Chants to the Weeping Mother

[granny]

Farideh Goldbarg




Chants to the
Weeping Mother


[the journal is a mix of images cut from books and glued over the pages filled with poems, chants and hymns]

[granny]

MOTHER'S EMBRACE

In barren wastes where desolation wept,
Our Mother, B'aara, from stone and sand she leapt.
A world devoid of laughter, joy, or mirth,
Amidst the cruel, wicked laughter of Pra'Raj's scorching hearth.

From Celestial Wheel, she descended, tears in her eyes,
Gazing upon a land where life hardly thrives.
With sable cloak, pristine and shimmering grace,
She softened Pra'Raj's smouldering, malevolent embrace.

In shadows and shade, she sculpted her kin,
From rock and earth, her labour did begin.
Yet, they remained lifeless, no laughter or play,
Only distant gazes in a world of ashen gray.

Fearful of Pra'raj's hatred and ire,
She bore her children to a place that's most dire.
The heart of the desert, where sands first fell,
The Immolation's name, where torment and flames dwell.

Inevitable, the wrath of Pra'raj did burn,
Ablaze by his fury, there was no return.
She wept for her child, with unwavering grace,
As her soul turned to ash, in that sacred place.

Her tears fell upon us, in a gift of water pure,
From the wellspring of her love, life would endure.
The first among us, Emir, a beacon in the night,
Led us into the shade, away from Pra'raj's spite.

Under the whole Wheel's watchful sight,
We built a world where life could take flight.
Our Mother's tears, a nurturing embrace,
B'aara's gift of water, her children's saving grace.

In the shelter of her cloak, we find our way,
Guided by her kindness, in the light of day.
This is the faith we hold, our hearts aflame,
In B'aara's love, we find life's sacred name.

[granny]

THE SELFISH MAN

In a time when choices scarce, 'neath scorching, ashen skies,
A tale of a cruel man unfolds, where selfishness belies.
With waters few and far between, a source of life and grace,
He sought to hoard the precious drops, in a desolate, arid place.

No sage or shelter 'gainst the storm, the people's hopes grew dim,
Water's source, his selfish grip, for the rich and powerful, it was for him.
In this desolate land, where water's scarce, a sanctuary turned to rust,
Controlled and reserved, as the desert's cruel winds did gust.

The soul, as watery and pure, from Weeping Mother's tears,
Its essence did endure, through the passing years.
But the man's deeds, his heart grew dry, with wickedness they stained,
His soul once full, now parched and withered, as the oasis' life was drained.

What was a shelter, protection true, for the few and those in need,
Became a barren, lifeless land, where hungering hearts did plead.
The oasis, once a haven, in the face of the advancing storm,
Slowly weakened, faded away, in the desert's relentless form.

The ashen winds, with cruel intent, encroached upon the place,
The man's selfish deeds, a withering curse, as life he did erase.
Until a final, brutal ash storm came, to scorch all that remained,
The once-protected sanctuary, in the storm's fury, was maimed.

Let not this land suffer the same fate, in the face of greed and lust,
The lesson of the selfish man, in B'aara's love, we trust.
To share the gift of life's pure source, let compassion ever swell,
In this desolate place, where waters flow, may love and grace dispel.

[granny]

TWISTING GRACE

In a chamber dark, where shadows creep,
B'aara's tears, secrets deep,
Twisted, forged as one the metal and flesh,
A sacrilege against the Mother's grace.

Waters that flowed from our Mother's eyes,
Now corrupted in wicked guise,
Aberrations of form, grotesque and wild,
Innocence and purity defiled.

Her gift, a symbol of love and life,
Marred by malevolence and strife,
My heart recoils, my spirit aghast,
At this twisted creation, a blasphemous cast.

Her grace, her tears, so pure and bright,
Perverted in the unholy night,
A witness to this vile, wicked affair,
My soul cries out in despair.

With reverence, I turn away,
Praying for the light of day,
For B'aara's tears to once more flow,
For they're the desert's sacred, purest glow.

[granny]

THE TURTLE AND THE ASH SALAMANDER



In Ephia's Well, where sands do blow,
A tale of wits I now bestow.
Of a turtle, slow and wise,
A lesson learned beneath the skies.

The ash salamander, fierce and fast,
In fiery dance, its prey surpassed.
But the turtle, with a thoughtful gaze,
Sought a way to meet this fiery blaze.

With patience and with cunning mind,
The turtle's plan it hoped to find.
In stillness, it withdrew its head,
A sanctuary from the fiery spread.

The ash salamander, in its haste,
Sought to devour with fiery taste.
But the turtle, calm and slow,
Ducked within its shell below.

The flames danced, they raged and flared,
Around the turtle, unimpaired.
In stillness, it found its power,
Awaiting the salamander's final hour.

As the ash salamander tired and ceased,
The turtle's victory was now released.
With wisdom and with patience near,
It overcame the fiery fear.

So heed this tale, my friends, with care,
A lesson of intelligence rare.
In thoughtfulness and wise retreat,
Even the strongest foes we can defeat.

[granny]

THE TURN OF THE WHEEL



In Eumar Almilad, the Age of Birth, we're told,
The Wheel's first turn, creation's stories unfold.
Before, a void, life could not yet reside,
Then the Wheel set in motion, with purpose and pride.

As the Wheel journeyed, Sun, Moon, and Sky,
Waters and Ash, Life's dance in the high,
Mingling with gods in a garden of delight,
The cosmos unfolded, weaving its intricate flight.

Now in Waqt Almashaqa, the Time of Hardships, we tread,
Where many turn from wisdom, in shadows they're spread.
The Wheel departs the heavens, leaving us alone,
Yet the faithful build houses, claim the wisdom as their own.

Allahab Alakhin, the Hot Flame's cruel blaze,
A curse upon all in these dire days.
Kindled in the sky, a fire's wrathful rage,
The Wheel burns and turns, its pages flip the page.

For B'aara, the Immolation she faced in the past,
By Pra'raj's hand, a sacrifice vast.
The Immolation shall come again, a prophecy to learn,
This time, Her children shall feel the flames burn.

As the Wheel spins, its wisdom unfolds,
Four Ages repeating, as the cosmic story is told.
With each rotation, a new chapter takes the stage,
The future's secrets, written on a celestial page.

B'aara's children, unite, as one voice we've spun,
Beneath the scorching sun, our hearts beat as one.
As the time of the looming Immolation draws near,
In Mother's tears, we find solace and hold what's dear.

[granny]

THE PROUD MAN



In a land where rivers of silver did flow,
Lived a man who claimed, "I'm purer than snow."
With his head held so high, and his heart full of gold,
He thought himself better, his virtues untold.

Like a beacon of light, he dazzled the crowd,
With vanity's song, he sang clear and loud.
But a storm was approaching, a tempest so grand,
For pride was the shifting and treacherous sand.

As he gazed at the river, the bright, blazing light,
Reflecting his ego, so pure and so bright,
His vision was blinded, the river did gleam,
His arrogance crumbled like shattered glass dreams.

With no sight to guide him, he stumbled and fell,
Into waters that roared like a merciless spell.
Blinded and helpless, he met a cruel fate,
In the depths of the river, his pride sealed his state.

So remember this tale, when your ego does soar,
For pride comes before the great fall's roaring roar.
In rivers of silver, or wherever you roam,
Stay humble, dear traveler, and find your way home.

[granny]

THE PROMISE



In the era of desolation, where the lands lie barren and dry,
Ephia's Well stands as a sanctuary 'neath the somber sky.
A prophecy unfolds, whispered by the weeping breeze,
Of a time when life shall burgeon, carried by tears that appease.

The sacred waters of B'aara, a wellspring of life's embrace,
Sheltered in Ephia's haven, a divine, enduring grace.
But in the shadows, a prophecy foretells a change,
A transformation through sacrifice, in a world estranged.

Behold the barren lands, where once lush gardens thrived,
As B'aara's children weep, and from their eyes, life derived.
Ephia's Well, a refuge in the midst of the arid despair,
Holds the chalice of promise, awaiting the penitent's prayer.

The prophecy whispers of a future yet to unfold,
Where tears of penance shall turn the currents of old.
Ephia's Well, the cradle of hope in this age of blight,
Shall witness the resurrection, as tears restore the light.

In barren lands, the prophecy finds its silent place,
A narrative of redemption, unfolding through tears of grace.
Ephia's Well, the bastion where the waters of life converge,
Shall be the genesis of a new era, as B'aara's blessings surge.