Sultan Schahriar Poem by Daniel Brick

Sultan Schahriar

Rating: 5.0


He has never known desire, never felt
that magnetic pull toward another being
to close the gap that divides people,
that confines us all to our spheres of aloneness,
the arid places without fruit or fragrance,
where SELF grows steadily weaker and dimmer
until some warped brain mechanism compensates
by severing the heart from its fulfillment, the body
from its pleasures, the soul from its renewal.
Such is our estate: a barren ruined treasure chamber,
a temple deserted by its gods, a mountain range
whose summit collapses into the caldera each time
it grows large enough to flash into spontaneous life.
But alone in the night Scheherazade rehearses her next story.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: fable
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Simone Inez Harriman 28 February 2016

A captivating read that draws you in analyzing the inner meaning and leaving you thirsty for more. “There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.” ― Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale

0 0 Reply
Daniel Brick 28 February 2016

This is a great rhapsody on the wonder of language, and how words tease us with wit and wisdom. They summon us to be creative and inventive. BTW I just met (at an opera performance) a couple that lived in New Zealand for 22 years and just 18 months ago moved to the Twin Cities MN.

0 0
Kelly Kurt 18 February 2016

Were I a king, my realm would collapse under these circumstances. Frail, frail human being

0 0 Reply
Daniel Brick 18 February 2016

This character is both a powerful Sultan and a frail human. What ultimately is he? Well, death suggests frail human because he cant't take the sultanate with him into the the Great Unknown.

0 0
Souren Mondal 17 February 2016

LONLINESS AND ALIENATION LIES THE HEAD WEARING THE CROWN... People in power become so drunk in it that they cease to be human beings. I have often wondered that behind the sheer brutality of Kings there might have been a human soul, lurking in the dark, hoping for an outlet. I always think about Ashoke - called the CHANDASHOKE or THE CRUEL ASHOKE.. From their he became the DHARMASHOKE or the BENEVOLENT ASHOKE... This sultan is same for me.. All kings must play the role of a 'king' so much so they cease to exist as themselves and become a walking embodiment of what they are supposed to be... Thank you Daniel. As usual, a poem that captivates.

1 0 Reply
Daniel Brick 18 February 2016

A human soul, lurking in the dark, hoping for a outlet. - That's the crisis for a man of power: when he leaves the dark, will he be ready to reform or fall back into violence immediately. the story of Ashoke conveys hope to me. I hope it's true.

0 0
Mike Smith 17 February 2016

I don't know whether I should envy or pity this sultan. Aloneness can be painful. But if there's no desire to quell it, perhaps this sultan experiences solitude differently than most. Besides that, great buildup, wonderful detail, and an appropriately explosive ending.10

1 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success