Break thy fetter, thy casing too
Break the ribs, spine too
Break thy bondage, baggage too
Break this hill and make a way
For the rest to follow
Break nay the thread of trust
Finick nay thy love
For every mirror has a rough coating.
Sweet is love bitter its piene like an endless odyssey. Despite all odds a pilgrim bites the bullet to keep the warmth alive. His limitations carve a niche apt to his demands like a dead body confined to coffin. The dust and dirt on the road leading to his beloved may appear dull and cumbersome to exoteric observer but the same may be a powerful aroma for esoteric. Things appear dull to dull eye and beautiful to beautiful eye. A fleeting glance of beloved showers upon his seeker thousand majestic fountains to satiate the needs of his heart. The dirt on his face may irritate onlookers but a wanting to couch down his face under the faithful tress is what a seeker dreams for, lives for and above all travels for. The rough roads and harsh weather may force him to take refuge in a hut of hunter, yet his stay signifies simplicity and gratitude.
Of yesternight’s dim moon
My eyes nay wept
For dull clouds kept
Deep down, a secret of day
Thus in sick moon
Was a rich noon.
The scorching heat strokes under cloudless sky often ruin the apparent grace of a seeker but his clay of love that he carries under his breast is hardened to bring at fore his pot of love to get a desirable price in the market of devotion, wherein, devotees are ranked owing to the grace of their pot. The sun may beat down the massive canopy of greenery, the wind may expose its spoke, the rain may wash down the dew to dust, but despite all these challenges, a seeker willingly gives up all mundane needs for the sake of his beloved who peeps through his rib cage to monitor his territory of love. The glimmering glance of beloved shall certainly deprive him of his physical growth, but within him a new understanding and wisdom will ascertain his survival. It may be like Autumn gushes to a fully grown tree, bringing down all its greenery to let the trunk bear harsh winter and surrender bark for the future buds.
Peeping down deep so deep
That my depths tossed me up
What was hidden earlier
Apparent it became
And I was no more growing old
But gaining a layer of faith.
The odyssey of love is endless like a carefree ocean tossing its waves in directions varied, spoiling and serving the bay and the establishments towered either legally or illegally . The wave may nourish a lagoon and may take on dugout. The rush for a seeker as need demands may re-establish his hut at the bay or may drift the same to other locations depending upon the wish and wisdom of beloved who in most of the cases for exoteric seeker is merciless and tyrant and beneficial and compassionate to esoteric one. The difference sets a distinction, a category , a class and a group billed as ‘ mad lovers’. This madness surpass all parameters set by psychoanalysts and academicians. This vital drift makes a seeker sound and it is by virtue of this change, a seeker sets his own parameter to explore surreal landscape of his sainthood.
In my backyard now
No more tombstone
Of my past casing
But now a tavern
With cups two on a shelf
One for master and other too.
With a change, an esoteric seeker gradually finds his way to peep down his vital centers of being, thereby, finds a frozen lake of faith beneath his own tent. To extract nectar, he either has to find a tool to crush his own lake or he wishes to be blessed by his beloved’s glance to see his glacier losing shape and size. His quest to see his frozen lake dancing down the hills in reciprocity brings him closer to his beloved who further scours his roughness and cuspidates his tools to extract nectar from the cups of his beloved being placed on his shelves. His sighs ravish the clouds, his tears inspire hanging drops up in the sky. His eyes in finding a way out of frozen mass bedeck the pearls of faith which he sheds endlessly to break the frozen layer of his lake. And with every rush, his lake too echoes and he turns out to be an abstainer. A pure hearted man thus seeks comfort from the lap of his beloved.
How now my road is open
No gates but gatekeepers many
They nay accept a penny
But thy efforts pure
To make sure
Of thy careful core.
Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab Khar” and “ Songs Of Sochkral”
