RHYTHMS OF THE SOUL by By Muhammad Naveed Ahmed (Emmenay) (read this if TXT) 📕

(1) A CHILD’S PLAYGROUND

A child's playground is this world in my sight,
Where games are played day and night before me.

A sport is the pomp of Solomon in my sight,
Even Christ's Ascension is small before me.

Without a name, I feel that nothing can exist,
In doubts lies the veracity of truth before me.

Cloaked in dust lies the desert in my sight,
Even the river rubs its forehead before me.

Ask not what happened to me after you,
See how your countenance changes before me.

Faith holds me back while temptation pulls me on,
The Kaaba tugs while the Church pleads before me.

I am a lover but they say deception is my art,
I see Laila mocking at Majnoon before me!

Though my hands have become weak, my eyes aren't weary,
Let the goblet and the wine remain here...before me.

(2) RESPONSE TO ALEXANDER POPE


THE ODE BY POPE

How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns;
Contented breaths his native air,
In his own grounds.
"Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
"Blest! who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide swift away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day
"Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
"Thus let me live, unheard, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

MY REPLY

To be happy how much I try,
From birth to this day but why,
Have I have not been able to,
Succeed in my efforts -- I sigh...
I am not fascinated by this world,
Its temporal gains I don't desire,
I shun the falsehood on which it thrives,
And the vanity of folks with fingers curled.
To me contentment is not peace,
The restless mind and heart don't cease,
To engage the soul and body in tasks,
Till the day when my blood will freeze.
For, what if I am lamented or not:
Nothing is mine, aught is naught,
I was better off when I didn't come here,
Does it matter if I am remembered or not?
To live for others is the greatest good,
Which I found out after years had passed,
And to make our loved ones happy, carefree,
Is all that matters for now, for good.

(3) ANYBODY, PLEASE?

I look at the souls that are seeking peace,
I know not why God is so silent.
I watch the nightbird, how it shrieks with a shrill,
Perhaps this is a reply of the Divine Will.
I look at a little girl who says she is hungry,
She comes and begs for an Iftaari*,
Oh my Great Lord, I thank You for the favour,
It is through me that You do what You will.
I wonder why somebody has lost a father,
The pain of losing him is visibly greater:
On the contours and features of the smiling face,
How artfully is pain hidden beneath grace!
Is it right for me to wander off like Siddharth*,
To seek real peace in caves by running away?
Or is it better to stay on in this hearth,
And do everything that through me He fulfils?
The hours are passing by, so tells the clock,
Why should I care or wander off with the flock?
Let my Good Lord do what He deems best,
Let me forget I exist and take some rest.

*Iftaari: The fast breaking meal usually served in the Islamic month of Ramadan.
* Siddharth: Buddha’s real name.

(4) ANYTHING?

What has the sea to hide,
Or to give;
When I can't be with the one,
For whom I live.
Take the waves and dry it up,
This sound and fury makes me laugh,
This sorry scheme of things I scoff.

(5) ARE WE LIVING?

Minds, greedily growling,
Hearts -- petrified stones;
Desire hungrily seeking,
More, more and more.
Platter after platter,
On the table of disaster,
These folks are always starved:
For them it doesn't matter,
The beings have to be carved.
Is this our living?
Is anybody out there,
Without endless desire,
Without undying craving?
Jesus the Messiah said,
When temptation shone,
That man doth not live,
By bread alone.
We have pot bellies,
But, are we living,
For bread alone?

(6) AS MY EYES SEE

Walking down the dark streets,
Cats dart with ferocity,
Where does my purpose hide?
Cars with couples and families come,
Time to relax with burgers, snacks,
Am I a stranger to this town?
My friend and I talked for a week,
About life, death and eternity,
Now it is so quiet, where is she?
The daily circle of the stars,
Orion leads the entire team,
On earth it is only me.
Everybody has a hidden sword,
Conspirators abound in this town,
I am used and then they flee?
O Kuku*, if this is living,
Let me find peace near graves,
Even the mosques are no more free.
Yesterday a great man turned sixty,
Today -- another's death anniversary,
Scattered sand shines near the sea.
My wife talked about Flintstones*,
Says our life is also like theirs,
Tears are waves of a swelling sea.
Who will ever understand,
What needs to be understood,
Or will it be only me?

* Kuku: American poetess Deborah Russell’s nickname
* Flintstones: Popular American cartoon

(7) AT TIMES

At times I feel like tearing apart the sky,
So that the world sees how my heart bleeds,
Sometimes I want to implore the angel of death,
To return the one whose love I need.

(8) AUTUMN

The brown leaves fall,
The time of spring is over,
My heart waits,
When will its hope thus wither!
Come hither says the poet,
Go where, asks the soul,
Where is the greenwood tree?
Why is everything quiet?
Ambition? this heart had some,
Everything has died as the sun,
Descends to cast long shadows:
All around me there is autumn.

(9) BE MY REALITY

O that you could be not just a dream!
Not just a vision,
Of what may be my imagination!
Do not encircle me with lights and rays,
Appear before me in real and whatever one says,
Give reason to my action...
O my beloved of the other world!
Come here and be mine or else,
Make me yours forever, in your world.

(10) BE?

Green, yellow, brown,
Colours and life,
And a void above,
Leave me wondering,
What? When? Why and how?


(11) BEFORE THE STORM

Clouds gather,
Dark and foreboding,
A tumultuous today.
Melancholia,
Looms above,
Very few agree with me.
Why not wait,
For Nature to strike,
And cleanse all the pollution.
I look calm,
Just like the harsh storm,
Waiting to lash at the city.
Who is there,
To prevent us both?
Who wants to be sincere?

(12) BLACK AND WHITE

O floating denizens of domains, unseen,
Vampires surround my whole being,
O guardian angels of the Holy God,
Wherefore have you vanished from the scene?
O my beloved, when you look at me,
With a questioning stare in your starry eyes,
I am desperately lost, I seek support,
To come up with what you want as replies.
I picked up a fallen petal of a plucked rose,
And found a dewdrop hidden inside,
The mysteries of Nature are beyond reach,
An unwept tear in every flower glows.
A term has to be endured on this land,
Bearing everything flung by time's hand,
A result of red hot passion I am,
Moulded and fashioned in the form of man.
The murky hearted of this scum filled place,
Have forgotten the worth of spiritual grace,
Hiding their darkness they think they are fair,
Their black and white fighting to be in place.

(13) CARAVEL OF TIME

It sails away like a caravel,
On a voyage of no return,
Taking away my good moments,
Never ever to return.
It sailed away with my childhood,
I knew not why and when,
So will it one day, for good,
Take youth to its haven.
I have quite a few good friends,
As good as a man can have,
It will disperse them at different ends,
Leaving me alone to crave.
The good times that I have with them,
Will vanish completely,
On its misty tides will they all go,
To an unknown entity.
So, gone forever, down it goes,
Borne by the winds that close,
Some reflections cherished by me,
Will I see them again… who knows!

(14) CHANGING COURSE

Through long and tedious paths I have come,
In search of the Truth that is only One,
Even the water of life I disdained,
Longing to be a part of the Eternal One.
Many saints and savants on the way I met,
And jokers and jugglers who laughed and said,
Here is someone at whom we can laugh,
Here is a pilgrim on whom we can't bet.
Then came some maidens, as fine as silk,
Fresh and ravishing like honeyed milk,
For a while they bewitched me with their charms,
Short-lived was their spell, soon did I flee.
Now I am at the point where the worlds meet,
Tired but hopeful, at Your great seat*.

*Your great seat: God’s seat.

(15) COLERIDGE AND ME

"Flowers are lovely, love is flower-like,
And friendship is a sheltering tree;
Where no hope is, life is but thought,
That only serves to make us grieve
When we are old..."
- S.T. Coleridge

O wise Coleridge, may I, with due reverence,
Urge you to come from your state of disappearance.
If not, pray listen, up there in the heavens:
I came not into this world of my own desire,
To go away from here I cannot conspire.
Flowers are lovely, I completely agree,
Love is not flower-like, at times it's ugly.
Friendship is a shelter only when it's spring,
In seasons of deception, no hope does it bring.
Where there's no hope, there's no life at all,
When the soul's free, what's left, to grieve?

(16) CONSPIRING

Let's seek a place, somewhere, my heart,
Somewhere, where no soul belongs,
Let's speak out the pains we share,
The thousand and one wounds we have got.
Let the waves come and wash our words,
Let the clouds hide the sun above,
Let the sand bury the marks we leave,
Let no one hear the thoughts unheard.
Let's try to spend some days, carefree,
Without disturbance, without worry,
Let the body and mind blend with us,
Let the spirit be freed from agony.
I have dreamt that we can do it somehow,
Let's disappear for a while, let's flee,
Let those who claim they care about us,
Let them do so till eternity.


(17) CONTRASTS

Silence, at times, sends shudders through me,
It is as if I can hear Hell hiss,
I am afraid of keeping such company,
Which to others is like bliss.
Solitude and sea waves,