RHYTHMS OF THE SOUL, By Muhammad Naveed Ahmed (Emmenay) [latest novels to read .TXT] 📗

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What kind of people am I living with!
They say they like me, love me and care about me,
But they don't spend even three rupees,
On a phone call to ask how I am doing.
I have felt like this since I was born,
Alone, left-out, aloof, forlorn,
Save for a soul who somehow shook hands,
And for my happiness prayed on and on.
Childhood went and when youth came,
I began to see past the hidden, the plain,
And save for my schoolmate I found none,
Who knew me and loved me for what I was.
Then in the midst of youth's stormy swings,
She was snatched away from me on fate's wings,
Two souls who were meant but for one another,
Were severed to suffer seperation's stings.
Life tried to find meaning in some other friends,
And one of them was true to the core but his end,
Also came before winter welcomed Spring,
In an avalanche his death knell did ring.
Then there came one, jolly and carefree,
Full of verve and boundless energy,
May God bless him with long life and health,
May peace be his fate and joy his destiny.
But this friend of mine is no longer nearby,
For greener pastures he preferred to fly,
To an alien land and now he lives there,
He remembers me still but I can just sigh.
Then came a woman who said she loved me,
Fooled me all along with her impunity,
Wrecked me through and through and went away,
To seek wealth and fame in a strange country.
I was left with a bleeding heart and three souls,
Who suffered with me, had none to console
Them in their silent suffering,
But who seemed lost with a life without goals.
Now they have grown up and may grow on more,
Be healthier and live strong evermore,
May peace and success embrace them all along,
May joy and laughter be their dinner song.
I had a father who loved me a lot,
But who was so strict that I forgot,
To see through his fits of great rage,
What fatherly love meant at that small age.
Only my mother understood me somewhat,
But now she is missing her husband a lot,
I don't blame her, my father is lucky,
To have been blessed with a wife such as she.
But even after four decades and more,
My childhood agony still remains sore,
I find myself alone wherever I am,
Crowds or caves, no soul to share more.
And even when I trip into nowhere,
The face of my schoolmate comes out and stares,
As if telling me to be like the brave,
Because nobody has been able to catch a wave.


(38) WHEN THE EARTH SHOOK!

Earth trembled,
Then it heaved and shook,
Everybody believed in God!

(39) HAIKU

Autumn morn,
Camouflaged moments,
Creation floats in locked time.

(40) HANDS TIED AND TOLD TO SWIM

Thrown into the sea with both hands tied,
And told to keep struggling against the great tide,
Al Hallaj spoke thus and Naveed listened,
Fate and effort to us appear predestined.
It was not just Adam, Eve or Satan, who fell,
In our spiritual forms we chose our own hell.
The question of our future has also been answered,
In faithful submission shall we be gathered.
Out of unseen we came to be known,
Back into unseen shall we be flown.
Nothing is a myth that has fooled us all,
The Truth resides in us, forgetting caused our fall.
It is the nirvana, it is the salvation,
It is the paradise and the Garden of Eden.
For years I endeavoured to discover the secret,
In the unseen I found Him and said God is Great!

This poem is inspired by the mystic Hussain bin Mansoor Al Hallaj who was crucified by the Abbasid rulers for not conforming to mere rituals and for gaining a deeper insight into the truth.

(41) THE BEST GREETING

Happy New Year!
The world greeted itself,
Why not the happiest,
She said, as she kissed me.
Everything brightens up,
When the beloved,
Understands the importance,
Of every special moment.
Even the cold winter,
Cannot kill the warmth,
Of a smile in the eyes,
Or a New Year's Day kiss.

(42) HE AND I

How many more deaths must I die?
How many more lives must I live?
How many more dreams must I see?
How many more “mes” must I be?
Body, mind, soul or spirit,
Why must I be trapped endlessly?
Isn't my creation the best ever?
If I am so then why is He?
Why is He unseen to me,
Why's He the greatest mystery?
In the mind my friend says He exists,
Then, after my last sleep where is He?
He is the ocean and I the drop,
Seen and unseen in one being be,
Isn't that what my Creator meant,
When He commanded all to worship me?

(43) HEAR ME, O FRIEND

You want me to talk of love and rain,
When my heart and soul bleed with pain,
Forced to pass my days with vampires,
How can you expect me to be sane.
Passing by the sea I sigh with the waves,
How ugly has become Earth's face,
You want me to cajole and laugh,
I want the Trumpet to end my race.
You talk of dinners and banquets,
I see hungry kids begging,
You want just to dine and dance,
Have I got time for romance?
You love to shop and be frivolous,
Like Cossette and Marius,
Know you not that I am Jean Valjean,
My torn and tattered coat is famous.
They raped a wronged girl today,
And yet your eyes want me to play,
They said she must be punished,
Won't my heart and head turn gray?
You say you are just one of the crowd,
I say I am the defiant one,
One who can't forget the sword,
If a soul is victim of the proud.
Even I long to live and love,
Sing my songs of Spring with doves,
Recite poems to nightingales,
And with my heart's joy revive my vows.
But I have very little time,
My pen is the sword that rhymes,
I am never without my weaponry,
To erase evil artistry...
So, when I pass by the sea and gaze,
Everything is covered with haze,
Let my heart and mind pause and think,
Let my blood colour my quill and ink...

Composed on July 4, 2002. Inspired by Deborah Russell's replies to some of my poems. This is an appeal not a rebuttal. Jean Valjean, Cossette and Marius are characters of Victor Hugo's famous novel Les Miserables. Jean Valjean is the central character who suffers throughout the story for the sake of the ones he loves. Cossette is his adopted daughter and Marius is Cossette's lover.

(44) A HEART IS A HEART

A heart is a heart, not a brick or stone,
Why should it not brim up with pain?
Weep I shall a thousand times,
Why come and harass me again?
It is not your home, nor a harem,
It is not your birthright to claim,
It is a thoroughfare meant for all,
Why tell me, “Don’t sit here again”.
Yes she does not worship God,
Yes, she is faithful to none,
But to you faith and fealty are dear,
Why come and pine in her street again?
Nothing has stopped without Ghalib,
Ghalib, the drunkard, the poor old man!
So why does one shed tears for him?
And why should one lament again?

This is a translation of one of Mirza Ghalib’s well known poems.

(45) HEARTRENDING ANGUISH

Have we paused to reflect where we are going,
Wandering here and there, aimlessly drifting.
The holocaust is near, our hour is approaching,
Yet we go unconcerned about the doom threatening.
Threatening to wipe us off from the pages of existence,
And we are deaf and blind like creatures without sense.
I wish I wouldn't be here, disappear with a wish,
That I witness not this heartrending anguish.


(46) HELP ME PLEASE

Shakespeare wants me to read sermons in stones,
He wants me to read books in flowing brooks,
He says I should see good in everything;
I ponder to grasp his words and their meaning.
Will you, my beloved, spare some of your time,
So that we can talk when the day declines?
Will you, please, give me a chance to confide,
Without lashing back like an uncontrollable tide?
Help me in fathoming the wisdom of the wise,
So that I too can be fresh at sunrise.

(47) POETS AND A NIGHTINGALE

"Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here,
where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond tomorrow."
- JOHN KEATS "Ode to a nightingale"

That was John Keats, my friend of yore,
Who, fed-up with woes, sought no more,
Seeking recluse with the Nightingale,
Wrote a rapturous song at death's door.
And long before him, another old friend,
Called Omar Khayyam, he too did lend,
His time to this melodious bird,
And wrote a rubai for a dead friend.
After Keats came Oscar Wilde who,
Penned a story of love,
The nightingale, the rose, the morning dew,
And a young scholar's futile vow.
O symbolic creature of purity,
I too, when lonesome,
Search for you in the hope,
Of finding lost eternity.

(48) NOT IN MY FATE

It was not in my fate that I should ever join my beloved,
Even if I had lived longer my agony would have prolonged.
What sort of friends are these that have become advisers,
Would that some had eased my grief? Would that some had shared my sorrow?
To whom should I explain that my gloomy nights are demons,
Wouldn’t I have embraced death if it had been only once?
If you think I believed your vow, know I knew you were lying,
Wouldn't I have died of joy if I had known you to be so true?
Ah, that I had drowned in the sea than die in ignominy,
There would have been no mourner, no coffin or undertaker.

(49) MY GULLIBLE HEART

O my gullible heart, do tell me what ails you?
Tell me what’s the panacea of your pain and misery?
You long for fealty being rejected constantly,
O God, reveal to me, the cause of this anxiety.
I pine for the soul which I know is fed up of me,
O Lord! Pray tell me, what is this strange apathy?
When there is no one beside You, then O Good Lord God,
What is this hue and fuss that is gathering around me?
My life of mine I offer, trust in me O beloved!
Is there anyone who can outdo my fidelity?

The two poems above are translations of Mirza Ghalib’s famous ghazals.

(50) CLOTHED IDOLS

Every cup is good for the one who wants to