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After years, I think now,
Am dervish of Kerman.

Sit where I am in photo,
Resemble Taliban!

I look same, long beard,
Wear a big headcover,
Next to me is grave,
And in it, dead Aref
The Dervish, and poet.

Have his book in my shelf,
Filled with the rich poems…

Read them my brother,
I, as kid, sat, listened.

He recited with songs,
I was child of six, five?

Poet sees and foresees,
Future, governments,
And foretells the changes.

Dynasties rise and fall,
He names each, everyone.

Now, here, am alone,
Can picture the bygone,
Before him, until now,
Even the times to come.

The questions like shadow
Follow me short and long,
To the sides, left and right,
They never care for time!

Long ago man wondered:
"Where have we come from? "
"What is use of this life? "

Nothing seems to have changed:
"Who am I? "
"What am I? "
"Why here? "
"Where from? "
"Is it fair, logical? "

Must have been a mentor,
"Am I his follower? "

This disease and sickness
Is deadly, contagious,
Spreads like virus,
In us dance same questions:
"Who am I? "
"What am I? "
"Why here? "
"Where from? "
"Is it fair, logical? "

My sisters, brothers,
All doctors and nurses,
Please help, I am inflicted! ! !

When graze to deep down
And stare at skies,
Or oceans; deserts, mounts,
Feel seeking for reply:
"Who am I? "
"What am I? "
"Why here? "
"Where from? "
"Is it fair, logical? "

Look at dog and smile,
Child of dog is a dog,
A born dog remains dog,
Same as sheikhs and royals.

Cattle, calf, and then cow,
Buffalo, and bulls' fights,
To me sound like alarms!

Then wake up:
"Who am I? "
"What am I? "
"Why here? "
"Where from? "
"Is it fair, logical? "
"Is it fair, logical? "
Can, is it logical? "

Never have been jealous,
Never want to be them,
Ignorant, unaware
Not to dare ask question
About life's process
And world's end, departure!

Dangerous was Rabat,
And so was Lashkargah,
Like ants were Taliban's! ! !

In Kabul visited,

Thick were walls,
Built of mud,
Were plastered in white,
With pure, natural chalk.

Doors opened to heaven,
Came angels, prophets,
From Balkh, Rabeah,
Each, and all, were poets.

Who hears? Who listens?
Who can feel and digest?

In love, was mesmerised,
Loved the simple Allah!

Allah of this shrine
Sat to speak with us,
Different than Mullahs'!

This Allah was Buddha,
This Allah was my love,
This Allah was Jesus,
Also, was like Mousa,
Belonged to everyone.

I escaped the Mullahs,
Dislike the Taliban,
Cannot see their Allah!

Neither can they see ours!

Our Allah is humble,
Ours is too generous,
He is not blindness,
Neither does business
Of heaven or the hell!

Our Allah is peak of
Everest, mount of love.

The shrine's particles
Danced around, appeared,
Smiling, and offered
Wine of love in goblets,
Pleased both host and guest.

Kept mouth shut, was silent,
Watched the host's eyes, ears!

Forgot all about the:
"Who am I? "
"What am I? "
"Why here? "
"Where from? "
"Is it fair, logical? "

Saw God in the walls' cuts,
Windows, door of shrine
And floor to ceiling
Smelled rose, jasmines,
Hearts drummed music.

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4/19/2021 6:08:48 PM #