Within these pages are solace and inspiration, happiness and sorrow, and a warm feeling of connection and shared understanding. Free verse poetry and flash fiction, it relies on a stream of consciousness and (hopefully) ethereal connection cascading into awareness rather than preconceived rhythm and rhyme. I have tried to artfully craft poetry and prose of myself and my homeland and have tried to bring smiles with the conversations of grandchildren on these pages. I am hoping that my words portray my emotions with resonance and beauty and with fearless honesty. Here are a couple of my poems to tease your fantasy with. Apoptosis My grandmother always said Winning is not the end all and be all By winning, we sanctioned avarice. We need to learn and be wise Wisdom lasts and lasts. But we gain wisdom by losing And by yielding, we become the sky But what of dying? The deaths I have known Of people known and unknown Of loves that were here and gone All in split seconds. And soon anything means everything What is left of dying? A heartache? A wail that tears the sky? A sob that echoes through the night? The shell of a body loved and lost? Each cell shriveled and disintegrated? Such games a human gets to play All in the name of fate (Apoptosis is defined in medical lingo as "death of cells.") Cabin Fever I turn to poetry in times of sadness, darkness, loneliness, and many other times. It is delusional really to be so into my moods that I have to write poetry. Most of my poems are love poems. They don't rhyme, there is no name for them, and I do not follow any rules. I just write whatever comes to mind. Telling me to write a certain type of poetry literally chokes me. If you had my eyes you would see this river going south, feeling the sky at its horizon and holding the wind on its breast If you had my eyes you would see it hiding behind the little hills you would see the flowers lower their gaze along the bends of our dreamlands If you had my ears you would hear the hush of dawn the turtle doves on the windowsill the cicadas buzzing and the sound of water lapping on the riverbank If you had my heart you would come to me breathe my breath and know the fragrance of jasmine in my hair If you had my heart you would not leave me alone here but take me outside and sing our songs and talk to me about our love And if you had my heart you would let your thoughts surrender to the rush of the river, the road, a piece of sky anything to get me out of here, my love -Zakiah Sayeed
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