‘Happily dead ever after,’
the dream of Innocence;
Till the passing
Of an unscrupulous Cavalier,
A Yazid on a black horse.
Fails to see the unseen corpse
Lying on the scorching sands,
desolate, ditched, deserted
He kick-starts her silent Pulse;
Galloping hard on her still chest
On his way to the land of Rose.
An architect, a mastermind
sculpted her malleable spirit.
Calculated each brushstroke
He caressed on her canvas.
Yet Unaware of the agony
The Blazes caused
While welding her carcass.
A sweet tongue, heavenly voice
Even envied by the Siren.
sow the seed of fake Hope
Into her deprived Garden.
As he whispered:
“My dear,” “My love,” “My angel”
“My soul mate, friend and teacher.”
He blew Life into her sunken lung
“You are so dear to me, child!”
Resurrected, resuscitated, restored,
She opened her teary eyes.
The Precious One
Was she carried away by his Gnosis of mankind?
Fallen for his beautiful mind,
his unmatched wisdom?
Or was it base attraction, given his notorious charm?
Perhaps it was simply his mesmerizing voice
Echoed in the deep valley of her being?
Could it be lust or passion? Desire or obsession?
Perhaps she needed a shelter on his shoulder,
As she had died of hunger,
for a crumb of empathy.
Was she running away from her wrecked soul;
Turning her gaze away from her own misery?
What if she had entrapped him in her desolate sorrow,
While under quarantine from her own solitude?
Or was she just too impatient to wait for Godot;
hence too eager to be knowingly fooled?
Maybe all, maybe none!
All I know, the precious one,
It remained, after you were gone!
And it was here,
long before you had come.
I was born as Zulaykha,
in love, longing, lure!
I had to find Joseph,
my Prince and my slave
my remedy and my ail.
I was buried already,
When he finally found me
With a letter in Persian
He must be, indeed,
the son of Jacob,
as his noble name indicated!
I asked: “where you from?”
He said: “from the Mountain
Wherein reigned your Forefather”
In which he had been thrown
Into a deep dark Well
By his own Brethren,
Oh! ye half-wit, half-bred, Beware!
In God’s womb, he was secure
Till he was re-born as my Master
And your Nightmare.
He had the title of Healer,
the power to put together
my fallen pieces, to complete the puzzle
of my hollow spirit, to cure my temper.
As his dying patient,
I had to believe
in his peculiar treatment!
By God’s, and my own will, I did.
Stars witnessed! I believed!
Signed the consent he handed
as a precaution:
He was not to be blamed,
for the Potion
he would make me drink.
I fell under his spell at once,
Drank, smoked and danced.
The tart scent of his incense
Unveiled the Self’s mysteries.
Enchanted, enraptured, infatuated,
I got lost in his labyrinths.
The states of Real multiplied,
Truth distorted, Faith lost.
On the nights we were drunk,
He would neither touch me, nor hug
Rather, sang me all about
Man’s glamorous past
We visited Salahuddin, Timur and Kanuni;
exchanged our tears, fears and dreams
with Hallaj, Shams, Behzad and Jami.
As much as I tried to hide from Time
The Day would come
to snatch away from my weak arm
what I trusted to be mine.
Through the Seven Doors,
shutting on my face, one by one,
The Master of Dreams,
Kissed our unborn children,
and left my kingdom.
I was camouflaged with wet mud
in the jungle, we were to run amok,
“You could not afford to be a Woman”,
said he, while mudding my body,
“in this tyrant terrain of Treachery”
I sniffed the war-stricken soil of his soul.
As we rowed through the river of gore.
I dived into the depth of his wounds; explored.
Torment was mapped on his backbone,
Yet, he strived to spread nothing more,
than hope, courage, faith and valor!
How I wished I could lift his burden,
That he tried to hide from Sun.
Hereafter had to chase him,
as his Pride would run!
“Ku’mars the first Man” I cried,
“let me drink with thou
Wine from the same cup,
let’s share the Apple
so that we can become One;
either in hell or heaven,
Alas, never on this wretched ground!
He built a Temple on the mountain,
out of my agnostic material.
Sanctifying it against my Will.
He took shelter on the Hill.
Had he known
he raised his own tomb,
as my polished walls shone
to mirror his fallen Throne?
We were never alone!
Prospect, present, past
Covertly followed us.
His Harem’s ghouls
Sneaked into my Marrows
Though he defended it
Against his own Nature,
The abode of convalescence,
His sacred cocoon,
Did not take long,
As my bones
crumpled down soon.
Eve was the heart, Adam the mind.
Heart was pure, but the mind fraud.
Poor Adam, whom was taught
All the names in universe,
Could never succumb,
As his arrogance barred.
Adam could not stay long
in tedious Eden.
No need to accuse his follower,
poor pure Eve!
After they tumbled down from the skies
Adam was nowhere to be found.
Not only had he created her
And took her downfall,
but also abandoned her
on dark drab dreary earth.
The Fire on Eve’s heart
was the only light
in the everlasting Night.
She never gave up, though,
Silently she wept and prayed,
lingering on Arafat;
Yet, Adam the self-seeker,
As self-righteous as he was,
took all the detours he could
till reaching his faithful Penelope.
As the earth was round, and the cycles his lot,
he doomed to come back to her Lodge.
Had it been abandoned by then,
Would he lament for the Missing,
God had granted him in the Beginning?
Word. Love. Friend.