Emotions and Feelings

Haiku (Never Published)

Drinking my tea
Without sugarNo
difference.

The sparrow shits
upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs

Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.

Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.

Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.

I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?


Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.


A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.


(after Shiki)

On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.


Another year
has past-the world
is no different.


The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.


My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.


My early journal:
the first thing I found



in my old desk.


My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.


I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.


The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.


Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...


Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.


On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.


A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.


The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.


[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624
Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]

Feb. 29, 1958

Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imageryoverambitious
dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.

T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.

Death & Fame

When I die

I don't care what happens to my body

throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River

bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery

But l want a big funeral

St. Patrick's Cathedral, St. Mark's Church, the largest synagogue in
Manhattan

First, there's family, brother, nephews, spry aged Edith stepmother
96, Aunt Honey from old Newark,

Doctor Joel, cousin Mindy, brother Gene one eyed one ear'd, sisterin-
law blonde Connie, five nephews, stepbrothers & sisters
their grandchildren,

companion Peter Orlovsky, caretakers Rosenthal & Hale, Bill Morgan--

Next, teacher Trungpa Vajracharya's ghost mind, Gelek Rinpoche,
there Sakyong Mipham, Dalai Lama alert, chance visiting
America, Satchitananda Swami

Shivananda, Dehorahava Baba, Karmapa XVI, Dudjom Rinpoche,
Katagiri & Suzuki Roshi's phantoms

Baker, Whalen, Daido Loorie, Qwong, Frail White-haired Kapleau
Roshis, Lama Tarchen --

Then, most important, lovers over half-century

Dozens, a hundred, more, older fellows bald & rich

young boys met naked recently in bed, crowds surprised to see each
other, innumerable, intimate, exchanging memories

"He taught me to meditate, now I'm an old veteran of the thousand
day retreat --"

"I played music on subway platforms, I'm straight but loved him he
loved me"

"I felt more love from him at 19 than ever from anyone"

"We'd lie under covers gossip, read my poetry, hug & kiss belly to belly
arms round each other"

"I'd always get into his bed with underwear on & by morning my
skivvies would be on the floor"

"Japanese, always wanted take it up my bum with a master"

"We'd talk all night about Kerouac & Cassady sit Buddhalike then
sleep in his captain's bed."

"He seemed to need so much affection, a shame not to make him happy"

"I was lonely never in bed nude with anyone before, he was so gentle my
stomach

shuddered when he traced his finger along my abdomen nipple to hips-- "

"All I did was lay back eyes closed, he'd bring me to come with mouth
& fingers along my waist"

"He gave great head"

So there be gossip from loves of 1948, ghost of Neal Cassady commingling
with flesh and youthful blood of 1997

and surprise -- "You too? But I thought you were straight!"

"I am but Ginsberg an exception, for some reason he pleased me."

"I forgot whether I was straight gay queer or funny, was myself, tender
and affectionate to be kissed on the top of my head,

my forehead throat heart & solar plexus, mid-belly. on my prick,
tickled with his tongue my behind"

"I loved the way he'd recite 'But at my back allways hear/ time's winged


chariot hurrying near,' heads together, eye to eye, on a

pillow --"

Among lovers one handsome youth straggling the rear

"I studied his poetry class, 17 year-old kid, ran some errands to his
walk-up flat,

seduced me didn't want to, made me come, went home, never saw him
again never wanted to... "

"He couldn't get it up but loved me," "A clean old man." "He made
sure I came first"

This the crowd most surprised proud at ceremonial place of honor--

Then poets & musicians -- college boys' grunge bands -- age-old rock
star Beatles, faithful guitar accompanists, gay classical conductors,
unknown high Jazz music composers, funky trumpeters,
bowed bass & french horn black geniuses, folksinger
fiddlers with dobro tamborine harmonica mandolin autoharp
pennywhistles & kazoos

Next, artist Italian romantic realists schooled in mystic 60's India,
Late fauve Tuscan painter-poets, Classic draftsman Massachusets
surreal jackanapes with continental wives, poverty
sketchbook gesso oil watercolor masters from American
provinces

Then highschool teachers, lonely Irish librarians, delicate bibliophiles,
sex liberation troops nay armies, ladies of either sex

"I met him dozens of times he never remembered my name I loved
him anyway, true artist"

"Nervous breakdown after menopause, his poetry humor saved me
from suicide hospitals"

"Charmant, genius with modest manners, washed sink, dishes my
studio guest a week in Budapest"

Thousands of readers, "Howl changed my life in Libertyville Illinois"

"I saw him read Montclair State Teachers College decided be a poet-- "

"He turned me on, I started with garage rock sang my songs in Kansas
City"

"Kaddish made me weep for myself & father alive in Nevada City"

"Father Death comforted me when my sister died Boston l982"

"I read what he said in a newsmagazine, blew my mind, realized
others like me out there"

Deaf & Dumb bards with hand signing quick brilliant gestures

Then Journalists, editors's secretaries, agents, portraitists & photography
aficionados, rock critics, cultured laborors, cultural
historians come to witness the historic funeral

Super-fans, poetasters, aging Beatnicks & Deadheads, autographhunters,
distinguished paparazzi, intelligent gawkers

Everyone knew they were part of 'History" except the deceased

who never knew exactly what was happening even when I was alive

February 22, 1997

An Asphodel

O dear sweet rosy
unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
visible reality...

and skin's appalling
petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
of the asphodel,
gray fate...

rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
as on a bank in Arden-my
only rose tonite's the treat
of my own nudity.

An Asphodel

O dear sweet rosy
unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
visible reality...

and skin's appalling
petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
of the asphodel,
gray fate...

rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
as on a bank in Arden-my
only rose tonite's the treat
of my own nudity.

A Desolaltion

Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a
home in wilderness.

What have I done but
wander with my eyes
in the trees? So I
will build: wife,
family, and seek
for neighbors.

Or I
perish of lonesomeness
or want of food or
lightning or the bear
(must tame the hart
and wear the bear).

And maybe make an image
of my wandering, a little
image—shrine by the
roadside to signify
to traveler that I live
here in the wilderness
awake and at home.

Syllables at Rocky Mountain Dharma Center

Tail turned to red sunset on a juniper crown a lone magpie cawks.
Mad at Oryoki in the shrine-room -- Thistles blossomed late afternoon.
Put on my shirt and took it off in the sun walking the path to lunch.
A dandelion seed floats above the marsh grass with the mosquitos.
At 4 A.M. the two middleaged men sleeping together holding hands.
In the half-light of dawn a few birds warble under the Pleiades.
Sky reddens behind fir trees, larks twitter, sparrows cheep cheep cheep


cheep cheep.

The Withered Rose

O withered rose! How can I still call you a rose?
How can I call you the longing of nightingale's heart?


Once the zephyr's movement was your rocking cradle
In the garden's expanse joyous rose was your name


The morning breeze acknowledged your benevolence
The garden was like perfumer's tray by your presence


My weeping eye sheds dew on you
My desolate heart is concealed in your sorrow


You are a tiny picture of my destruction
You are the interpretation of my life's dream


Like a flute to my reed-brake I narrate my story
Listen O rose! I complain about separations!

The Withered Rose

O withered rose! How can I still call you a rose?
How can I call you the longing of nightingale's heart?


Once the zephyr's movement was your rocking cradle
In the garden's expanse joyous rose was your name


The morning breeze acknowledged your benevolence
The garden was like perfumer's tray by your presence


My weeping eye sheds dew on you
My desolate heart is concealed in your sorrow


You are a tiny picture of my destruction
You are the interpretation of my life's dream


Like a flute to my reed-brake I narrate my story
Listen O rose! I complain about separations!

The Withered Rose

O withered rose! How can I still call you a rose?
How can I call you the longing of nightingale's heart?


Once the zephyr's movement was your rocking cradle
In the garden's expanse joyous rose was your name


The morning breeze acknowledged your benevolence
The garden was like perfumer's tray by your presence


My weeping eye sheds dew on you
My desolate heart is concealed in your sorrow


You are a tiny picture of my destruction
You are the interpretation of my life's dream


Like a flute to my reed-brake I narrate my story
Listen O rose! I complain about separations!

The One I Was Searching For On the Earth and in Heaven

The one I was searching for on the earth and in heaven
Appeared residing in the recesses of my own heart


When the reality of the self became evident to my eyes
The house appeared among residents of my own heart


If it were somewhat familiar with taste of rubbing foreheads
The stone of Ka’ba’s threshold would have joined the foreheads


O Majnun! Have you ever glanced at yourself
That like Layla you are also sitting in the litter


The months of the union continue flying like moments
But the moments of separation linger for months!


O seaman, how will you protect me from being drowned
As those destined to drowning get drowned in the boats also


The one who concealed His Beauty from Kalim Allah
The same Beloved is manifest among beloveds


The breath of Lovers can light up the extinguished candle
O God! What is kept concealed in the breast of the Lovers?


Serve the fakirs if you have the longing for Love
This pearl is not available in the treasures of kings


Do not ask of these Devotees, if you have faith, you should look at them
They have the illuminated palm up their sleeves


The insightful eye for whose spectacle is tantalized
That elegance of congregation is in these very recluses


Burn the produce of your heart with some such spark
That the Last Day’s sun may also be among your gleaners


For Love search for some heart which would become mortified
This is the wine which is not kept in delicate wine glasses


The Beauty itself becomes the Lover of whose Beauty
O Heart! Does someone among the beautiful has that beauty?


Someone became highly excited at your grace of Ma’arafna
Your rank remained among the most elegant of all the Lovers


Manifest Thyself and show them Thy Beauty some time
Talks have continued among the sagacious since long time


Silent, O Heart! Crying in the full assembly is not good
Decorum is the most important etiquette among the ways of Love


It is not possible for me to deem my critics bad



Because Iqbal, I am myself among my critics

The Crescent

The sun's boat is broken and drowned in the Nile
But a piece is floating about on the water of the Nile

The twilight's pure blood drips into the sky's basin
Has the lancet of Nature drawn the sun's blood?

Has the sky stolen the ear ring of the evening's bride?
Or has the fragile cord in the Nile's waters strolling?

Your caravan is afoot without help of bell's call
The human ear cannot hear your foot-steps' sound

You show the spectacle of rise and fall to the eyes
Where is your home? To which country are you going?

O star-like planet take me with yourself
The prick of Longing's thorn keeps me restless

I am seeking light, I am weary in this habitation
I am the restless child in the existence's school…

The Crescent

The sun's boat is broken and drowned in the Nile
But a piece is floating about on the water of the Nile

The twilight's pure blood drips into the sky's basin
Has the lancet of Nature drawn the sun's blood?

Has the sky stolen the ear ring of the evening's bride?
Or has the fragile cord in the Nile's waters strolling?

Your caravan is afoot without help of bell's call
The human ear cannot hear your foot-steps' sound

You show the spectacle of rise and fall to the eyes
Where is your home? To which country are you going?

O star-like planet take me with yourself
The prick of Longing's thorn keeps me restless

I am seeking light, I am weary in this habitation
I am the restless child in the existence's school…

The Candle

O Candle! I am also an afflicted person in the world assembly
Constant complaint is my lot in the manner of the rue


Love gave the warmth of internal pathos to you
It made me the florist selling blood-mixed tears


Whether you be the candle of a celebrating assembly or one at the grave
In every condition associated with the tears of sorrow you remain


Your eye views all with equity like the Secret's Lovers
My eye is the pride of the tumult of discrimination


Your illumination is alike in the Ka'bah and the temple
I am entangled in the temple and the Haram's discrimination


Your black smoke contains the sigh's elegance
Is some heart hidden in the place of your manifestation?


You burn with pathos due to distance from Tajalli's Light
Your pathos the callous ones consider your light


Though you are burning you are unaware of it all
You see but do not encompass the internal pathos


I quiver like mercury with the excitement of vexation
As well I am aware of vexations of the restless heart


This was also the elegance of some Beloved
Which gave me perception of my own pathos


This cognition of mine keeps me restless
Innumerable fire temples are asleep in this spark


Discrimination between high and low is created by this alone!
Fragrance in flower, ecstasy in wine is created by this alone!


Garden, nightingale, flower, fragrance this Cognition is
Root of the struggle of ‘I and you' this Cognition is


At creation's dawn as Beauty became the abode of Love
The sound of "Kun" taught warmth to the spirit of Love


The command came Beauty of Kun's garden to witness
With one eye a thousand dreadful dreams to witness
Do not ask me of the nature of the veil of being
The eve of separation was the dawn of my being


Gone are the days when unaware of imprisonment I was
That my abode the adornment of the tree of Tur was
I am a prisoner but consider the cage to be a garden



This exile's hovel of sorrow I consider the homeland


Memories of the homeland a needless melancholy became
Now the desire for sight, now Longing for search became
O Candle! Look at the excessive illusion of thought
Look at the end of the one worshipped by celestial denizens


Theme of separation I am, the exalted one I am
Design of the Will of the Universe's Lord I am


He desired my display as He designed me
When at the head of Existence' Divan He wrote me


The pearl likes living in a handful of dust
Style may be dull the subject is excellent


Not seeing it rightly is the fault of shortsighted perception
The universe is the show of effulgence of taste for Cognizance


This network of time and space is the scaling ladder of the Universe
It is the necklace of the neck of Eternal BeautyI
have lost the way, Longing for the goal I am
O Candle! Captive of perception's illusion I am


I am the hunter as well as the circle of tyranny's net!
I am the Haram's roof as well as the bird on Haram's roofAm I the Beauty or head to
foot the melting love am I?
It is not clear whether the beloved or the Lover am I?


am afraid the old secret may come up to my lips again
Lest story of suffering on the Cross may come up again.

The Candle

O Candle! I am also an afflicted person in the world assembly
Constant complaint is my lot in the manner of the rue


Love gave the warmth of internal pathos to you
It made me the florist selling blood-mixed tears


Whether you be the candle of a celebrating assembly or one at the grave
In every condition associated with the tears of sorrow you remain


Your eye views all with equity like the Secret's Lovers
My eye is the pride of the tumult of discrimination


Your illumination is alike in the Ka'bah and the temple
I am entangled in the temple and the Haram's discrimination


Your black smoke contains the sigh's elegance
Is some heart hidden in the place of your manifestation?


You burn with pathos due to distance from Tajalli's Light
Your pathos the callous ones consider your light


Though you are burning you are unaware of it all
You see but do not encompass the internal pathos


I quiver like mercury with the excitement of vexation
As well I am aware of vexations of the restless heart


This was also the elegance of some Beloved
Which gave me perception of my own pathos


This cognition of mine keeps me restless
Innumerable fire temples are asleep in this spark


Discrimination between high and low is created by this alone!
Fragrance in flower, ecstasy in wine is created by this alone!


Garden, nightingale, flower, fragrance this Cognition is
Root of the struggle of ‘I and you' this Cognition is


At creation's dawn as Beauty became the abode of Love
The sound of "Kun" taught warmth to the spirit of Love


The command came Beauty of Kun's garden to witness
With one eye a thousand dreadful dreams to witness
Do not ask me of the nature of the veil of being
The eve of separation was the dawn of my being


Gone are the days when unaware of imprisonment I was
That my abode the adornment of the tree of Tur was
I am a prisoner but consider the cage to be a garden



This exile's hovel of sorrow I consider the homeland


Memories of the homeland a needless melancholy became
Now the desire for sight, now Longing for search became
O Candle! Look at the excessive illusion of thought
Look at the end of the one worshipped by celestial denizens


Theme of separation I am, the exalted one I am
Design of the Will of the Universe's Lord I am


He desired my display as He designed me
When at the head of Existence' Divan He wrote me


The pearl likes living in a handful of dust
Style may be dull the subject is excellent


Not seeing it rightly is the fault of shortsighted perception
The universe is the show of effulgence of taste for Cognizance


This network of time and space is the scaling ladder of the Universe
It is the necklace of the neck of Eternal BeautyI
have lost the way, Longing for the goal I am
O Candle! Captive of perception's illusion I am


I am the hunter as well as the circle of tyranny's net!
I am the Haram's roof as well as the bird on Haram's roofAm I the Beauty or head to
foot the melting love am I?
It is not clear whether the beloved or the Lover am I?


am afraid the old secret may come up to my lips again
Lest story of suffering on the Cross may come up again.

The Candle

O Candle! I am also an afflicted person in the world assembly
Constant complaint is my lot in the manner of the rue


Love gave the warmth of internal pathos to you
It made me the florist selling blood-mixed tears


Whether you be the candle of a celebrating assembly or one at the grave
In every condition associated with the tears of sorrow you remain


Your eye views all with equity like the Secret's Lovers
My eye is the pride of the tumult of discrimination


Your illumination is alike in the Ka'bah and the temple
I am entangled in the temple and the Haram's discrimination


Your black smoke contains the sigh's elegance
Is some heart hidden in the place of your manifestation?


You burn with pathos due to distance from Tajalli's Light
Your pathos the callous ones consider your light


Though you are burning you are unaware of it all
You see but do not encompass the internal pathos


I quiver like mercury with the excitement of vexation
As well I am aware of vexations of the restless heart


This was also the elegance of some Beloved
Which gave me perception of my own pathos


This cognition of mine keeps me restless
Innumerable fire temples are asleep in this spark


Discrimination between high and low is created by this alone!
Fragrance in flower, ecstasy in wine is created by this alone!


Garden, nightingale, flower, fragrance this Cognition is
Root of the struggle of ‘I and you' this Cognition is


At creation's dawn as Beauty became the abode of Love
The sound of "Kun" taught warmth to the spirit of Love


The command came Beauty of Kun's garden to witness
With one eye a thousand dreadful dreams to witness
Do not ask me of the nature of the veil of being
The eve of separation was the dawn of my being


Gone are the days when unaware of imprisonment I was
That my abode the adornment of the tree of Tur was
I am a prisoner but consider the cage to be a garden



This exile's hovel of sorrow I consider the homeland


Memories of the homeland a needless melancholy became
Now the desire for sight, now Longing for search became
O Candle! Look at the excessive illusion of thought
Look at the end of the one worshipped by celestial denizens


Theme of separation I am, the exalted one I am
Design of the Will of the Universe's Lord I am


He desired my display as He designed me
When at the head of Existence' Divan He wrote me


The pearl likes living in a handful of dust
Style may be dull the subject is excellent


Not seeing it rightly is the fault of shortsighted perception
The universe is the show of effulgence of taste for Cognizance


This network of time and space is the scaling ladder of the Universe
It is the necklace of the neck of Eternal BeautyI
have lost the way, Longing for the goal I am
O Candle! Captive of perception's illusion I am


I am the hunter as well as the circle of tyranny's net!
I am the Haram's roof as well as the bird on Haram's roofAm I the Beauty or head to
foot the melting love am I?
It is not clear whether the beloved or the Lover am I?


am afraid the old secret may come up to my lips again
Lest story of suffering on the Cross may come up again.

Sympathy


Perched on the branch of a tree
Was a nightingale sad and lonely

'The night has drawn near', He was thinking
'I passed the day in flying around and feeding

How can I reach up to the nest
Darkness has enveloped everything'?

Hearing the nightingale wailing thus
A glow-worm lurking nearby spoke thus

'With my heart and soul ready to help I am
Though only an insignificant insect I am

Never mind if the night is dark
I shall shed light if the way is dark

God has bestowed a torch on me
He has given a shining lamp to me

The good in the world only those are
Ready to be useful to others who are

Sympathy


Perched on the branch of a tree
Was a nightingale sad and lonely

'The night has drawn near', He was thinking
'I passed the day in flying around and feeding

How can I reach up to the nest
Darkness has enveloped everything'?

Hearing the nightingale wailing thus
A glow-worm lurking nearby spoke thus

'With my heart and soul ready to help I am
Though only an insignificant insect I am

Never mind if the night is dark
I shall shed light if the way is dark

God has bestowed a torch on me
He has given a shining lamp to me

The good in the world only those are
Ready to be useful to others who are

Pathos Of Love

O Pathos of Love! You are a glossy pearl
Beware, you should not appear among strangers


The theatre of your display is concealed under the veil
The modern audience' eye accepts only the visible display


New breeze has arrived in the Existence' garden
O Pathos of Love! Now there is no pleasure in display


Beware! You should not be striving for ostentation!
You should not be obligated to the nightingale's lament!


The tulip's wine-cup should be devoid of wine
The dew's tear should be a mere dropp of water


Your secret should be hidden in the bosom somewhere
Your heart-melting tear should not be your betrayer


The flowery-styled poet's tongue should not be talking
Separation's complaint should not be concealed in flute's music


This age is a critic, go and somewhere conceal yourself
In the heart in which you are residing conceal yourself


The learning's surprise is neglecting you, beware!
Your immature eye is not the seeker of Truth, beware


Let the elegant thought remain in search of Truth
Let your wisdom-loving eye remain in astonishment


This is not the garden whose spring you may be
This is not the audience worthy of your appearance


This audience is the lover of the material sights
The purpose of your sight is the closet of secrecy


Every heart is intoxicated with the wine of thinking
Something different is the Tur of the Kalims of this age

Pathos Of Love

O Pathos of Love! You are a glossy pearl
Beware, you should not appear among strangers


The theatre of your display is concealed under the veil
The modern audience' eye accepts only the visible display


New breeze has arrived in the Existence' garden
O Pathos of Love! Now there is no pleasure in display


Beware! You should not be striving for ostentation!
You should not be obligated to the nightingale's lament!


The tulip's wine-cup should be devoid of wine
The dew's tear should be a mere dropp of water


Your secret should be hidden in the bosom somewhere
Your heart-melting tear should not be your betrayer


The flowery-styled poet's tongue should not be talking
Separation's complaint should not be concealed in flute's music


This age is a critic, go and somewhere conceal yourself
In the heart in which you are residing conceal yourself


The learning's surprise is neglecting you, beware!
Your immature eye is not the seeker of Truth, beware


Let the elegant thought remain in search of Truth
Let your wisdom-loving eye remain in astonishment


This is not the garden whose spring you may be
This is not the audience worthy of your appearance


This audience is the lover of the material sights
The purpose of your sight is the closet of secrecy


Every heart is intoxicated with the wine of thinking
Something different is the Tur of the Kalims of this age

Mirza Ghalib

Through you the secret was revealed to the human intellect
That innumerable enigmas are solved by human intellect

You were the complete soul, literary assembly was your body
You adorned as well as remained veiled from the assembly

Your eye is longing to witness that veiled Beauty
Which is veiled in everything as the pathos of life

The assemblage of existence is rich with your harp
As mountain's silence by the brook's melodious harp

The garden of your imagination bestows glory on the universe
From the field of your thought worlds grow like meadows

Life is concealed in the humor of your verse
Picture's lips move with your command of language

Speech is very proud of the elegance of your miraculous lips
Thurayyah is astonished at your style's elegance

Beloved of literature itself loves your style
Delhi's bud is mocking at the rose of Shiraz

Ah! You are resting in the midst of Delhi's ruins
Your counterpart is resting in the Weimar's garden

Matching you in literary elegance is not possible
Till maturity of thought and imagination are combined

Ah! What has befallen the land of India!
Ah! The inspirer of the super-critical eye!

The lock of Urdu's hair still craves for combing
This candle still craves for moth's heart-felt pathos

O Jahanabad! O cradle of learning and art
Your entire super-structure is a silent lament

The sun and the moon are asleep in every speck of your dust
Though innumerable other gems are also hidden in your dust

Does another world-famous person like him also lie buried in you?
Does another gem like him also lie concealed in you?

First Date Tree Saeeded By Abdul Rahman The Firs

You are the apple of my eye,
My heart's delight:
I am remote from my valley,
To me you are the Burning Bush of Sinai!
You are a houri of the Arabian Desert,
Nursed by the Western breeze.
I feel homesick in exile,
You feel homesick in exile:


Prosper in this strange land!
May the morning dew quench your thirst!


The world presents a strange sight:
The vision's mantle is torn apart—
May valour struggle with the waves if it must,
The other side of the river is not to be seen!
Life owes itself to the heat of one's soul:
Flame does not rise from dust.
The Syrian evening's fallen star
Shined brighter in the exile's dawn.


There are no frontiers for the Man of Faith,
He is at home everywhere.


[Translated by the Editors]


*
That blood of pristine vigour is no more;
That yearning heart's power is no more;
Prayer, fasting, hajj, sacrifice survive,
But in thee nature's old dower is no more.


[Translated by Naim Siddiqui]


Not: These verses from Abdul Rahman the First
are quoted in Tarikh al Muqqari. The
following Urdu poem is a liberal
translation (the tree mentioned here was
planted in Madinatut Zahra)

Jawab-e-Shik


Whatever comes out of the heart is effective
It has no wings but has the power of flight

It has holy origins, it aims at elegance
It rises from dust, but has access to the celestial world

My love was seditious, rebellious and clever
My fearless wailing rent through the sky


On hearing it the sun said, 'Somewhere there is somebody! '
The planets said, 'At the 'Arsh-i-Bar

A Mountain and A Squirrel

A mountain was saying this to a squirrel
'Commit suicide if you have self-respect


You are insignificant, still so arrogant, how strange!
You are neither wise, nor intelligent! not even shrewd!


It is strange when the insignificant pose as important!
When the stupid ones like you pose as intelligent!


You are no match in comparison with my splendor
Even the earth is low compared with my splendor


The grandeur of mine does not fall to your lot
The poor animal cannot equal the great mountain! '


On hearing this the squirrel said, 'Hold your tongue!
These are immature thoughts, expel them from your heart!


I do not care if I am not large like you!
You are not a pretty little thing like me


Everything shows the Omni-potence of God
Some large, some small, is the wisdom of God


He has created you large in the world
And He has taught me climbing large trees


You are unable to walk a single step
Only large size! What other greatness have you?


If you are large show me some of the skills I have
Show me how you break this beetle nut as I can


Nothing is useless in this world
Nothing is bad in God's creation