In a Sentence (or a Phrase)
If the Word is the noun, proper,
(and sober!)
And the Spirit is the verb, actually,
(drunkenly!)
Then the whole, and every dot and letter
Is subsumed in the Essence, integrally.
Furthermore;
The meaning of the sentence
Is in its explanation;
The Truth of the sentence
Is in its implication.
I Read Something in the Holy Book
I read something in the Holy Book
And it made me take a second look
The Sufis say the Day of Reckoning is 'Tomorrow'
Who am I to gainsay?
But I couldn't help wondering if 'Tomorrow'
Is not really - Today
In His Mercy
In His Mercy we float serenely
On a great ocean of tranquillity;
In His Wrath we fly fast and furiously,
On wings of hope and fear, sincerely
Praying - and praising furiously;
Till His Mercy, always Oft-returning,
Brings Peace graciously winging -
And an Ark, finally, reaches the land,
And His reality we begin to understand.
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I Am a Man
I am a man; a man is what I am.
My work every day is not play;
It is to be able to truthfully say,
My humanity I did not betray.
This is my pride, and humility too,
To be able to say this to You :-
I am a man
You surely made me this way,
I am a man
My humanity is how I pray.
A prayer implicitly an answer seeking is,
The answer to man’s humanity is this:
If you to your humanity, are true,
Then true you are to your Maker too.
Live then the way you want to do,
This is the Maker’s gift to you.
Ishq
Love’s spirit in its essential nature is fiery,
The poet of poets has told you and me,
In the first eighteen couplets of his Masnevi;
So rightly famous for its great profundity.
I pray that Mevlana will not be adverse,
To an attempt at a short commentary in verse.
The fire is spiritual of course, of necessity;
And distinguished from Love’s wine, specifically.
In fire this characteristic we can surely see,
Movement, in patterns so profound, only He
Who made the universe, and you and me,
Can fully see, how it pervades Reality.
Movement is the Spirit’s special subtlety,
It is not something in itself we can hope to see;
Just as a bird on the wing glides in the air,
On currents invisible, however hard we stare.
Though these movements are a universal affair,
Only the Spirit in us can apprehend they are there.
When we lessen the burden of coarse materiality,
The Spirit within us begins to stir and feel free.
Love’s spirit in its essential nature is fiery,
The poet of poets has told you and me,
In the first eighteen couplets of his Masnevi;
So rightly famous for its great profundity.
I pray that Mevlana will not be adverse,
To an attempt at a short commentary in verse.
The fire is spiritual of course, of necessity;
And distinguished from Love’s wine, specifically.
In fire this characteristic we can surely see,
Movement, in patterns so profound, only He
Who made the universe, and you and me,
Can fully see, how it pervades Reality.
Movement is the Spirit’s special subtlety,
It is not something in itself we can hope to see;
Just as a bird on the wing glides in the air,
On currents invisible, however hard we stare.
Though these movements are a universal affair,
Only the Spirit in us can apprehend they are there.
When we lessen the burden of coarse materiality,
The Spirit within us begins to stir and feel free.
We say within, because that is easily understood,
But dividing without and within is only good
If our perception of our self by the body is bound;
But if we see truly, it is the other way round.
The soul is the host and our body is its guest,
But it is hard to distinguish the bird from the nest.
Anyhow to return to our theme of Love’s fire,
Before your kind attention begins to expire :-
That movement begins within, but if it His Will,
Even our clay begins to move, so great is the thrill.
Then the body, a leaf on a stream floating helplessly,
Is moved as the currents and whorls cause it to be.But
what is within and what is outwardly manifest,
Unite mystically, if by Divine Love we are blest.
The turning of the Dervish aspires to this,
Drawing in unseen currents, that mystic is;
Till a veritable whirlpool he finds himself in,
Or, more truly, sees his own body in a spin.
But the eddies, whorls, twists and flows,
That only the Spirit itself really knows,
Are found not only in a whirlpool alone,
But in every situation can be so known.
Now if this is the fire of love we have found,
Hidden within the Ney’s plaintiff sound,
But dividing without and within is only good
If our perception of our self by the body is bound;
But if we see truly, it is the other way round.
The soul is the host and our body is its guest,
But it is hard to distinguish the bird from the nest.
Anyhow to return to our theme of Love’s fire,
Before your kind attention begins to expire :-
That movement begins within, but if it His Will,
Even our clay begins to move, so great is the thrill.
Then the body, a leaf on a stream floating helplessly,
Is moved as the currents and whorls cause it to be.But
what is within and what is outwardly manifest,
Unite mystically, if by Divine Love we are blest.
The turning of the Dervish aspires to this,
Drawing in unseen currents, that mystic is;
Till a veritable whirlpool he finds himself in,
Or, more truly, sees his own body in a spin.
But the eddies, whorls, twists and flows,
That only the Spirit itself really knows,
Are found not only in a whirlpool alone,
But in every situation can be so known.
Now if this is the fire of love we have found,
Hidden within the Ney’s plaintiff sound,
What of passion for which Love’s wine is renowned?
The passion in which a rational mind is drowned!
This, I believe, the Soul’s very essence to be:
Or we might say that essence’s substantiality.
Or further we could describe it, without pretence,
As the essence of the substance of that essence.
Its main quality truly seems to be, unblemished purity,
For however diverse are we, it’s is the way of unity.
When through our heart, mind, and body also,
Its ecstasy floods, rational thoughts hastily go.
Bliss it is, bliss it is, bliss - till we put the glass down,
Or till a blessed night such as this, ends in a dawn.
Or the light of the moon is gently effaced,
And by the rays of the sun is slowly replaced.
Further it is possible to go than all this, ultimately,
Because the fire and the wine cannot distinct be,
Or remain so; for He Whose creation this all is,
Is One, and in His Unity all must dissolve, even bliss.
But more Mevlana does not say here, and I will not risk,
It is enough for any poet or sage to simply say - Ishq.
The passion in which a rational mind is drowned!
This, I believe, the Soul’s very essence to be:
Or we might say that essence’s substantiality.
Or further we could describe it, without pretence,
As the essence of the substance of that essence.
Its main quality truly seems to be, unblemished purity,
For however diverse are we, it’s is the way of unity.
When through our heart, mind, and body also,
Its ecstasy floods, rational thoughts hastily go.
Bliss it is, bliss it is, bliss - till we put the glass down,
Or till a blessed night such as this, ends in a dawn.
Or the light of the moon is gently effaced,
And by the rays of the sun is slowly replaced.
Further it is possible to go than all this, ultimately,
Because the fire and the wine cannot distinct be,
Or remain so; for He Whose creation this all is,
Is One, and in His Unity all must dissolve, even bliss.
But more Mevlana does not say here, and I will not risk,
It is enough for any poet or sage to simply say - Ishq.