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.

Well, this evening I was bored with my writing. To amuse myself I assembled this little poem.

This was just another day
humdrum, ordinary, plain
save the few words
of assurance ..
nameless affections
and vacant moments.
So I picked up
a moment, casually
and put it away
in my silly pocket.

I am home now
looking for it;
and just found out
that the crumpled moment
has grown into a premonition
of things to happen
of words that could be said
or left unsaid.

So I have folded that moment
neatly and gently
and placed it in a book
that I intend to read
but might not actually read.

And yet, tomorrow
I want to see what happens to it.
Will it gaze at me,
with a sardonic smile
and inquire: “Are you looking for me”
Again?

Raza Rumi - April 18 - 11 pm

Amir Khusrau

I am a pagan (worshiper) of love: the creed (of Muslims) I do not need;
Every vein of mine has become (taut like a) wire; the (pagan) girdle I do not need.
Leave from my bedside, you ignorant physician!
The only cure for the patient of love is the sight of his beloved –
other than this no medicine does he need.
If there be no pilot on our ship, let there be none:
We have God in our midst: the pilot we do not need.
The people of the world say that Khusrau worships idols.
So I do, so I do; the people I do not need,
the world I do not need.

I rediscovered this exquisite poem by Parveen Shakir after years. This is an intense love poem of rare beauty. It is composite, taut and melodic. I have tried to translate it - however, the impossibility of a translation haunts me..

More so, the reality of days gone by, the visions lost haunts me even more..

Dedicated to those who stand by the sea of evening colours and moods and want to merge with their expanse. And, to someone who lives with time present and time past with equal ease..

yay haseen shaam apni

yay haseen shaam apni
abhi jiss meiN ghul rahi hai
teray parahan kee khushboo
abhi jiss meiN khil rahay heiN
meray khawab kay shagoofay
zera dair ka hai manzar

zera dair meiN ufq par
khilay ga koi sitaara
teri simt daik kar woh
karay ga koi ishara
teray dil ko aayay ga phir
kissi yaad ka bullawa
koi qissa-ay judaaee, koi kaar-ay naamukamal
koi khawab-ay naa shagufta, koi baat kehnay wali

humeiN chaahiyay tha milna
kissi ahad-ay mehrbaaN meiN
kissi khawab kay yaqeeN meiN
kissi aur aasmaaN par
kissi aur sarzameeN meiN
humeiN chahiyay tha milna…

Here is the odd translation rendered by this blogger.

This melting evening of ours
Where everything dissolves
the scent of your clothes
the blossoming
sprouts of my dreams
All dissolves

A deferred vision, this is

In a little while,
a star will emerge on the horizon
To gaze at you
Meaningfully…!
Your heart shall then reminisce
the echo of a memory
The tale of a separation,
Of an unfinished moment
Of unblossomed dreams, things unsaid

We ought to have met
In times, considerate
In pursuit of attainable dreams
On a different sky
On a different earth
We ought to have met

Picture by Raza Rumi

A friend, for the lack of a better term (why are we always hankering after labels and identities for some associations that lie beyond the act of defining), wrote this piece for Jahane Rumi. She is a follower of the Sufi creed and this is what created a bond between us that refuses to go away despite the different paths and lives we have led. The connection has stood the winds of time. There is an audio-link at the end as well.

Recently while going through some of my late grandfather’s books, I was struck by a feeble looking Deewan of Khowaja Fareed. Feeble because it bore the date of 1964 for its inclusion in his impressive book collection. Expressing the thrill of holding a book which had travelled 44 years in time to reach me is beyond words. Needless to say with what intensity the book’s contents kept me immersed in them for almost two hours with un -interrupted focus which is a rare event in an ever-reaching-out-to-meet-a-target kind of life style we are used to. (more…)

by Vidya Rao

 I was fortunate to be one of the women invited to the first meeting of the Grandmothers’ University at Bija Vidyapeeth early this year. (more…)

Wealth has no permanence: it comes in the morning, (more…)

My young friend, Salman Chishty, from Ajmer (India) wrote this piece for the HT on the eve of Rumi’s birth anniversary. (more…)

This little poem by the famous Turk poet Aziz Nesin was left on Jahane Rumi by Sherry - I love it so much that I am re-posting it here -

You made me wait so long, so long that
I got used to missing you
You came back after a long time
I now love longing for you more
than I love you

(translated by Suleyman Fatih Akgul)

In every gathering, in any chance meeting
on the street, there is a shine,
an elegance rising up.

Today, I recognized that that jewel-like beauty
is the presence, our loving confusion,
the glow in which watery clay
gets brighter than fire,

the one we call the Friend.
I begged, “Is there a way into you,
a ladder?”
“Your head is the ladder.
Bring it down under your feet.”
The mind, this globe
of awareness, is a starry universe that when
you push off from it with your foot,

a thousand new roads come clear, as you yourself
do at dawn, sailing through the light.

– Version by Coleman Barks
“Say I am You”
Maypop, 1994

courtesy

There was a tragedy in my family recently. It has been a sobering week, reflective as well as chaotic.

 Last night, I read this translation of Rumi and understod how important it was to have faith and trust the power of Love. 

Weave not, like spiders, nets from grief’s saliva
In which the woof and warp are both decaying.
But give the grief to Him, Who granted it,
And do not talk about it anymore.
When you are silent, His speech is your speech.
When you don’t weave, the weaver will be He.

– Translation by Annemarie Schimmel

I am the Spirit Moon
with no place.
You do not see me for I am hidden
inside the soul.
Others want you for themselves but I call you
back to yourself.
You give me many names but I am
beyond all names.
Sometimes you say I am deceitful
but as long as you are
I will be too.
Until you remain blind and deaf
I will be invisible.
I am the garden of all gardens
I speak as the King of all flowers
I am the spring of all waters.
My words are like a ship and the sea
is their meaning.
Come to me and I will take you
to the depths of spirit.

Rumi

Translated by Azima Melita Kolin
and Maryam Mafi

Truly, those who are faithful
and do righteous deeds,
the Compassionate One will endow with Love.

- The Quran, (19:96)

I am free, my mind is free,
I can be imprisoned nowhere.

Today Bulleh Shah’s Urs (death anniversary) celebrations have commenced in Qasoor, Pakistan. Bulleh Shah was an iconoclastic Sufi poet from the Punjab who rejected convention, orthodox religion and conventions. His message of peace and individuality continues. In all respects he was ahead of his times. This time delegates from India will also attend the ceremonies and his timeless verse shall be sung.

Centuries before we knew existentialist thought, this was uttered by a small town Sufi poet:

I know not who I am

I am neither a believer going to the mosque
Nor given to non-believing ways
Neither clean, nor unclean
Neither Moses not Pharaoh
I know not who I am

I am neither among sinners nor among saints
Neither happy, nor unhappy
I belong neither to water not to earth
I am neither fire, not air
I know not who I am

(Translation by K S Duggal)

Another poem berates the classes and hierarchies that divide people:

Let us go O Bullah
let us go then you and I
to the kingdom of the blind;
where none debates our caste or creed
none respect us thus.

This transient world
is neither thine nor mine;
all is finite
why then this quarrel
this contest
for all is ephemeral there in.

Mullah and the torch bearer
are both alike,
professing to light the path for others
themselves dwell in darkness.

(from ‘Kalaam Bulleh Shah’ printed by Pakistan International Printers, Lahore )

On the futility of ritual and uttering that Reality is about unity of all existence - Ik Nukte vich Gal Mukdi Eh (Its all in One contained):

Understand the one and forget the rest.
Shake off your ways of an apostate pest
Leading to the grave to hell and to torture.
Rid your mind of dreams of disaster.
This is how is the argument maintained.
It’s all in One contained.

What use is it bowing one’s head?
To what avail has prostrating led?
Reading kalam you make them laugh.
Absorbing not a word while the Quran you quaff.
The truth must be here and there sustained.
It’s all in One contained.

Some retire to the jungles in vain.
Others restrict their meals to a grain.
Misled they waste away unfed .
And come back home
Emaciated in the ascetic postures feigned.
It’s all in One contained.

Seek you master, say your prayers and surrender to God

It will lead you to mystic abandon
And help you to get attuned to the Lord.
It’s the truth that Bulleh has gained.
It’s all in One contained.

(Translation by K S Duggal)

What an inspiring corpus of verse Bulleh Shah has left for us.
Wish I was in Qasoor, too.

Please do watch Abida Parveen singing here and here.

Jahane Rumi Links: On the rejection of meaningless formal learning here and on freedom of the mind here; and on love sickness here.

There is a channel between voice and presence,
a way where information flows.

In disciplined silence the channel opens.
With wandering talk, it closes.

– Version by Coleman Barks

show me your face
i crave
flowers and gardens
open your lips
i crave
the taste of honey
come out from
behind the clouds
i desire a sunny face
your voice echoed
saying “leave me alone”
i wish to hear your voice
again saying “leave me alone”
i swear this city without you
is a prison
i am dying to get out
to roam in deserts and mountains
i am tired of
flimsy friends and
submissive companions
i die to walk with the brave
am blue hearing
nagging voices and meek cries
i desire loud music
drunken parties and
wild dance
one hand holding
a cup of wine
one hand caressing your hair
then dancing in orbital circle
that is what i yearn for
i can sing better than any nightingale
but because of
this city’s freaks
i seal my lips
while my heart weeps
yesterday the wisest man
holding a lit lantern
in daylight
was searching around town saying
i am tired of
all these beasts and brutes
i seek
a true human
we have all looked
for one but
no one could be found
they said
yes he replied
but my search is
for the one
who cannot be found

– Translation by Nader Khalili

Recognize that your imagination and your thinking
and your sense perception are reed canes
that children cut and pretend are horsies.

The Knowing of mystic Lovers is different.
The empirical, sensory, sciences
are like a donkey loaded with books,
or like the makeup woman’s makeup.
It washes
off.

But if you lift the baggage rightly, it will give you joy.
Don’t carry your knowledge-load for some selfish reason.
Deny your desires and willfulness,
and a real mount may appear under you.

Don’t be satisfied with the name of HU,
with just words about it.

Experience that breathing.
From books and words come fantasy,
and sometimes, from fantasy
comes union.

Rumi
Version by Coleman Barks