Our yearning for God’s Beloved increases our consideration to enter His Paradise, writes Mujeeb Jaihoon.
Hours and hours
In solitude pass by
Nothing around
Can rejoice my heart dry
The nonsensical noise:
We fondly call music-
Neither emotion nor passion,
To make our hearts tick.
This is the present state,
Of the believing hearts.
They don’t damn care,
Who climbs the temporal charts.
But yes,
There is a Beloved who rests,
Below the Green Dome.
Hard it is to describe the joy,
When his memories bloom.
All the sound and hue,
Seem utterly dead.
When I rest my heart,
In that compassionate bed.
Even the most beautiful flower-
I see,
Is no more than a drop,
From that Handsome Sea.
Hey Friend!
Look at the tricks people play,
To display their fair clay.
But what to speak,
Of his God-given Light.
Without him, our days-
Just one cursed night.
Oh!
Lord did a favor
On this colorful world
When this Full Moon’s face
He partly showed
What would we sinners be, hey Tasbih,
In this world and next?
To see the gates of Paradise
He would be the only pretext.
My heart burns bright,
His yearning takes flight
But arrested by shame; I refrain
Since my actions are lame.
June 26, 2003. Edit July 2024
