The Sufi Booklover

A touching episode from the life of a man who was bestowed with abundant authority by Destiny, yet chose to depart from the halls of power.

The ‘Sultan’ was,
On his way back,
From a trip that,
Several hours took.

As the driver,
Steered across the road,
His heart was lost,
In the books’ world.

A booklover since,
His days young,
For moments of,
Solitude he’d yearn.

Books were truly,
His dearest friends,
He took them along,
While on long distance.

As the car passed,
Swiftly into a wild route,
An old lady and girl,
Caught his sight.

Men of God are large,
In their heart and glance,
For, ‘they see the world,
With the light of His’.

Even as they are lost,
In the world of vision,
They lose not the sight,
Of those in pain.

Love for all,
Sits atop in their agenda,
Rich and poor are,
Guests in their veranda.

The old lady wailed,
For a helping hand,
For the poor girl,
Was expecting a child.

They had been waiting,
On the road for long,
For a God-sent angel,
To some relief bring.

The Sultan stopped,
Eagerly enquired,
At once he resolved,
At what’s required.

He asked the driver,
To reach them to the town,
So that the little-life,
Could be in relief born.

And he waited alone,
Until the car returned.

But to leave his master,
Alone in the wild,
Fear over fear,
In the driver’s heart piled.

His master always spoke,
In sound mild,
But when disobeyed,
The master fumed.

The car sped,
Towards the hospital,
And the Sultan waited,
Alone in the land fatal.

The king whom,
Thousands thronged,
Now stood alone,
On the wild roadside.

He remained there,
For much long,
Until the driver,
Finally returned.

Destiny called him,
The Blazing Sayyid:
Though an Indian,
Arab was his blood.

Sultan and Sufi,
Became one in him,
World of Books,
Truly endeared him.

He carved an era,
Of peace and tolerance,
Love was his melody,
Of speech and silence.

His calm,
But blazing smile,
Eclipsed every,
Violent call.

Days and nights,
As a candle he burned,
For those wounded,
With pain he consoled.

The Lord granted him,
Powers of every kind,
Yet as a saint was he,
To all benevolent.

He walked daily across,
The corridors of dominion,
Yet not for once,
He craved a position.

Though to Death’s call,
He did answer,
He remains alive,
In our hearts’ chamber.

Love, the greatest miracle,
Of a true Sufi,
Spreading His Love,
Makes their hearty lofty.

Dec 31 2011. Edit 2024