Rahim & Karim - Acrylic on canvas - 12″ x 18″

This is a small painting that I created in December 2007. I wanted to paint the names of Allah also used in Sufi Zikr (or Dhikr) - Ar-Raheem (the Merciful), Al-Kareem (the Generous). I did not follow any particular style. In the first place I am not a trained calligraphist and secondly I just wanted to be myself - in expressing the particular reverence for these chants.

There are many other names of God among the ninety nine that are also painted across the canvas in light hues. Yes they have an amateur style but then I wanted to make them a part of the composition. Now I could not have given up the idea just because I am not skilled enough with the Arabic script. Lame? No.

In the picture above, the painting is held by Sadia Dehlvi who is writing a book on Sufism these days. And, this little composition was meant to give her the strength and act as good luck charm too.

For an earlier Zikr inspired painting of mine click here.

Without the eyes – two clouds – the lightning of the heart:
The fire of God’s threat, how could it be allayed?
How would the herbage grow of union, sweet to taste?
How would the fountains all gush forth with water pure?
How would the rosebed tell its secret to the meadow?
How would the violet make contracts with jasmine?
How would the plane tree lift its hands in prayer, say?
How would the trees’ heads toss free in the air of Love?
How would the blossoms shake their sleeves in days of
spring
To shed their lovely coins about the garden wide?
How would the tulip’s cheek be red like flames and blood?
How would the rose draw out its gold now from its purse?
How would the ringdoves call like seekers, “Where, oh
where?”
How would the stork repeat his laklak from his soul,
To say: “O Helper high, Thine is the kingdom, Thine!”
How would the dust reveal the secrets of its heart?
How would the sky become a garden full of light?

Rumi
Translation by Annemarie Schimmel
“I Am Wind, You are Fire”
Shambhala, 1992

Contribution by Naveed Siraj

The Risalo of Shah Latif is divided into chapters called Surs which are composed on the lines of musical notes. Each sur is based on symbols taken from stories which are part of Sindhi folklore. Sur Kamod in the Risalo of Shah Latif is based on the love story of Noori Jam-Tamachee:

Noori Jam-Tamachee

King Jam Tamachi was a Samo ruler of lower Sind at the end of the 14th century A.D. While on a shooting expedition, he chanced to see a fisher girl named Noori, falling madly in love with her and offered to married her, his love for her blind to the social disparity between them.

When they returned back to his capital, he was made aware of the general disapproval of this match. He merely observed that the detractors did not know her as much as he did. In order to display her character and appease the cynics, one day, he announced to his queens, that he would take one of them for a ride on an outing. (more…)

Sufi Cuisine, a book combining culinary history with over one hundred sumptuous recipes inspired by the teachings of Sufism.

Sufi Cuisine takes the reader on a sensuous journey of earthly and spiritual delights. As Nevin Halici explains in her introduction, the eating and preparation of food is at the heart of Sufi religious practices and beliefs, and the truly inspiring array of dishes - from preserved rose petals and snow helva, to baklava prepared with water in which oak ashes have been soaked overnight - illustrates this beautifully. Full of charming anecdotes, poetry from the great Sufi mystic, Mevlana, and delightful recipes, Sufi Cuisine is a rare treat.

Source: www.saqibooks.com - reached us via this blog.

 Sadi has written a wonderful post here - I am cross posting it here.

Couple of nights back (24, April, 08) came an unanticipated opportunity to watch and listen to two of great contemporary pakistani sufi Qawwali singers at famous UCLA Royce Hall. The concert was titled, Qawwali Music of Pakistan: Sufi devotional music.Among the audience was both americans and sub-continental audience. What was striking, is Qawwali’s ability to transcend language with its sheer power and captivating devotion. The nature of improvisation makes each Qawwali, even if its sung by the same group of singers, very unique and every new listening is a new experience.Sometime the depth of the verses, fused with the presentation takes audience to an otherly high which was felt last night too. At times there were goosebumps and surges with the strong emotion that is created in Qawwali performance. The Sufi Qawwalis are considered as zikr or Divine remembrance if listened with spiritual understanding and depth.:: What is Sufi Qawwali? | Qawwali is derived from the Arabic word qaul, literally meaning “saying” but has taken on the meaning of “belief”or “credo” in South Asian languages. Qawwali is spiritual in essence; it is the devotional music of the Sufis to attain trance and mystical experience - originating in the 10th century and blossoming into its present form from the 13th century onwards. (more…)

Do not worry if our harp breaks
thousands more will appear.
We have fallen in the arms of love where all is music.
If all the harps in the world were burned down,
still inside the heart
there will be hidden music playing.
Do not worry if all the candles in the world flicker and die
we have the spark that starts the fire.
The songs we sing
are like foam on the surface of the sea of being
while the precious gems lie deep beneath.
But the tenderness in our songs
is a reflection of what is hidden in the depths.
Stop the flow of your words,
open the window of your heart and
let the spirit speak.

– Translation by Azima Melita Kolin
and Maryam Mafi
“Rumi: Hidden Music”
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 2001

Other versions below (more…)

In a story entitled Punjab grants ‘divine man’ obscene rights, Hamid Asghar of DAWN had written this report about the way the Sufi descendants of today can use their influence. I had saved the story and forgot where I had saved it. Today, I stumbled upon it. And, here it is - this is why the Sufis and their shrines are a target of negative comments.

GUJAR KHAN: That a “divine man” wants to drive in style in our VIP culture would not surprise many, but that the government helps him in the obscenity would.

That is how the local traffic police felt when it stopped a car for travelling with hooter blaring and blue light flashing on its roof and was confronted with a carte blanche in the form of an official letter addressed “To Whom It May Concern”.

The flashing light was just one sign that the car belonged to Badshah Ghosia Qalandar Baba Sarkar. His eminence were also proclaimed through a green flag, with Kalima on it, flying from the bonnet and Allah-o-Akbar and “786” emblazoned on either side of the personalised “Ghospak” green number plate. (more…)

Spring is here, friends.
Let’s stay in the garden
And be guests to the strangers of the green.

We’ll fly from one flower to the other,
Like bees making the six corners
Of this earth’s hives prosperous.

An envoy came from this fortress
And said, “Don’t beat the drum secretly.
With our yells, we would tear down the place
Where that Love’s drum is beating.”

Hear that voice which comes from the sky,
“Rise, all insane ones.
I sacrifice my Soul to the insane.
Let’s scatter our Soul today.”

Let’s break all the chains.
Every one of us is a blacksmith.
Let’s go to the fireplace where the pincers are.

Let’s fan the flame of the Heart’s fire
Like the furnace of blacksmiths.
So we can have iron Hearts
Under our control with breath.

We’ll put fire in this universe,
Incite riots in the sky,
Make his sober, resisting mind
Turn around, become dizzy like ours.

We are like a ball, without hands and feet,
Sometimes at the end
And sometimes at the beginning of the square.
Who told you we could do what we want?
Who told you we are independent?

No, no. We are like a club
In the hand of the Sultan.
We send hundreds of thousands of balls
To His feet.

Let’s be silent. Silence is made
With some material like craziness.
His mind is such a fire
That we hide this fire by wrapping it in cotton.

– Translation by Nevit O. Ergin
“Divan-i Kebir” — Meter 1
Walla Walla, Washington: Current, 1995.

David Walsh writes at WSWS

On April 20, the New York Times published a lengthy article by investigative reporter David Barstow detailing the US Defense Department’s extensive and ongoing program of manipulating news coverage of the Iraq war. The article provides a glimpse into the intimate connections between the government, military and mass media and the means by which they have attempted to package and sell a neo-colonial war to the US population.

Barstow writes that the record indicates a “symbiotic relationship where the usual dividing lines between government and journalism have been obliterated.” Essentially, the US mass media has allowed itself to become little more than a propaganda instrument of American militarism.

According to the April 20 piece, more than 75 retired officers have been coached by government and military officials to ‘spin’ the news about Iraq—or simply lie—on countless network and cable channel news programs and talk shows over the course of the past five years or more. Fox News has led the way in presenting these individuals to the public, but NBC, CNN, CBS and ABC have followed suit. (more…)

A Poem by K.G. Sankarapillai

Dear Che

Dear Che,
you came to our university campus
in mid sixties
with a comrade and a modernist friend
with visuals of jungles past and present
with a vision of a new battle for justice.

Like a fresh wind of October
you joined us
moved us
renewed us
and smoothened our entry into history
with love, dreams and plans.

You told us about the sleeping rebel powers
of mountains and forests of the new minds;
quite often you talked of the day when
‘the Andes would become
the Sierra Maestra of America.’

Our modernist friend said:
you are the red star over the world
tarnished by America;
you are the future of the world
crippled by America;
you are the Jesus of the modern age
crucified by America.

Although you remained evergreen in us
showed us the exit to the oceans
from the lyrical ponds of our
post Independent Indian youth;
the exit to the storm from the water lily breeze
of our weeping romantic poems;
dear doctor, you redefined us
living with us
living for us
living in us
passing the confidence of torrents into our deserts
weaving sunlit paths into our prodigal nights.

You brought world into our words
and future into our past.
You opened blast-furnaces for our ore. (more…)

Accidentally stumbled on this sort of information last night and was surprised at some of the places where visitors had been clicking on this website - I am just picking up the first 25 - Internet is amazing..

1. Mount Gretna, Pennsylvania, United States
2. Fremont, California, United States
3. Sana, Hadramawt, Yemen
4. Trondheim, Sor-Trondelag, Norway
5. Slough, Slough, United Kingdom
6. Pakistan
7. Lahore, Punjab, Pakistan
8. Ferij Al Muhadham, Dubayy, United Arab Emirates
9. Mexico
10. New Westminster, British Columbia, Canada
11. Lincoln, Nebraska, United States
12. Dublin, Dublin, Ireland
13. Lecce, Puglia, Italy
14. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States
15. Queens Village, New York, United States
16. Hummelstown, Pennsylvania, United States
17. Makati, Rizal, Philippines
18. Sweden
19. India
20. Zürich, Zurich, Switzerland
21. Yeadon, Leeds, United Kingdom
22. Cincinnati, Ohio, United States
23. San Antonio, Texas, United States
24. Washington, District of Columbia, United States
25. Horsham, Birmingham, United Kingdom

Herat Hami

A poem by Wimalaratne Kumaragame (a translation)

Herat Hami who lived in Aliya Watunu Wawe*1
Even someone like me was more important than him
Though Harat Hami cut dead bodies*2
He was twenty, thirty times more decent than me
In the hospital of Aliya Watunu Wawe
He spent his time removing night soil
Though he lived happily with a monthly salary
Whenever I saw him I was moved with sadness

A hard, wiry body, handsome and thin
Not much of age, fresh and young
No wife as yet
I was perplexed by the job he did

Making someone like me sad
Each day he carried my excrement
If someone dies suddenly
Doctor comes
He cut the dead bodies in front of us

None from the farmer, worker or elite caste
Ever did such a job
No known disease of mind he had
He did no harm to any dwellers of the forest

He spread a docile smile
Every word of his spread ahimsa
Every evening he drank burning water
His heart overflowed with kindness

His sister was stabbed
Recalling her my eyes get wet
He did not cry the day his sister died
When she had a fever he wailed with tears in his eyes

When his younger sister died he went with a doctor
Her dead body was cut by Herat Hami
Though the villagers blamed him in harsh words for this
He did not care much about the world’s violent flesh
As he was not born in a rich mansion
He went to the temple at every Poya
He was a member of the newly built stupa
Even more than that he respected Iyyenayaka*3

Translation by Basil Fernando (more…)