Sayeeda Sharmin:诗不属于他，只是灵魂的言语

诗繁韵诗社

The Poet and the Poem

The poet is like a silent dervish,

words are his beads of remembrance,

and every verse—

a prayer offered in an unseen court.

To him, the poem is a river,

whose source is not found in this world—

it flows from the unseen mountains of the soul,

like a fountain of light.

The poet is sometimes fire,

a silent flame burning within—

its smoke unseen,

yet its warmth spreads

across countless hearts.

A poem is a mirror of the heart,

where not words, but feelings are reflected—

where sorrow falls like rain,

and love becomes an endless sky.

The poet is a traveler,

who walks no visible path—

his way is unseen,

his destination—the deepest Kaaba of the heart.

A poem is sometimes silence,

where words come to an end,

yet meaning remains—

like hidden tears within prostration.

The poet does not write with a pen,

he writes with the soul—

not ink, but emotions flow,

and every letter becomes a remembrance.

A poem is a hidden love,

that does not seek to be revealed—

yet in every line it softly whispers,

“I am here… feel me.”

So the poet never takes pride,

he only carries—

the poem is not his, it is the language of his soul,

and he himself is a single line

being written by his own soul.

诗人与诗篇

诗人宛若静默的苦行僧，

文字是他追忆的念珠，

每一行诗句——

都是向无形圣殿献上的祷告。

于他而言，诗是一条长河，

源头不在尘世人间——

它自灵魂隐寂的山峦奔涌而出，

如一束光之泉源。

诗人有时是烈火，

是心底默默燃烧的火焰——

烟火无形无迹，

暖意却悄然漫过

万千心灵。

诗是心灵的明镜，

映照的不是字句，而是情愫——

哀愁如雨般洒落，

爱意化作无垠长天。

诗人是远行的旅人，

从不走世间可见之路——

他的征途隐于无形，

归宿，是灵魂最深处的圣殿。

诗有时是无声的静默，

言辞于此走到尽头，

意蕴却恒久留存——

如同俯身跪拜时深藏的泪水。

诗人不以笔墨书写，

他以灵魂落笔——

流淌的不是墨色，是真情，

每一个字符，都化作一份心念。

诗是一份隐秘的深情，

不求被世人洞穿显露——

却在每一行文字里轻声低吟：

“我就在这里……感知我。”

故而诗人从不恃才自傲，

他只是默默承载——

诗不属于他，只是灵魂的言语，

而他自己，亦是一行文字

由自己的灵魂缓缓写就。