The Ballad Of Pir Nizammuddin And Khusrow: A Day Of Noor Poem by Sumita Jetley

In Delhi's heart where jasmine blooms,
Lived Pir Nizammuddin, dispeller of glooms.
With Khusrow, his disciple, a poet so fine,
They sought the Divine, beyond the confine.

Morning's First Light

The morning sun kissed the sky with its grace,
A sense of Noor filled every space.
Pir felt it first, a joy so grand,
A Divine Light that would touch the land.

Khusrow too, with sitar in hand,
Felt notes dance, as if by command.
He strummed and plucked, a melody pure,
In every note, the Noor was sure.

Afternoon's Sacred Hour

'Come, Khusrow, ' said Pir with a smile,
'Let's celebrate Noor, if only for a while.'
In the courtyard, they sat in peace,
Their art and soul found a new lease.

Pir's verses soared, a hymn to the Light,
Khusrow's sitar sang, making spirits bright.
Artisans paused, their work set aside,
In that moment, with Noor, they all did abide.

Evening's Quiet Close

As twilight fell, their art found its end,
'Noor was with us, like an old friend, '
Said Pir to Khusrow, as stars took the floor,
'Today, we felt Noor, forevermore.'

A Prayer to the Fakir

O Fakir Divine, giver of Light,
Bless the artisans, make their futures bright.
May their hands craft beauty, their spirits soar,
Reflecting always, Thy eternal Noor.