Saturday, June 16, 2012

The Planets

The planets circulate, outwardly and inwardly.
At night, in this winter-time, I look out into the sparser garden...
here's the blue star flower, from Argentina ( Ipheion uniflorum ), a Euphorbia and a native Everlasting, coming out into bloom in the big, wide, cold, dark world.
We inch towards the Sun, however far.
We show our feathers. We genuflect. We hope everything we are and contain will be enough.
Am I visible at night? Will the planets collide into me or will they sail into new orchestrations?
I am as durable as a moth, but I'm sure I'll fly beyond the planets, one day,
with my blue wings,
and my blue petals.
Our worlds are nothing but little windows into the night sky, where larger forces navigate above us.
We are contained in a breathing greenness. We sprout, whatever the weather. We reach,
each of us a planet.


  1. Hello Faisal:
    Such wonderfully poetic lines are contained in this post which does, of course, encourage the reader to think, even if for a few moments only, of his or her place in the Universe and simultaneously of what may lie beyond this present, earthly existence.

    'Our worlds are nothing but little windows into the night sky' is such a beautiful expression of the fragility of man, as we see it, and the transient nature of our world.

    As always we send our love and warmest greetings from a sun filled Budapest.

  2. Dear Budapest, and the lovely Jane and Lance who live there,
    how dismaying it is to face the cold. I used to love it. As my bones are getting older, so the coldness goes further, the coldness goes further into me.
    Our condition is certainly difficult, down here in this earthly world. It will pass. Sooner than we know it, we will be set unto a vaster world.
    May all the love you project be shone back onto you.
    And the sun shine throughout.

  3. Faisal, I know when I find you have posted I will find something interesting and thought provoking. This morning you have taken me to the Ballet. After reading through your words several times. I have found it difficult to put my finger on the feeling it has created for me. The words that keep rising are tranquil, peaceful, and content. I want the curtain to rise and hear the music one more time. Bonnie

    1. Oh Bonnie, that's an incredibly touching thing to say. I hadn't seen it as a ballet, but now I do, now I can. I'm glad it's left a tranquil feeling with's important to me how I affect others, and that this be harmonious.

  4. You are a poet dear Faisal!
    I find your lines wonderful to read and your thoughts,
    like small planets are thavelling around
    our little blog universe

    1. Thanks, Demie. Our world is vast, yet encouraging, heartfelt words make the space between us all so much smaller.

  5. I don't know your blue star flower. I have a Scilla, which I have waited so long for it to flower at all, that the taxonomists have renamed it Merwillea.

    1. Diana, only after reading your tactful words did I check to see what my 'blue star flower' was, and more importantly, where it comes from: Argentina! A bulb, it starts to pop up in Autumn, and has only recently begun flowering. It ( Ipheion uniflorum ) is one of my favourite flowers.

  6. dear Faisal, your words and images are beautiful and profound, they make me think of The Little Prince, also spiritually rich and poetic, which I recently re-read. That euphorbia is a relative of the plant you gave me. It is doing well, and I think sends its regards to you and its lost garden. The trick is to make it feel chosen, not rejected. Like all of us. I have that Ipheon too, it must do well in our climate. cheers, catmint

  7. Thankyou, Catmint. My writing's a bit sporadic in quality, but I love the process of playing with words to get to look at things differently. Yes, the euphorbia here is the parent of yours...I think I told you it came from Stephen Ryan, so it has a good pedigree! I hope yours BOOMS. And yes, feeling chosen or loved makes all the difference for all life.

  8. Thoughts to warm the heart on a cold dark night.

  9. Fine meeting of words and images. Looking out from winter refuge with interest and hope.