Inspiration Poems

Elan that lifts me above the clouds
into pure space, timeless, yea eternal
Breath transmuted into words
Transmuted back to breath
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Poetic Masterpiece: A Childbirth Of Profundity.
Like delivery of Divine Revelations 
which favours calmness of wilderness;  
It's brought forth in Creative-Glory-Of-Solitude:
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Of all of God's creation
I love you foremost
Tower of inspiration
And kindness utmost
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I saw the Death, and she was seating
By quiet entrance at my own home,
I saw the doors were opened in my tomb,
And there, and there my hope was a-flitting
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He had a poet's heart
When he melted with pain at the sight of a wounded bird
Like an ice cube melting in summer's heat
The helpless eyes of grieving bird's mate
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Forgive you
It is not hard to forgive you
Transparent heart, i know who are you
It is okay to forgive you
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In all worthwhile endeavors,
No matter size or scope.
It shall either have a life,
Or die, a thing called hope.
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I am the lover's eyes, and the spirit's
Wine, and the heart's nourishment.
I am a rose. My heart opens at dawn and
The virgin kisses me and places me
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Intoxicated by the inspiration
Of his trade—
With mental powers at work,
A true poet rarely sleeps.
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I like to hear of wealth and gold,
And El Doradoes in their glory;
I like for silks and satins bold
To sweep and rustle through a story.
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We’ve been in the rain so long
That our eyes are sore and red;
When joy is missing,
We gaze down too long at our feet
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I remember the marvellous moment
you appeared before me,
like a transient vision,
like pure beauty’s spirit.
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Such princely and linguistic feats
As penned by Shelley, Byron, Keats
Though rich and eloquently grand
Are oft` too deep to understand
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Admired and enjoyed,
As a guide I deployed,
Messages I found,
In her poems so profound,
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I was a Poet!
But I did not know it,
Neither did my Mother,
Nor my Sister nor my Brother.
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A lilac for the anonymity,
Of Mrs. Hinkle's simple poetry.
It shines within the margins of its space,
A single note of captivating grace.
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Loved to write as far back as memory goes
Without any thought for a verse to compose

Poetic expressions of innate creativity
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He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.
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My pen is poised, what shall I write,
The mind is 'dark', it needs some light,
Some 'inspiration' would be enough
To trigger the fingers and do a rough
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It shakes my faith towards philosophy of life
Many times I thought she could have been better wife
Seconds later it turned out to be best suited for inspiration
Emergence of perfect shadow in mind for imagination
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The soul, a wanderer between realms, carries within it the whispers of *nafs-e-lawwaamah*—the stirrings of conscience, the gentle tug of self-reproach. It is a voice that calls from the depths, urging growth, reflection, and transformation. Yet, the arrogant heart, cloaked in pride, turns away from this sacred murmur. It builds walls of indifference, shutting out the divine inspiration that seeks to guide it. Like clouds drifting over a barren desert, the whispers of *nafs-e-lawwaamah* pass by unnoticed, unable to release their nourishing rain. But when these same clouds meet the forest, the trees reach out with their verdant arms, drawing the rain downward in a symphony of life. So too does the soul, when it opens itself to the call, become a vessel for inspiration, a conduit for grace.

The soul, though tethered to the earth, is not severed from the heavens. It dwells in many spheres, a traveler across dimensions, though its awareness often lingers on the material plane. Here, it feels the weight of earthly struggles, the confines of time and space, the ache of separation from its celestial home. Yet, even in this forgetfulness, the soul remains connected to the higher realms, like a star whose light reaches across galaxies, unseen but ever-present. It is only when the soul awakens to its true nature, when it remembers its origin and its destiny, that it can transcend the limitations of the earthly realm and taste the bliss of the divine.
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Hearing is ordinary;
Inspiration is divine discourse.
Hearing is instinctive;
Inspiration is the consciousness.
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wherein lies mystic keys to inspiration
wherein can be found threshold time locks
who rules imagine inspiration realms...
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inspiration instant is an intriguing mystery
inspiration born in simple or mysterious sources
inspiration chance moments mind illuminates
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inspiration sung in song sound sight smell mind flight
inspiration is a touch a thought enfolded in golden light
inspiration is texture finesse spun in rapture delight
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Today, I have the pleasure to interview Peshawa Kakayi پێشەوا کاکەیی, , a Kurdish poet from Iraq. I am happy to showcase international writers for ILA Magazine and Peshawa is extremely accomplished. Before we begin, I will share with you, his biography, and some publishing credits:

Peshawa Abdalla Abdalrahman, also known as (Peshawa Kakayi پێشەوا کاکەیی,) , is a Kurdish poet and writer. He was born on April 19,1984 in Qaladze, Kurdistan Region of Iraq. He completed his primary, secondary and high school education in the same city. In 2008-2009, he obtained a bachelor's degree in political sciences from Sulaimaniyah University. He has published articles in many newspapers and publications. He has published 21 collections of poems, written and published a research book, and a book on poetry based on four in-depth interviews. He also wrote a literary diary. That's an average of 24 books so far. He also has four books ready for publication, two of which are research and two of which are poetry.
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A short poem for inspiration
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Inspiration, from the Sunrise of the day
get up dude! find your goal your way,

Inspiration, from the lovely mum and dad
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Tree Of Inspiration.

I was ready to write a poem
A poem about a bird perched on a baobab tree
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Like droplets of gold
Moments of inspiration are full of magic
It's not the sparkling beauty that arouses my senses
It's the hidden message inside the envelope of time
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