Sympathy
Come, now, my very dear one,
Give me that tear that I won,
That from heart to eye did flow,
Take it with a fingertip, so!
And touch it to my lips too,
Now the sorrow and love
That was in you,
Has also become my love
And sorrow too.
This simple act is enough to do.
Intertwined bodies are not so near,
As we two, now, just sitting here.
Something Solid
Something solid entered my mind today
What exactly it really is I cannot say.
It arrived, like a suitcase long delayed;
Waited for, but also, in a way, unexpected.
It sits in the mind, so real, here, and now,
In every way, yet also eternal somehow.
In the Service of Allah
All praise, service, and adoration to Allah alone are due,
(Though some may know Him as God and other as Dieu).
Evidenced, when love of His holy prophets appears in you:
And you realise that what they say is completely true.
Loving obedience to His Messengers is surely realised,
When reverence for His Friends becomes actualised;
Respect for His Saints becomes more real to you,
When they lead you to a guide who’s wise and true;
Service of the guide becomes most sincerely applied,
When it becomes evident to you from deep inside,
(And you know it to be a certainty in your own mind)
That the best service of Allah is the service of mankind
Speak to Me
Speak to me dear and tell your real desire
Place in my hand the pearl, nor will I tire
Until into your being I have breathed
Love's unique, divine, undying fire
And have, from ashes of grief, retrieved
That gem; and from doubt, you eternally relieved.
Someone Asked ‘Who, or What,
(or Where) is Allah?’
(Based on the Hadith in which the holy Prophet Muhammed
asks a simple woman this and she points to the sky - which he approves)
Had I been more clever or more witty,
I could have answered with this ditty,
(With not the least hint of any irony,
But with just a nod to Gilbert’s* ability).
And said:
‘Essentially,
The identity
Of the Deity
Is the Reality
Of the Ipseity,
Who, creatively,
Brought infinity
Into actuality,
And absolutely
Is not a relativity,
But a Necessity
On which Reality
Depends implicitly’
Or could, without undue levity,
Have been the very soul of brevity
And said:
The Absolute Simplicity
Of infinite complexity:
And the Unity of multiplicity.
In short, a very real mystery
But:
Though it sounds very pretty,
It would have been a great pity
Not to have pointed my finger upward
And opened up heaven’s door.
Besides, I might have missed the reward
Of hearing His message, and more.
*footnote: Gilbert is a famous English libretist who wrote
catchy ditties for the light operas of Sulivan).
Spring
The hoary frosts of winter have nourished in truth,
The downy-fresh blossoms of spring's eternal youth.
Eager for knowledge of sunshine's promised wealth,
Their innocent blushes quicken to rose-tinted hue,
The late snow's veil of white-laced misty blue.
And in the garden of his long labour's fruits,
Past seasons' lingering pains, held in buried roots,
Melt in anticipation of the pressing suits
Of balmy breezes - breathing news of summer's fine bouquet,
Love's wine, matured and served in patient Sharib's perfect way.
(or Where) is Allah?’
(Based on the Hadith in which the holy Prophet Muhammed
asks a simple woman this and she points to the sky - which he approves)
Had I been more clever or more witty,
I could have answered with this ditty,
(With not the least hint of any irony,
But with just a nod to Gilbert’s* ability).
And said:
‘Essentially,
The identity
Of the Deity
Is the Reality
Of the Ipseity,
Who, creatively,
Brought infinity
Into actuality,
And absolutely
Is not a relativity,
But a Necessity
On which Reality
Depends implicitly’
Or could, without undue levity,
Have been the very soul of brevity
And said:
The Absolute Simplicity
Of infinite complexity:
And the Unity of multiplicity.
In short, a very real mystery
But:
Though it sounds very pretty,
It would have been a great pity
Not to have pointed my finger upward
And opened up heaven’s door.
Besides, I might have missed the reward
Of hearing His message, and more.
*footnote: Gilbert is a famous English libretist who wrote
catchy ditties for the light operas of Sulivan).
Spring
The hoary frosts of winter have nourished in truth,
The downy-fresh blossoms of spring's eternal youth.
Eager for knowledge of sunshine's promised wealth,
Their innocent blushes quicken to rose-tinted hue,
The late snow's veil of white-laced misty blue.
And in the garden of his long labour's fruits,
Past seasons' lingering pains, held in buried roots,
Melt in anticipation of the pressing suits
Of balmy breezes - breathing news of summer's fine bouquet,
Love's wine, matured and served in patient Sharib's perfect way.
main index
Seeking Something More
A sincere seeker on the path of the pure,
Was seen nervously nearing paradise’ door.
Those nearby said, ‘Sir, pray do not worried be,
Light at the end of the tunnel is a certainty'.
He replied, ‘I do not at all doubt this!’
They said, ‘Tell then what the cause is.’
One thought it might be that he trembled from fear,
That at the door he might hear ‘You can’t enter here’.
Another ventured the idea that his trembling might be,
In anticipation of delights waiting for one such as he.
He replied, ‘My nervousness is not caused by any of this,
Neither fear of rejection nor anticipation of bliss.
I am wondering what those inside will say,
When I tell them, in paradise I will not stay;
When I tell them simply what is true,
That I am really just passing through.
It is intimacy with Him Who set this all up,
That is the wine my soul seeks for its cup.’
May 2012
A sincere seeker on the path of the pure,
Was seen nervously nearing paradise’ door.
Those nearby said, ‘Sir, pray do not worried be,
Light at the end of the tunnel is a certainty'.
He replied, ‘I do not at all doubt this!’
They said, ‘Tell then what the cause is.’
One thought it might be that he trembled from fear,
That at the door he might hear ‘You can’t enter here’.
Another ventured the idea that his trembling might be,
In anticipation of delights waiting for one such as he.
He replied, ‘My nervousness is not caused by any of this,
Neither fear of rejection nor anticipation of bliss.
I am wondering what those inside will say,
When I tell them, in paradise I will not stay;
When I tell them simply what is true,
That I am really just passing through.
It is intimacy with Him Who set this all up,
That is the wine my soul seeks for its cup.’
May 2012
Shhh...
To hear what to Hazrat Ali, Allah did tell,
You must become an empty well,
Like the one into which Prophet Yusuf fell;
You must also learn never to tell.
To hear what to Hazrat Ali, Allah did tell,
You must become an empty well,
Like the one into which Prophet Yusuf fell;
You must also learn never to tell.
Secret Service
I am a man with a secret, that I can say,
But a secret has to be kept that way;
Therefore in my heart it will always stay.
It was freely given, and remains ever free,
And contained it can never, ever, be;
But it has chosen freely, to live and to part
With its silence, only in the tent of my heart;
But here is a thing that I can impart,
You have a secret too in your heart.
I am a man with a secret, that I can say,
But a secret has to be kept that way;
Therefore in my heart it will always stay.
It was freely given, and remains ever free,
And contained it can never, ever, be;
But it has chosen freely, to live and to part
With its silence, only in the tent of my heart;
But here is a thing that I can impart,
You have a secret too in your heart.
Sharing
A little bit here and a little bit there,
Making concessions in order to share,
Is required from both husband and wife;
If they want to live happily in this life.
A little bit here and a little bit there,
Making concessions in order to share,
Is required from both husband and wife;
If they want to live happily in this life.
Some Say
Some say ‘ Ishq’ translated into English cannot be,
However with them I respectfully disagree.
The word ‘love’ is that universally known bond,
Which means that of one another we are fond;
Ishq is love in a different degree it is true,
But just capitalise ‘Love’ is all you have to do.
Some say ‘ Ishq’ translated into English cannot be,
However with them I respectfully disagree.
The word ‘love’ is that universally known bond,
Which means that of one another we are fond;
Ishq is love in a different degree it is true,
But just capitalise ‘Love’ is all you have to do.
Solomon and the Queen of Sheba (retold)
Solomon, to Bilqis, gave the command, ‘Come to me!’
Now a Queen, such as she, does not obey so easily.
The threats that he made to invade her domain,
Made her prevaricate, and in Saba to remain.
She was a woman of renowned feminine allure,
But he was a man who by Allah was made pure.
She offered him gifts of jewels and much gold,
In his gold and jewelled palace, this left him cold.
Her idolatry was limited only to worshipping the sun,
He wanted her to see, that the sun is a created one.
She was far from being a fool, and counsel she took,
But the call from Solomon made her in to herself look.
She abandoned pride and vanity, and left her realm,
Did she secretly seek a true man to take her helm?
Now Prophet Solomon knew intuitively what to do,
And he identified the one thing she was attached to.
It was a throne of most intricate intertwined filigree,
Though to Solomon a mere bauble it appeared to be.
By the power Allah had given to him especially,
Asaf had the throne transported miraculously.
Now Solomon did not use any argument with Bilqis,
Better than a debate demonstration absolutely is.
Instead he invited her to see the abundant power,
And wealth, the One True God could easily confer.
Seeing her unique throne, apparently reproduced that way,
Destroyed her attachment to all things made of clay.
Then he showed her just how deluding perception can be;
A great pool of water lay before her, she could clearly see;
And abandoning any last pretence of a royal dignity,
She began to wade through, lifting her skirts for all to see.
Then the skirts of illusion were lifted too, from her mind,
As underfoot marble, polished to perfection, she did find.
Now she could see that in praying to the shining sun,
She had been stopped from worshipping the True One.
The Queen in her, in Solomon’s royalty melted away,
And, girl like, she begged him to show her the Way.
Great Solomon was a true man in every respect,
So the woman in her, was overcome too, I suspect.
United as one, both her soul and her body,
Knelt before him silently in sincere piety.
The ground at his feet received the impress,
As into it her forehead and face she did press.
‘I submit my whole being, to the One True God’, said she,
‘May His Prophet Solomon, in eternity, my witness be.
The gates of heaven and all beyond now opened to her,
Her submission accepted, as a sincerely made prayer.
Her outward and inward faculties, now all in accord,
She tied herself to the Prophet with Love’s silken cord.
Allah’s prophet, that true man, received her surrender,
And the crown of female perfection on her did confer.
Solomon, to Bilqis, gave the command, ‘Come to me!’
Now a Queen, such as she, does not obey so easily.
The threats that he made to invade her domain,
Made her prevaricate, and in Saba to remain.
She was a woman of renowned feminine allure,
But he was a man who by Allah was made pure.
She offered him gifts of jewels and much gold,
In his gold and jewelled palace, this left him cold.
Her idolatry was limited only to worshipping the sun,
He wanted her to see, that the sun is a created one.
She was far from being a fool, and counsel she took,
But the call from Solomon made her in to herself look.
She abandoned pride and vanity, and left her realm,
Did she secretly seek a true man to take her helm?
Now Prophet Solomon knew intuitively what to do,
And he identified the one thing she was attached to.
It was a throne of most intricate intertwined filigree,
Though to Solomon a mere bauble it appeared to be.
By the power Allah had given to him especially,
Asaf had the throne transported miraculously.
Now Solomon did not use any argument with Bilqis,
Better than a debate demonstration absolutely is.
Instead he invited her to see the abundant power,
And wealth, the One True God could easily confer.
Seeing her unique throne, apparently reproduced that way,
Destroyed her attachment to all things made of clay.
Then he showed her just how deluding perception can be;
A great pool of water lay before her, she could clearly see;
And abandoning any last pretence of a royal dignity,
She began to wade through, lifting her skirts for all to see.
Then the skirts of illusion were lifted too, from her mind,
As underfoot marble, polished to perfection, she did find.
Now she could see that in praying to the shining sun,
She had been stopped from worshipping the True One.
The Queen in her, in Solomon’s royalty melted away,
And, girl like, she begged him to show her the Way.
Great Solomon was a true man in every respect,
So the woman in her, was overcome too, I suspect.
United as one, both her soul and her body,
Knelt before him silently in sincere piety.
The ground at his feet received the impress,
As into it her forehead and face she did press.
‘I submit my whole being, to the One True God’, said she,
‘May His Prophet Solomon, in eternity, my witness be.
The gates of heaven and all beyond now opened to her,
Her submission accepted, as a sincerely made prayer.
Her outward and inward faculties, now all in accord,
She tied herself to the Prophet with Love’s silken cord.
Allah’s prophet, that true man, received her surrender,
And the crown of female perfection on her did confer.