GENERAL VERSE

GENTLE WHISPERS

As the sun dips low, with wings filled with ink,
His golden brush paints a brilliant landscape.
A tapestry of silence calls the mind to think,
To ponder this breathtaking display taking shape.

The wind, an artist, dances through the greens,
Like a poet’s open heart, wild with glee.
It twirls and creates nature’s unbridled scenes,
Composing sweet stanzas through Divine decree.

I hear a gentle whisper as it softly weaves,
Through a sea of sunflowers, erect and fair.
An endless verse, upon the meadow it conceives,
A celebration of life, inviting all to share.

Its breath is like a song cascading as it passes,
While birds and butterflies rejoice in their flight.
Each breath is a word, that dances through the grasses,
And the poem lingers on, like eerie echoes in the night.

Oh, blessed night! the moon overhead glows;
The wind still whispering tales through the trees.
As I embrace the quietude, a distant brook flows,
And a choir of crickets harmonizes with the breeze.

Upon this endless meadow, keeper of the lore,
Reflective moments invade the troubled mind.
For in this green expanse, our hidden spirits soar,
Longing for the Unseen and the Divine.

©Habib Dabajeh

ECHOES OF ABSENCE

In every year, a hollow echo lies,
A haunting whisper in the silent night.
The moments pass beneath the weary skies,
Yet none can fill the void you left in flight.

Each dawn breaks gently, casting muted hues,
But colors fade; their brilliance is lost to time.
The world continues, yet I stand bemused,
For in your absence, joy becomes a crime.

I trace the paths where laughter used to bloom,
But shadows linger where the light once danced;
The seasons change, yet still, I sense the gloom,
As memories of you hold me entranced.

In sorrow’s grasp, your beauty softly sighs,
A rose you are in essence, deep and pure.
But with every glance, my aching heart dies,
And I struggle in your glow to find a cure.

Your skin, a whisper, softer than the dawn,
Adorned with hues that blush in summer’s breeze;
Yet tangled thoughts of loss and love are drawn,
For in my heart, your memory stirs unease.

Your eyelashes flutter, as dreams start to flee;
You stretch like the morning, unfurling your grace.
How cruel these dreams that keep on beckoning me,
Only to retreat from my heart and shield your face.

Time sweeps away the years that stretch and bend,
And roses wither away, as moments slip like sand.
How strange, this fragile marvel I have penned,
A bloom so rare is not bound by time’s cruel hand;

My love, a rose, a marvel that silence speaks,
But the thorns of fate have pierced my tender heart.
As the warmth of the sun kisses her blushing cheeks,
In comes the dawn, and with the dawn, dreams depart.

Oh, I wish away the day and beg the night to come,
To admire your beauty again and wonder why,
Why the dawn disrupts our romance, and I succumb,
And surrender myself back to reality and die.

©Habib Dabajeh

BABY RORO

In the golden dawn, where dreams take flight,
A child awakens, kissed by soft sunlight.
With laughter like ripples on a tranquil sea,
She dances through daybreak, wild and free.

Just like her Papa, strong in his grace,
She’ll weave through the world with a joyful embrace.
Each note of her song, like the birds on high,
Will echo through valleys, resound in the sky.

No longer will she fret what the others may say,
For the melody flows in her heart’s bright ballet.
Unfettered by whispers that linger like mist,
She’ll hum to the heavens, a verse wrapped in bliss.

With ears crafted gently, she’ll gather each sound,
The murmurs of kindness that whisper around.
Her dazzling eyes hold compassion so pure,
In a world often weary, she stands to endure.

And when shadows encircle, with darkness they bring,
She’ll rise like the sun and the joy in her sing.
For love is the language that she’ll always speak,
In every soft utterance, it’s hope that will peak.

So let the world watch as she pens from her soul,
A symphony vibrant, making broken things whole.
Just like her Papa, she’ll shine her light bright,
A beacon of kindness in the deepening night.

In the garden of life, where the wildflowers bloom,
She’ll dance to the rhythm that sweeps away the gloom.
With love as her compass and whatever dreams may bring,
One day, just like her Papa—Oh, how she will sing!

©Habib Dabajeh

THE ONE THEY ADMIRE

In the dawn’s gentle blush, where skies are clear,
Their wings flit in joy and delicate flight.
All day long, without ceasing, they gather near,
And pour out their hearts in a symphony bright.

Each note is a story, woven with glimmer,
From shadows of branches, their voices arise.
A tale of hope whispered, soft as a shimmer,
Like Cherubim dancing in wide-open skies.

The thrush tells of spring with its clear, joyful trill,
In melodies that the earth proudly enfolds.
Larks praise the sunrise, while the world is calm and still;
Their songs are the lanterns that guide weary souls.

“Rise, dear hearts, let your spirits aspire,
The skies above witness our endless delight;
Like us, be unbroken, let love be your fire.
Join in our chorus, embrace the bright light.”

For the tree sways in rhythm, as if it can hear,
Their fluttering feathers are soft like a prayer.
They call upon poets, whose whispers are sincere,
To join in their singing and fill the air.

Yet shadows may creep, ever so slight,
Each day brings its burdens, each heart has a weight,
In corners where light seems to vanish from sight,
Those angels keep on singing, defying their fate.

What is it that moves you, creatures of the skies?
Do you not see man’s sorrow as you flit around?
A sad robin paused, tilted its head, and cries,
“Each sorrow is transient, yet love knows no bound.

For we are the vessels of joy and despair,
Each note carries truth, each cry a release.
In whispers and outcries, we open the air.
In harmony woven, we find our sweet peace.”

Beneath the green canopy, life danced in delight,
The sun dipped low, painting the skies in a deeper hue.
Beneath tree limbs, basking in warm, golden light.
The birds welcomed twilight, as night gently grew.

“Oh, dear little singers, do you not tire as you sing?
Is the heart not exhausted of constant flight?”
But amidst the light dusk, a wise owl took wing,
With glimmering eyes opening wide in the night.

“Tired? Oh no, my dear, we are woven from grace,
By the Hand that made us wander His sky.
Each time we rise, His glory we embrace
And offer our deepest devotion to the Most High.

For you see, there’s a rhythm in joy and strife,
Each song is a painting on the canvas of the day;
In victories celebrated, in the struggles of life.
Together, we craft it, as love lights the way.”

The crickets kept chorus as stars danced above,
While a gentle breeze sighed in the calm night.
As dusk settled gently, like a blanket of love,
Some birds softly sighed, some still in flight.

“Join us, dear mortals, take flight from your cares,
Let your hearts be uplifted; the stars are your kin,
For life’s but a season, don’t dwell on your affairs,
For in this wild world, the lights slowly dim.”

They sang through the night, under the moon’s glow,
And all through the day, they never seem to tire.
With the promise of another morning approaching slow;
They are preparing more hymns for dawn fire.

United by song, they transcended all sorrow,
In the chorus, they chimed, each soul to inspire.
Showing how every day brings a brighter tomorrow,
And to never tire of praising the One they admire.

©Habib Dabajeh

TWO LOVE BIRDS

I sat down to write you a love song,
But I could not find the perfect words.
So I pleaded with nature to sing along,
And I was greeted by two lovely birds.

They eagerly perched at my window,
And quickly sensed the pain in my heart.
We waited patiently until the sun began to glow,
And ordered the last star to depart.

As I stood mesmerized by their tune,
With each gentle note, inspiration would spark.
My heart stirred frantically, I thought I’d swoon,
And the verses unfurled like dawn in the dark.

Two love birds with feathers so bright,
Sang and praised the coming dawn.
As my heart swelled, I began to write
A poem inspired solely by their song.

Ode to the moment when two hearts shine,
Like petals of roses, fresh-kissed by the dew,
In the soft blush of morning, touched by the divine,
My verses are woven, my thoughts are of you.

I pray that the whispers from wings soaring high,
For each line is a prayer, a hope wrapped in rhyme;
Would reach you, my love, like a breeze passing by,
Echoing softly, transcending all time.

Do you hear the lovebirds, my sweet, tender muse?
Each flutter, a promise, each chirp, a delight.
Their chorus is rich with the love that they choose,
A symphony woven from pure golden light.

Through the stillness of dawn, as it starts to unfold,
They dance in the air, a majestic embrace.
The lovebirds take flight, and their story is retold.
Teaching us love in its purest of grace.

So here is my offering, heartfelt and true,
With thanks to those angels who welcomed the dawn.
This poem is painted in colors of you,
A melody meticulously crafted, a love that goes on.

In the hush of the morning, when hearts softly blend,
And in every petal, in every sweet song;
Remember their echoes, and let love never end,
For in my heart, is where you forever belong.

I pray it finds your heart, and your heart sings
This poem with verses that ring so true.
You can thank those two feathered wings,
Who poured their hearts out all for you.

©Habib Dabajeh

WHERE COLD WINDS BLOW

In Michigan, where cold winds blow,
Abides a Poet, not many may know.
Beneath the veil of a winter’s sigh,
He wanders realms where shadows lie.

With boastful words and flowing ink,
He contrives a verse, to make you think.
On a freshly falling page of snow,
He sculpts the silence, a world aglow.

His heart is heavy, burdened by dreams,
Each line a whisper, or so it seems.
For in the twilight of the dusky glow,
Lies irony wrapped in the warmth of woe.

He pens of lovers, in the frozen embrace,
Yet feels the chill in their distant grace.
Their laughter dances on the breeze,
But leaves him longing upon his knees.

With quill in hand, he casts his plight,
Painting the sorrow of love’s sweet night.
Each stanza drips like the melting frost,
Reminding him of what he’s lost.

Through forests deep, where shadows blend,
He chases echoes, a soul to mend.
Yet as he writes, the ink does bleed,
Irony blooms in the heart’s great need.

For every word that spills from his pen,
Unveils a truth he cannot defend.
The tales of joy he so deftly weaves,
Are but reflections of what he grieves.

The moon hangs low in a slate-gray sky,
A witness to the dreams that die.
In Michigan, where cold winds blow,
A Poet’s heart bears the weight of woe.

Yet from the frost, new life will spring,
A stubborn hope that dares to sing.
And as he writes on the canvas of night,
He finds in shadows, a flicker of light.

So let the winds howl, let the tempests roar,
In the Poet’s soul, there lies something more.
For though the winter may chill the air,
The essence of love will linger, fair.

In Michigan, where the cold winds blow,
A Poet persists, in beauty’s throe.
With verses wrapped in melancholy’s shroud,
He whispers his truths, fierce and proud.

©Habib Dabajeh

YELLOW BINDINGS

Upon these pages, dust and time conspire,
With ink that tells of sorrows long confined;
Each word a whisper from the heart’s deep fire,
Where restless spirits of the past are entwined.

Through amber-aged pages of fading ink,
Where sorrow hearts scribe their sacred mark;
Their whispered wisdom bids my soul to think
Of lives born in light, yet still fear the dark.

Each weathered page, a testament of time,
Holds echoes of the hearts that beat before,
As ghostly stanzas weave their measured rhyme,
Like footprints on an ancient, distant shore.

Their verses linger, ghostly in the night,
Like shadows cast on walls of memory;
They waltz through silence, seeking out the light,
In aching echoes, lost in reverie.

As fingers trace the lines of love and pain,
A tapestry of yearning woven tight;
In every stroke, the weight of joy and strain,
It is a haunting dance, both fragile and finite.

In dusty books, their spirits remain,
These architects of beauty are long since gone;
Their words, like raindrops in a summer’s rain,
Still, nourish minds from dusk to breaking dawn.

So let their words, like ghosts, revive anew,
Though flesh may fade and centuries unfold.
In time these yellow bindings may lose their hue,
But their inked immortality will still hold gold.

©Habib Dabajeh

ATONEMENT

A vigil upon my soul the heavens kept,
I stood pondering this uncanny grudge,
And though I vaguely understood, I wept–
I wept because I recalled when I first sinned,
How patiently He watched, and gave me a nudge.
I figured it was just the howling wind,
Breaking momentarily my forward stride.
With blind ambition, I carried on my silly path,
And I never did relinquish my burning fire,
Or bend my knees to tame my foolish pride,
Instead, I pushed people to achieve my desire,
Unmindful of the consequences and the aftermath.
He pushed me back, a merciful warning of His wrath–
And I stood there silent, cold as a stone,
Knowing I was never really alone,
As my tears flowed like a riptide.
Only then did my soul awaken and begin to atone,
Knowing He has always been by my side.

©Habib Dabajeh

A ROSE SHE RESEMBLES

In a garden where the sunbeams dance,
A blossom blooms amidst the leaves.
Her silly laughter attracts all who glance,
A melody that brings the heart to ease.

A rose she resembles with all her essence,
And like a beautiful rose her face glows;
My love, whose skin is softer than petals;
I sometimes wonder how she’s not a rose.

A rose she resembles with all her essence,
With grace and charm, a beauty so sweet.
She matures and entices through fluorescence,
At every glance, my pulse skips a beat.

Her face, a canvas of dawn’s first light,
A blush of crimson, a hue so rare.
Her beauty glows, a wondrous sight,
In her gaze, the world seems more fair.

My love, whose skin is softer than petals,
Embraces me, and I find my true peace.
Each touch ignites my heart, and it settles,
In her sweet garden where all worries cease.

So let her be, this radiant flower,
Leave her to walk in the realm of the plain.
She is a symbol of love, of beauty, of power,
But in my heart’s garden, she shall forever reign.

©Habib Dabajeh

MEMORY WALL

Familiar faces on dusty walls,
Strong in spirit, innocent, and free.
Their smiles warm a cold heart,
Bringing to light a sweet memory.

I observe them with reflective eyes;
In them, I see only beauty and truth.
Their merriment revives my aged heart
And reopens a window back to youth.

These familiar faces stare out at me,
Reminding me of our joys and fears.
I loved them all, and for those I’ve lost,
I offer my prayers and fight back tears.

These familiar faces that light my walls—
I’ve felt their joy and shared their pain.
The joys of youth may have withered away,
But beneath the dust, their smiles remain.

©Habib Dabajeh

BEYOND THE HILL

What’s beyond that hill, I often sit and ponder,
The secrets of the earth, the skies, the infinite wonder.
The whispering breeze beckons, urging me to take flight,
To roam through the valleys, into the embrace of night.

With my heart wide open, I gaze out to sea,
Where the sun sets ablaze, igniting a dream before me.
In hues of crimson and gold, the world transforms,
A canvas of dreams where imagination storms.

Through quiet meditations on the hill’s gentle crest,
I seek solace in the whispers of dreams once professed.
The earth breathes beneath me, the grass sways low,
A symphony of nature—a song I yearn to know.

What’s beyond this hill? Oh, to explore and to roam,
In valleys of dreams where the heart finds a home.
Where the laughter of children mingles in the breeze,
And the scent of youth drapes warmly with ease.

I find solace in pondering, in moments so still,
In the rustle of branches, and the soft whispering chill.
Each thought like a bird, in the expanse of the night,
Spreading wings in the darkness, illuminated by light.

Then I rise from my dreaming, my heart full of grace,
For the hill is a threshold, not a faraway place.
A place where wishes sprinkle like raindrops on the ground,
Where the heart finds its echo in the silence profound.

So here I sit with dreams to fulfill,
Awash in the magic that lies beyond the hill.
What fantastical journeys await in the sighs,
Of the cosmos that beckons with its winking eyes?

And in my rapture, I know, there’s no end to the play,
Every question I ask sparks a new trail each day.
What’s beyond that hill? It’s the question, the thrill,
The endless exploration—forever, I’ll ponder still.

©Habib Dabajeh