We, The Music Makers Kuch Ghazlon Kay

Just this morning I came across this poem:

“We are the music-makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

And sitting by desolate streams.

World-losers and world-forsakers,

Upon whom the pale moon gleams;

Yet we are the movers and shakers,

Of the world forever, it seems.”

- Arthur O'Shaughnessy

Yes ... read it again ...

“We are the music makers, 

and we are the dreamers of dreams.” 

Do you, too, hear Fareeda Khanum's voice in your head:

Hum naghma sara kuch ghazlon kay, hum soorat gar kuch khwaboN kay

Such an uncanny resemblance! no? :) 

Like the baffling bright of a spring sun, or the sad crisp of the autmn leaves, like the haunting pale of moon, truth is independent of cultures, or languages .

The pains, the pleasures, the dreams, the schemes, of those in love, are just the same all across the world ...

:) Baat phir waheen aa kar rukti hai kay ... bay-jazba'ay shauq sunaein kia? Koi khwab na ho tou bataein kia?

Wo Ishq Jo Hum Say Rooth Gaya - Fareeda Khanum

Uff.. haey .. ufff ... etc. etc. :)

Counting On It

“The books we need are the kind that act upon us like a misfortune, that makes us suffer like the death of someone we love more than ourselves, that make us feel as though we were on the verge of suicide, or lost in a forest remote from all human habitation—a book should serve as the axe for the frozen sea within us.”

- Kafka in a letter to Oskar Pollak.

I hope so.

Desire - The Root, Or The Fruit?

There are words that have the piercing potential of a hunter's stabbing spear. Following few words stabbed with such a force, that even after a couple of days gone by I don't think I've come to terms with the severity of the blow yet! :) 

حضرت جنيد بغدادیؒ ميں معرفت کے اعلی ترين مقام پر ہونے کے باوجود کمال کا ضبط و متانت تھی، اس کے برخلاف شبلیؒ ميں جوش، بےصبری اور بےقراری تھی۔ مرشد اور مريد کی طبيعتوں کے اس اختلاف کے باعث کبھی ايسا ہوتا کہ آپے سے باہر ہونے والے مريد کو مرشد اپنی باطنی قوت سے روک ديتا اور کبھی يہ ديکھنے ميں آتا کہ مريد کی باتوں سے مرشد خود تڑپ اٹھتا!

ايک دن دورانِ گفتگو حضرت جنيدؒ نے فرمايا: مَن طَلَبَ وَجَدَ (جس نے ڈھونڈ ليا، پا ليا)۔

شبلیؒ بولے: جناب يوں نہيں، يوں فرمائيے مَن وَجَدَ طَلَبَ (جس نے پايا وہی طالب ہوا)۔ 

شبلی کی اس بات پر مرشد بھی سرشار ہو گئے۔

 - (بحوالہ کشف المحجوب)

Hazrat Junaid Baghdaadi main maarfat kay aala tareen muqaam par honay kay baawajood kaamaal ka zabt aur matanat thi, is kay bar-khilaaf Shibli main josh, bay-sabri aur bay-qaraari thi. Murshid aur Mureed ki tabyetoN kay is ikhtelaaf kay baais kabhi aisa hota kay aapay say bahir hotay Mureed ko Murshid apni baatani que=wat say roak deta, aur kabhi ye dekhnay main aata kay Mureed ki baaton say Murshid khud tarap uthta!

Aik din doraan-e guftagu, Hazrat Junaind nay farmaya: Mun Talaba Wajada ( jis ne dhoond lia, paa lia).

Shibli bolay: janab yun nahi, yun farmaiay Mun Wajada Talaba (Jis nay paya, wohi talib hoa).
Shibli ki is baat par Murshid bhi sarshaar ho gaey!

At the end of the day, Desire may only be a fruit? 

Where's the seed then?

Not in my hand.

Divine Mercy .... I call unto Thee!

Till My Words Return To Me - Habla Me

For a couple of months now there have been quite a few pregnant thoughts and unborn stories that await being touched... you know, touching with fingers - the kind of touch that grants existance to thought from electrical pulses within neurons into the world of binary reality.

So much going on at such a whirlwind pace, at times I wonder if there's a way to make things go slow. Or to make words be born a little more easily? ...  So that they eat up less onto your heart in their efforts to survive the trauma of coming into existance.

Till the time my words return to me and let me touch them as I please, to my fill, I can only raise a toast to them ...

(Translation via web)

Talk to me

Like I flirt with you

Love me

Like I love you

It's a love that is possible

For I kept what love I had

I kept what love I had

It's like a film, and it will return

Love me

Like I flirt with you

Love me

Like I love you

It's a love that is possible

For I kept what love I had

I kept what love I had

It's like a dream, and it will return

And you will come to see

That there is no understanding

For I kept what love I had

I kept what love I had

It's like a dream, and it will return

I know that you will return, and love will not end

For I kept what love I had

I kept what love I had

It's like a dream, and it will return

Or so I hope! :) 

Waheen Tak Hai Jiski Nazr Jahan Tak Hai

اہلِ نظر جانتے ہيں کہ تماشا اور تماشائی ايک ہی شے ہے ـ تماشا لگانے والا خود تماشائی کے رنگ ميں ہے۔ وہ خود ہی ہے، خود آئينہ ہے، خود نظر ہے اور خود ہی خود کے روبرو ہے۔

ـاز واصف علی واصف

Ehl-e nazr jaantay hain kay tamasha aur tamashaee aik hi shaey hai. Tamasha laganay wala Khud, tamashaee kay rung main hai. Wo Khud hi hai, Khud aeena hai, Khud nazr hai aur Khud hi Khud kay rubaru hai.

- Wasif Ali Wasif

Almost

I almost wish we were

butterflies and lived but

three summer days -- 

three such days with you I

could fill with more delight

than fifty common years 

could ever contain.

- Keats

You - The Treasure Chest

You are a volume in the divine book
A mirror to the power that created the universe
Whatever you want, ask it of yourself
Whatever you’re looking for can only be found
Inside of you. 

Rumi

Who Are You? You.

Aaeena  Toee, aks Toee!

Hallaj said:

Love is in the pleasure of possession, but in the Love of Allah there is no pleasure of possession, because the stations of the Reality are wonderment, the cancelling of the debt which is owed, and the blinding of vision. The Love of the human being for God is a reverence which penetrates the very depths of his being, and which is not permitted to be given except to Allah alone. The Love of Allah for the human being is that He Himself gives proof of Himself, not revealing Himself to anything that is not He.

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And Allah says: "I have chosen thee for Myself." (20:41). 

Deen Shab Ke Mi Rafti ButaaN

Sarmad dard-e ajab shikast'e kardi
Eeman ba fida'ay chashm-e mast'e kardi
Umr'e ke be ayaat o ahadees guzasht
Rafte-o-nisar'e butparast'e kardi


Deen shab ke mi rafti butaaN, rooh karda azma yuk taraf
Afganda kakul yuk taraf zulf'ay jaleefaaN ek taraf

Az chashm-e siyaah-dari toh ab surma burud kardi
kaha zaalim che haan kardi falah andar bala kardi


Sultan-e khoobaaN meerawad har su hujoom-e aashna
Chaabuk sawaraaN yuk taraf miskeeN gadaya yuk taraf

Nausheen sharab e lala o shud majils e ma bekhabar
jaam o suraahi yuk taraf mastaaN o rusva yak taraf

Tabar rukh'e zebaya toh uftada zahid ra nazar
tasbiyeh zohdash yuk taraf, bada musallah yuk taraf


Bechara Khusro khasta ra mashoor-e khutan farmood ast
Khalq'e ba millat yuk tarf, ma'shooq tanha yuk taraf

Translation: 

The unending pain has left me strangely wretched
At one intoxicating glance, I lost my faith to you
My life is now a tale of the past
Spent, sacrificed at the alter of the deity - you!

Spent my night in the company of idols, 
A talk of soul, perhaps some time else.
Beauty of Silken locks is one thing, 
But tresses of the beloved, something else!

From the black of your eyes, 
kohl was rendered black
Of ruthless you, 
so generous your mercilessness is!

Lord of the fair-faced arrives, 
Hordes of lovers on every side
Esteemed sentinels are close by, 
the poor beggars at distance wide

Whilst delirious was I, 
Kept gathering afloat with wine.
Grail and ale at one end, 
But tipsy and drunken on the other!

A glimpse of the beloved's charming form 
afflicts the pious such
the hymns of piety are one thing, 
a drunken's worship an other!

O ye poor wretched Khusro -  
Of Khutan, said so already
An assembly of the folks at one end, 
the beloved alone at the other!

Verse: Ameer Khusro
Inept translation: mine

Sheeshon Ka Maseeha Koi Nahin

Moti ho kay sheesha, jaam, kay dur

jo toot gaya so toot gaya

Kab ashkon se jurd sakta hai

jo toot gaya, so chhoot gaya

Tum na-haq sheeshay chun chun kar

daaman mein chhupaye baithey ho

Sheeshon ka maseeha koi nahin

kya aas lagaye baithey ho

Shayad kay inhi tukrdon mein kahin

wo sagar-e-dil hai, jis mein kabhi

Sud naaz se utra karti thi

Sahba-e-gham-e-jaanaan ki pari

Phir duniya walon ne tum se

Ye sagar le kar phod diya

Jo maye thi baha di mitti mein

Mehmaan ka shah par tod diya

Ye rangeen rezay hain shayed

un shokh biloori sapnon kay

Tum mast jawani mein jin se

Khalwat ko sajaya kartey thay

naadaari, dafter, bhookh aur gham

un sapnon se takratey rahay

be-reham tha chau-mukh pathraav

yeh kaanch kay dhanchey kia kartey?

Ya shayad in zarron mein kahin

moti hai tumhari izzat ka

woh jiss se tumharey ijz pe bhi

shamshad qadon nay rashk kia

is maal ki dhun mein phirtey thay

tajer bhi bohat rehzun bhi kaee

ai chor-nagar ya muflis ki

gar jaan bachi to aan gai

ye sagar sheeshe, laal-o-guhar

saalim hon to qeemat paate hain

yun tukrde tukrde hon to faqat

chubhte hain, lahoo rulwaate hain

yaadon ke girebaanon ke rafoo

par dil ki guzar kab hoti hai ?

ik bakhiya udheyrda, ek siya

yun umr basar kab hoti hai ?

is kaar-gahey hasti mein jahan

ye sagar sheeshay dhaltey hein

har shaey ka badal mil sakta hai

sab daaman pur ho saktey hein

Jo haath bardhey yawar hai yahan

jo aankh uthhey woh bakhtawar

yaan dhan daulat ka ant nahin

hon ghaat mein daaku lakh magar

kab loot jhapat se hasti ki

dukaanein khaali hoti hein

yaan parbat parbat heerey hein

yaan saagar saagar moti hein

Kuch log hein jo is daulat par

Pardey latkatey phirtay hein

Har parbet ko, har saagar ko

Neelam chardhaatey phirtey hein

Kuchh woh bhi hein jo laRh bhiRd kar

ye pardey noch giraatay hein

Hasti kay utthai giron ki

har chaal uljhaaye jatey hein

In donon mein run pardta hai

Nit basti basti, nagar nagar

Har basti ghar ke seene mein

Har chalti rah ke maathe par

Ye kalak bhartey phirte hein

Woh jot jagate rehte hein

Ye aag lagatey phirtey hein

Woh aag bujhatay rehtey hein

Sab saagar sheeshay laal o guhar

is baazi mein bid jaate hein

Uttho sab khaali haathon ko

us run se bulaway aate hein

is kaar-gahey hasti mein jahan

ye sagar sheeshay dhaltey hein

har shaey ka badal mil sakta hai

sab daaman pur ho saktey hein :)

My Letters To You

Light is more important than the lantern,

The poem more important than the notebook,

And the kiss more important than the lips.

My letters to you

Are greater and more important than both of us.

They are the only documents

Where people will discover

Your beauty 

And my madness.

- Nizar Qabbani

Ye, Who Choose

Tujh ko manzoor nahin ghalba-e zulmat lekin

Tujh ko manzoor hai yeh haath qalam ho jaen

Aur mashriq ki kameenN-gah main dharakta hua din

Raat ki aahni mayyat ke talay dab jaey

Translation:

Throne of murk you grudge against; yet

Yield to severe these hands,

Surrender to the dawn breathing softly in the womb of East 

Be entombed under the metal carcass of dusk

Verse: Faiz

Inapt Translation: mine.

Quetta: That Is You, That Is Me

Bol kay lab aazaad hain teray,

Bol zabaan ab tak teri hai,

Tera sutwaan jism hai tera,

Bol kay jaan ab tak teri hai,

Dekh kay aahan-gar ki dukaan main,

Tund hain shoalay, surkh hai aahan,

Khulnay lagay qufflon kay dahaanay,

Phela har ek zanjeer ka daaman,

Bol yeh thora waqt bohat hai,

Jism-o-zabaan ki maut se pehlay,

Bol kay sach zinda hai ab tak,

Bol jo kuch kehna hai keh le

- Faiz

When Your Fears Are Your Practical Approach

It is then that when one comes across a dead spirit, one has to make a call if one wants to live with a ghost, or get a life! 

Happy are those who choose life. 

Break The Bondage!

How much do you let the media feed you?

How much?

Take Note, Please

Maikada Saaz Hoon Main, Maikada Bardosh Nahin

What follows is a part of a book over Nizam ud Din Aulia - one of the greats in the mystic history & Islamic traditions.

I do not know how many of you may find it relevant, but to me it makes great sense... mainly because I'm a soul always swinging inbetween the sufi & the sharyati aspects of the religion, a lover too afraid to lose to adoration for the fear of committing disrespect ... But yun hosh bhi qaem rakhna, aur dawa-e ishq bhi karna - na faasqi ka lutf, na aashqi ka maza! :)

Coming straight to the point: 

Ps: JazakAllah dear friend HJA for sharing the book!

Rigorous Matters Of Dilbari

Dilbari neest kay dildadah'e deedar tu neest 

Yuk Khudawund nadeedam kay paristar-e tu neest!

The mirth of love games is for the seeker of love; 

How could ye behold God, if ye believe in none!

Verse: Unconfirmed poet

Inapt translation: mine

This Is It! :)

You ask me how I became a madman.

It happened thus:

One day, long before many gods were born,

I woke from a deep sleep

and found all my masks were stolen, -

the seven masks I have fashioned

and worn in seven lives, -

I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting,

” Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.”

Men and women laughed at me

and some ran to their homes

in fear of me.

And when I reached the market place,

a youth standing on a house-top cried,

“He is a madman.”

I looked up to behold him;

the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time.

For the first time the sun kissed

my own naked face

and my soul was inflamed

with love for the sun,

and I wanted my masks no more.

And as if in a trance I cried,

“Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.”

Thus I became a madman.

And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness;

the freedom of lonliness and the safety

from being understood,

for those who understand us enslave something in us.

But let me not be too proud of my safety.

Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.

~Kahlil Gibran

In The World Of Words

We dwell in the world of words, 

Your sound is the stroke 

painting contours of me,

Each blank space is the pause you make.

Deftly you play 

the play of light and shade,

with silence and syllable,

rendering color and grey.

Secretly I know 

I'm in the frame left alone,

When there's nothing more to say.

- leenah.

A Story Of Sight Beyond Sight

How about a li'll story time this weekend night? 

As the night turns cold, have you snuggled well into your blankets?

Well, lets start if you have! You just gotta hit the play button underneath and together we'll weave the sufi magic in a night out of the Arabian Nights ...

Post by Touching with fingers the naked body of dreams.

Harun al-Rashid [the caliph] gave the order, "Bring this Laila, so I might see why Majnun--out of love for her-- has cast such passion into the world and why from the East to the West lovers have made the story of his love their mirror." They went to great expense, employed much trickery, and succeeded in bringing Laila to the caliph. She was in a private chamber; at night the caliph would light candles, gaze at her for a while, and then reflect for a while. [But he could not see what was so special about her.] He said to himself, "If I get her to speak, perhaps her special quality will become more apparent in her face, by means of her speaking." He turned to Laila and asked, "Laila, is that you?" She replied, "Yes, I am Laila. But you are not Majnun. Those eyes that are in Majnun's head are not in yours. How can you see Laila with eyes with which you see other than her and which you have not cleansed by tears? Look at me with the vision of Majnun!" 

Those who look at the beloved with the vision of the lover are those whom, "He (God) loves..." [referring to Qur'an (5:54) "God will bring a people whom He loves and who love Him"] 'The defect [in most people] stems from the fact that they do not look at God with the vision of the lover; they look with the vision of knowledge and the vision of philosophy. 

The vision of love is something else. 

From the Discourses of Shams-i Tabrizi (Maqalat-i Shams-i Tabrizi)

Of The Gold Coloured Day

One hundred years 

from now,

it will not matter 

what kind of 

car I drove,

What kind of 

house 

I lived in,

How much I had 

in my 

bank account,

Nor what my 

clothes looked like.

But the world may be 

a little better place

because 

I was important

in the life

of a child.

~ anon.

The day was the first of the last month of the year and we were sitting in the front garden of the National Lace & Textiles, Mill. The sun beat down fiercely and for some time it was difficult to imagine it to be winters already. Apart from the few hiccups that are a part of the routine, it had been a smooth visit to the facility; perfectly drawing to a planned closure. ‘Alhamdolillah’, I thought with a sense of relief, ‘Another milestone successfully completed’. It was the moment when Col. Obaid Zia, CEO of the facility was winding up his farewell address to us: “Forgive me for taking so much of your time in narrating my journey of success. You people must not be enjoying the strong sun. But let me assure you once again, that it was a sheer pleasure to meet you, and host you.” Colonel sb. had been extremely gracious.

I looked at the mentors on my either side and glanced at the mentees in front, ‘Are we done?’ I thought. “Does anyone of you want to ask anything from Sir?” I probed the mentees, a group of almost 60, 15-years old girls visiting the Textile mill as part of an Exposure Trip of the Rahbar Cycle. To be honest, while relaying in my head the words of gratitude I meant to deliver on behalf of the visitors, I wasn’t really expecting to hear a reply to my question. Hence, it took me by surprise when I saw her rising from her seat among rest of the 9th graders. 

"Sir, you just mentioned about taking our time... I want to let you know that the ten minutes you've taken of our time are the most profitable investment we've made today. Years from now, when any of us would've exhausted completely and could be thinking of calling it quits, be it any field, these ten minutes would not let that happen. We will survive. And grow. And shine. Thank you for taking these ten minutes from our time."

She sat down. 

Colonel saheb was beaming, placing his hand over his chest he bowed his head in humbleness; while my spirit soared with pride! 

Nothing that I was about to say could have been more meaningful and more genuine than what had just been said.

As numerous hands automatically moved to clap, I did not know if there was a single thing I was clapping for. The inspiration in the form of Col. sb., the young mentee's honest (& eloquent) words, the gist of the entire excerice that had so well been recieved, the future that sounded so promising, and the realization that we are the today of such a bright tomorrow... it all combined to interweave an overwhelming sense of thankfulness.

The winter sun was blazing uncharacteristically, but what I'll remember this day for is the warmth of heart felt gratitude that filled the air and turned the afternoon a blissful gold.

PS: All conversations have been translated from Urdu with as much closeness to the actual as possible.

Guest Post From The Blog 'Tangled Up In Blue': "...Of The Voice Of The Rohi"

I've no words to describe the beauty of the following post. 

If anything, it's a treasure trove for anyone in love!

It is of the voice of the Rohi! 

It has the essence of Rohi, in various different voices carrying it over the sound waves...

Don't trust my word, just click on the link, and find for yourself!

" Tangled Up In Blue: ...Of The Voice Of The Rohi ": If you stopped me on the street tomorrow and asked, "What's the proudest day of your life?" I wouldn't hesitate a second before answerin...