Woes of a Weary Nightingale

Adrift in the tempestuous sea of human conflicts, Mujeeb Jaihoon grapples with the yearning for the higher power of Divine mercy.

Hey dear love-lit face,
Tell me something new:
Plenty: the news of Iblis,
Angels’ talk are but few.

Move my tears
In His thought.
Closer is He than,
The vein in my throat.

May I rest my head,
In your hands?
To sink my pain,
As water in the sands.

Every morning
I wake up in His name:

Allah! No more killing,
In the world!
May I approach closer,
To my Merciful Lord!

The Rose: robbed of its smell,
Nightingale’s song: they kill.

The creed:
Ousted from its garden
For the leaders:
‘Tis a burden

For how long can I hope
For a candle?
Where is a noble soul
For faith to kindle?

I am fed up,
With this merciless system.
Which strips the tree,
Leaving the stem.

To whom will I complain?
Who will share my pain?

I have thus withdrawn.
To your company,
Fed up with the world,
Where all run behind penny.

Show me anything
But not the gloomy black,
Love-paint my heart,
To bring the joy back.

Feb 29th 2004. Edit Aug 2024