Tag: sufi

two poems: “Museum” and “courtyard, unedited”

Two poems: Museum and courtyard, unedited

These pieces were written while and after visiting the Aga Khan Museum in Toronto, Canada. The first, Museum, is a reflection on history, civilizations, art and interpretation. The second piece, courtyard, unedited, was penned while sitting in the Museum’s inner courtyard, and has intentionally been left unedited in order to maintain for the reader, the flow of inspiration as originally felt. It contains English as well as another Hindi-Urdu mixed language that sometimes spills onto the page. Please excuse my rough transliteration attempt as neither of these is my first language.

DSC_0412
View of the courtyard, looking up from the main floor. Copyright Asif Virani, 2014.
Photos taken in and around the Aga Khan Museum, courtesy of Asif Virani, 2014.
View of the courtyard from the second floor. Copyright Asif Virani, 2014.
DSC_0441
Up-close view of one of the metal screens/jaali on the second floor. Copyright Asif Virani, 2014.

Museum

What will the people from days to come decide to make of us,
what will they preserve in their halls?

Those gone by have become to us what remains of them,
after all tribulation and epiphany fell away into dust.

They have become what we can still understand of them.

~

There is too much left to know about knowing; not enough left to see.

We fear we are penning lines already penned by those greater than us,
a people that truly saw the truth unfold.

Nothing can be said now that has not been said before;
our efforts, mere echoes of a greater, grander voice.

What inspired these carvers, and what were they trying to say –
can we be certain that we have preserved ourselves against misunderstanding?

Did they create these shapes because those are what they saw,
or were they too, seeking to lose themselves in detailed but repetitive abstraction?

Do these patterns transcend a name?

~ ~ ~

courtyard, unedited

is jahaan mein hum upna sub kuch kho sakte hain,
sub kuch seekh  bhi saktehain

aisa husn ko bananekiliye, aisi roshni, is roshni, ki zaroorat hai

this light is something like the light of the heavens and the earth;
this light has an unnameable quality to it,
a way for all to see all

bathed in it my hand resting on the table becomes something from another world,
translucent, light diffusing outward in the place of rosy flesh

your eyes are from another time here, where patterns repeat themselves to liberate beyond eye’s capacity, where voices rise to a crescendo and we take in,

light,
light,
light, light light,

upon our hands, our face, and every
one is so beautiful here today

yahaan aake kuch bhi likhdijiye,
sub kuch shahiri banjayegi

yahaan aake kuch khaaneki zaroorat nahin mehsoos hoti,
in hawaaon, saa(n)son, is jahaan ka rooh hi kaafi hai

yahaan rehekar kuch chaate hai hum,
kuch khona bhi chaate hain

kuch cheez samaj na chaate hain hum,
kuch cheez humko yaad aatihai

kuch cheez hamaari thi, hamaari hai,
hamaare dil me se nikalke,
humhi ke aage jhoom uthi

keherahihai:

agar aapke dil mein koi baat phool ki tarha khilrahihain,
to usse khilne do;
mat sochiye

agar aapke ander koi baat hai, to aap dil ki zubaan se usse pehsh karo,
chaahe koi samje ya na samje

agar koi lafz kaafi nahin lagte,
to khudh ke lafaazon banaalo

khudh ki zubaan banaalo,

koi samje, ya na samje

~

A rough translation of courtyard, unedited:

in this place/world we can lose/forget everything of/about ourselves;
we can also learn everything

to make this kind of beauty, this type of light, this light, is needed

…

come here and write anything at all,
it will become poetry / anything written here becomes poetry

here, there is no need felt for eating,
these winds, breaths, the soul of this place/world is enough

staying/being here, we desire something;
also, something we wish to lose

some things we understand,
and some things, we remember

some things were ours, are ours;
some things come out from our own hearts
and have come alive/to dance in front of us

they say:

if something blossoms like a flower in your heart,
then allow it to blossom,
think not

if there is something in you that wants to be said, then use the language of your heart to convey it,
whether anyone understands or not

if no words seem enough,
then make up your own words

make up your own language,

whether anyone understands, or not

taking in small sips all the time

Oil lamps. Image source: http://www.ishafoundation.org/blog/lifestyle/this-holiday-season-bring-an-oil-lamp-into-your-home/
Oil lamps. Image source: http://www.ishafoundation.org/blog/lifestyle/this-holiday-season-bring-an-oil-lamp-into-your-home/

~

This piece was inspired after attending a musical performance.

~

taking in small sips all the time

most days we trudge along, faces sunken,
the light behind our eyes, unlit

and then what comes along on the wings of a sweet melody
but the calling of something with which to cure our extinguishment

we strap ourselves in for the ride

what a thing it is to simply sit and be taken
to a place that exists only once in a while

~

fully saturated however,
we take up where we left off,
heavy and hardened, in pain

we were so close to becoming beautiful
but we surpassed ourselves in our glut

~

there can be a such thing as too much
heaven, too much light;
the flame rapidly fuelled is quick to die away

to stay free we must bend and turn,
dust off our delicate soul-wings,
and sleep;
eat only a little of the light,
and drink what has been given,
taking in small sips all the time.

 

dissolving further all the time (2014)

Somewhere along Balmy Beach, Toronto, ON. © Saara Punjani 2013.
Somewhere along Balmy Beach, Toronto, ON.
© Saara Punjani 2013.

each time we turned
to rise above this illusion of the finite,
we were met with a ceiling – not yet, not yet

we made steady ablutions
and we kept a hopeful heart
and still, we were not crowned to go on

~

a kite without a string
would be blown every which way on the ground;

a kite with a string
rises high in finite direction

yet, without the string
we could not have come
as far as we already have

how far must we rise before the string can be cut;
before we are unbound from the direction of our path?

how far must we rise before we are taken into the skies,
mere specks, dissolving further all the time?

~

on this day, listen, to the quiet,
as clearly, some things are being said

whether we move,
upward,
inward,
outward or forward,
we cannot begin to say

the tides pull us away,
that we forget you;

the tides push us so far
that we fall right in

here we have always been, unmoving in the movement,
immersed in the truth of your most impressive signs

let us dig deeper, look farther, stay awake longer;
let us continue searching for you

let us be so obviously engrossed,
mere specks, dissolving further all the time

to the beloved (2014)

A colour we cannot name. © Saara Punjani 2014.
A colour we cannot name.
© Saara Punjani 2014.

the water of the stream flows to its end
and i, flow in all planes to the beloved

the beloved calls, and i dissolve into the wind;
the beloved exists, so i go

~

these waters gleam now and again silver,
now and again a colour we cannot name

once,

we think,

we think we glimpsed the beloved’s face reflected there

now we undertake this pilgrimage every day

~

the beloved is, so i am too,

for the moment

the water of the stream flows to its end

and i, on my way to the beloved

in my veins, in my blood (2014)

i write a letter to the beloved
my fingers move only in love

i move in love
and love moves me;
i turn,
i turn,
i turn

~

which sense to keep when loved by the beloved;
which of any of my things could i need?

what use for eyes that see the beloved everywhere;
for direction when upon the beloved’s door?

nothing need make be sense said anymore

the beloved knows what i would write before i do;
the beloved in my veins, in my blood

to speak of this, is to be silent (2014)

to speak of this, is to be silent

~

this night bears witness of the re-emergence of i
who extracts the self from the folds of us all
to take up seat in the presence of the beloved

 

who can stay locked up when the beloved comes to call;
who can refuse the sweet companionship?

every surface on which the beloved’s gaze falls,
loves, breathes, swings and sways in rapture

~

no one taught me how to find you
but you taught me
by the pen

no one told me i already knew you
but you tell me
over again

inside me, whole seas part
to reveal the way
to your shore

i have come upon myself
in a way
like never before

~

the shores of my heart (2014)

i close my eyes and listen for the arrival
of the beloved on the shores of my heart

~

where is the beloved now, even he does not know;
the horizon, an ever-unreachable illusion across the vast empty sky

i linger still, in the sand of our memories
which even now is freshly turned with the tread of soft feet

every wave which comes to bump up against my heart
sings a slightly different song than the one before it

in every stone i see the face of the beloved looking back at me;
in every wave is the depth of his eyes

each wave comes asking to move me,
to share news of the beloved’s journey from afar

do i want to know what news they carry of the beloved?

~

the last vessel has sailed from my shores

and there are none who can carry me across myself

i cannot send anyone after the beloved
but i take comfort in knowing
that i see the very same horizon
as he

~

i am quiet;
i am still

a stone thrown could not change this

and neither could one pour more water
to move me

 

this fresh instance (2014)

"That all men may know his work." Inscription in the ceiling of the Royal Ontario Museum. © Saara Punjani 2013.
“That all men may know His work.” Inscription in the ceiling of the Royal Ontario Museum. © Saara Punjani 2013.

who can say we have no need of a poet?

how many times we need eat the same message
yet certainly it tastes better when fresh!

~

let me bake this fresh instance,
let me sing this fluttering green;
let me whirl the tunic of my heart round;
let me paint this golden sheen

let me make this message something you know,
something you recognize;
something that knocks on the door of your stillness
and rouses you into a poet too

 

 

the shower of your blessing (2014)

this, is the shower of your blessing
the one that comes down as music
needing only something off which to sound

we hover now, on the best place there is:
on the threshold, a step away from your rain,
but not fully inside of it

 

only here can we truly appreciate what you send

 

were we immersed,
we could not see how this rain drops abundantly on every leaf,
each of which curls, bows, in gratitude

were we too far away
we could not see how this rain constantly merges with itself,
ever merging into larger course

 

a trickle to a stream, a stream to a river:
instinctively, we know where this merger leads

the coming of a light (2014)

Dawn, or dusk. © Saara Punjani 2014.
Dawn, or dusk. © Saara Punjani 2014.

the earth we tilled with your mercy
is covered in a layer of dust

ourselves, producers of little rain,
dry in the eye and empty in the chest

i, never an oasis but always home to green,
turn to sand carried swiftly away

~

at times i wonder,
am i rumi or am i shams?

am i to receive
or will i ever inspire,
not as me,
but of you?

will a day come when i
am finally what you intended,

when i am no longer a sum of ingredient?

~

keep me apart here,
i have no complaint,

but please, please tell me this:

am i here to await the coming of a light,

or am i here to myself become one?

what sun shines here (2014)

a flower blooms steadily in love:

desiring for sun to gaze upon its every part

yearning for dew to slide slowly over each curve

 

at the peak of its love, each petal arches so strongly

that it breaks free of everything and goes on

~

what sun shines here, a dusty lamp;
what morning wet, a mere drop

tell me, if i break free,
will you place a palm underneath and carry me?

straight lines (2014)

straight lines do not inspire us;
straight lines, they make up a fence

now we look for empathy in coffee mugs
and the faces of the people in the street

where is the warmth we knew and loved?
where, where, is the sun?

~

why does repetition here not lead
to the liberation we have come to find in you?

where we are now, there are similarly
levels upon levels to climb

but with you what could be attained in a moment of love,
here takes years and years

~

far too long have i loved you and your accommodation;
you take me as i am, and i need not win you over, because
you will never leave

~

the straight lines in which we now clothe ourselves
and the straight lines upon which we walk
are none like the directness with which we approached you,
one bead of light at a time, along the length of your rope

the world and places like it (2014)

The most beautiful thing. © Saara Punjani 2014.
The most beautiful thing. © Saara Punjani 2014.

dearest,

why do we go all around
the world and places like it?

why do you want to take me where you’ve been?

~

what makes you whole
makes me whole, too

the feeling you seek,
is my life

 

how long will we flit,
two bees on the same flower
returning home to tell stories
of the most beautiful thing?

 

what you love, is what i love too,
though i am not your bee

you needn’t see with my eyes,
you needn’t feel with my heart

to know how hundreds of fields
become one

which is you (2014)

i walk the narrowest road toward you,
no less fine than a hair

if there is anywhere to fall
it is directly into the mist below,

which
is you.

 

the end of your rope
is always in sight

all i must do is stretch out my hand
and you send it my way.

your rope – a lifeline for one who drowns
when in fact there is no other sea

if there is anywhere to drown,
it is directly into the height, width, and depth,

which
is you.

the friend (2014)

the signs of maturity within us say:

o dear heart, the friend will come again tomorrow

 

the friend lays beside, though he may rest elsewhere;
the friend knows you by your eye

the friend loves you more than you can know,
in dimension after dimension untold

~

look with a different eye
and you will see him holding you together from within

look with a different eye
that you may know him even after he departs forever from sight

~

o my love:

you are my footing, my keystone,
my place of rest,

my pilgrimage, my refuge, my harbour,
my nest.

 

you are home (2014)

dearest,

it’s okay to be the one that loves more

to be the one that speaks less

to be the one that reaches out for a strong hand

isn’t it wonderful
that you can be so in need?

isn’t it wonderful
that you can feel so in need?

my dearest, dearest, heart:

it’s okay to put the self to rest
and to yield to your need
for the beloved

~

i close my eyes and
my forehead is so naturally drawn
downward, to rest at your feet

i cannot do other than bow

this is where i am
and this is where i belong

something in me knows
you
are home.

my heart is becoming blind (2014)

my heart is becoming blind,
but finding meaning in a way that was not open to it before

when the eyes were wide,
the fingers were dead; the world of raised letterforms,
unavailable

my heart is becoming deaf,
but finding meaning in a way that was not open to it before

when the ears were sensitive,
the eyes pre-conceived; the world of fresh signs,
overlooked

my heart is becoming mute,
but finding meaning in a way that was not open to it before

when the mouth ran on,
the ears grew stiff; the world of boundless harmony,
unheard

my heart is losing its mind,
but finding meaning in a way that it could only understand
after walking a new path
of learning
of knowing
of being

~

what sense is this?
which fingers grasp the idea of you?
which eyes are open for your light?

my heart grows an entire body around it
though one existed before

my heart causes an entire body to inflate
into the one the existed before

what pushes on the walls of my old self,
wanting out?

am i to burst, or am i to shed,
what was once dead,
what was once me?

the most free / on the page (2014)

some days i wonder if you remember me

you have so many to attend to
but i still wish you would come to see me

~

what does it tell you, dearest,
that of all the expression you could choose,
you chose poetry, the most free

~

then,

perhaps
expression is the way
to find you

perhaps
you remember me
when i remember you

perhaps you, o free one, always come
when i ask you to meet me
on the page.

hello, beautiful (2014)

i take up space inattentively over two seats,
legs jumbled, in the midst of thought
riding home underground,
writing in my notebook

hello, beautiful

a short latino man intrudes
with a smile or with a leer — i can’t decide

 

at one time i might have
cringed reactively;
strange creep

but today i smile

what does it take from me to be gracious?
here is an opportunity to live
up to what he claims to see in me

he leaves the subway car,
perhaps in search of another
to teach something to

~

does the tree look down at the shade-seeker in disdain?
does the bird turn up his beak at the admirer and say,
shut your ears,
you are not worthy
to hear me?

 

if beauty is with you
it is by no effort of yours

~

and did he not say those words to me
while i was holding the pen?

when else am i beautiful,
if not when being what i am?

when else am i beautiful,
if not when beyond myself,

if not when living in you?

~

thank you,
man from the subway;
thank you very much!

circle (2014)

recognizing you
adds
nothing to
me

subtracts
nothing from
me

then
why is crimson more crimson
why is fire more bright
why is everything more everything

when i recognize you?

~

your name on my tongue;
unfamiliar, ill-fitting,
foreign;
a language i do not know

then, i make myself a mule,
a beast of burden,
an ox putting one hoof in front of the other;

like that, i say your name in a circle

the dumb beast, my tongue,
in rote;
my fingers, silent,
looking for you

in a circle

and then your name makes sense
somehow

you become my language

you, in the circle

and suddenly i go beyond the circle,

that has no beginning, no end

something lifts off of the cold, un-breathing beads,
taking off

something either comes to life or something dies;
it doesn’t matter which

the circle transcends itself
the transcendence, no longer any shape but yours
which is to say,
no shape more or less than a circle
no circle more or less than a shape
no circle but circle
no shape but shape

no you

but you

tea steeped too long (2014)

tea steeped too long becomes bitter
fruit ripened too long makes waste

a candle impatiently pushes his covering out of the way to join his wick in union with sweet air,
only to drown in himself and die

~

i can never be worthy;
i can never thank you enough
i can never wholly appreciate the gifts you give

~

how can too much love engender hate?

 

when love is scarce, i breathe more deeply to take you in
when you give me some, my hands join in thanks of their own accord;
my spine strong, in harmony with you

 

but

when it doesn’t end,

when you are too kind to me,

 

i fall

 

into inertia, unmoving
my eyes vacant
my heart, inflexible

~

i hate me

this unbeautiful, ungrateful
child

 

i try not to go near you,
because you remind me of everything i am not,
everything i can never be

 

i don’t call your name
i don’t ask for your hand
i don’t journey to your house;
i lock myself in mine

 

if i move an inch i will bump into you
if i see a mirror, i need avert my gaze

 

i hate me when i am not like you;
this unbeautiful, ungrateful
child.

i never saw you before (2014)

you have always been here,
but i never saw you before

though i searched for you;
i looked for you

 

have you always been you?
have i ever been ready to see you before now?

 

a season comes, as it should
a flower comes up from the ground this season,
like none before, like none before

 

have you always loved me this way?

have you been waiting,
for me to see you?

 

a rose blooms, as it should
a lover unveils himself
this season

like a star whose light reaches me today after years of existence
like a fragrance that begins in one corner of the house and spreads slowly throughout my body
like a seed that awakens in opaque soil, only to suddenly emerge
like a crystal that forms not a moment after i pull my waiting eyes away

 

you have shown your sign

 

listen to your heart, they say
let it guide you

 

which part of me sees you, feels you?
which part of me knows you?

 

you have known me a long time
loving from near, loving from afar

i cannot say how, but i remember you

 

i close my eyes to see you

i enter my heart
to meet you

agra (2014)

my feet carry me down your path
i don’t stop walking, though i know i will never reach your end

i walk to agra
i walk in agra
around me, the city continues to grow; to intensify

i am in agra but i will never know it all

i am in you
but i will never
know
you all

deepen my cup (2014)

i had enough but i asked for more,
a little more
a little more still

you obliged silently, filling my cup to the very top

~

what danced inside was love, was light;
a thousand rubies all melting into one.

i am brimming, i said to you;
i cannot take any more of your light!

please, deepen my cup so that i can hold even this much of you in me

please, open my pores,
my cells
my eyes
my every hair

so that i can breathe again.

~

the blooming chalice,
the rose and the wineglass,
how similar they look!

why give myself of sorrow; why try to empty my cup?

in the waiting on edge, in the unrest of too much joy,
you will grow my cup, when you want to.