Leased Spaces

From a leased space to another it moves,

The soul perches, pining for mountainous hues,

Dwells in castles and bleeding towns,

Tasting tears and mending frowns.

Apropos it searches not for dunes,

Its eye hurts and braves misfortunes,

It searches for a distant relief,

Knowing that it’s but a mirage and sore belief

Though searching is never a refuge,

The lusty creed towers too huge,

Showing from behind the veil,

But, it always seeks for the grail.

Alas! The dainty soul,

Wouldn’t belong to any pole,

No patch or sky, no south, no mighty north;

Poor soul, shall ever be seeking forth.

Making me see my own light

Extracts from Kahlil Gibran’s romantic letters to a woman, taken from the book Love Letters from a Prophet, Ediouro

10/03/1912

Mary, my dear Mary, how could you think that you are giving me more pain than joy?  Nobody knows for sure what the line is between pain and pleasure; I often think it’s impossible to separate them. You give me so much joy that it hurts, and you cause me so much pain that I get to smile.

08/07/1914

I always thought that when someone understands us, they end us enslaving us because we expect everything to be understood. However, understanding has brought me peace and freedom more profound than I’ve ever experienced. In the two hours of your visit, you found a black spot in my heart, and touched him, and it disappeared forever- making me see my own light.

18/04/1915

The days we were together were magnificent. When we talk about the past, we become more real in the present and future. For many years, I dreaded to look at what I had lived, and suffered in silence. Today I understood that silence makes us suffer more deeply. But you make me talk, and I find dusty things hiding in my soul, which I then pull away.  

17/07/1915

We are both trying to touch the limits of our existence. The great poets of the past always worked themselves to Life.

They were looking for something specific, or trying to uncover secrets; they simply let their souls be overwhelmed by emotions. People are always seeking security, and sometimes do, but safety is an end to itself, and life has no end.

Poets are not those who write poetry, but are those whose hearts are filled with the holy spirit of love.  

10/05/1916

Dear Mary: I am sending a parable that I finished. I have written little, and only in Arabic. But I would like to hear your corrections and suggestions on this passage:

In the shadow of a temple, my friend pointed out a blind man.

My friend said, “This man is a wise man.”

I approached, and asked, “How long have you been blind?”

“Since I was born.”

“I am an astronomer,” I said.

“Me too,” the man answered. And placing his hand on his chest, said, “I spend my life watching the many suns and stars that move in me.”

My only effort here was to type Gibran's words; words that are more than just words. 

Flight not false

With a reasoned stab
A self confessed sinister
Took flight below the sea
To change the unknown

Lesser did he know
That the wind was sharp
Right with a knife
To tear his heart

The seagull had a throat
A throat that pained
Not the salty wind
But the tears unkind

The matter didn't reflect
The thought grew too
But change never came
And wind became lead.

Hours passed and minutes remained
Though later 'twas named
The blow was not a blow
But a love in disguise

Liaison

A cynical gaze into a cotton heart,

Questions asked grieving too hard.

Maketh me low with alphabetical blow;

Alas! THE emotion is sung, though so slow.

Greater the agony, higher my strife,

Higher the bitters, sharper my knife.

Come what may, life has revealed;

You are that which you concealed.

 

हज़ारों ख़्वाहिशें ऐसी कि हर ख़्वाइश पे दम निकले

हज़ारों ख्वाहिशें ऐसी की हर ख्वाहिश पे दम निकले,

बहुत निकले मेरे अरमान लेकिन फिर भी कम निकले ।

निकलना खुल्द से आदम का सुनते आये हैं लेकिन,

बहुत बेआबरू हो कर तेरे कूचे से हम निकले ।

मुहब्बत में नही है फर्क जीने और मरने का,

उसी को देख कर जीते हैं जिस काफिर पे दम निकले ।

ख़ुदा के वास्ते पर्दा ना काबे से उठा ज़ालिम,

कहीं ऐसा ना हो यां भी वही काफिर सनम निकले ।

क़हाँ मैखाने का दरवाज़ा 'ग़ालिब' और कहाँ वाइज़,

पर इतना जानते हैं कल वो जाता था के हम निकले।


- ग़ालिब

I am my origin

A radical shot
Out of a wild seed
In a scant wilderness
The dicot it was
Nurtured not
Just grew without concern.

It then became a shrub
Without knowing its fate
Why did it grow?
An immortal green.

The air had life
It nursed the green hard
Taught it pride.
The green became a tree.

The immortal it was
Blessed by cruel fate
Overshadowed all smiles
The change never came.

The tree overgrew
Into a wild beast
Engulfed every bit
Oh! No trace of hope.

The beast brought tears
Was unequal to none
Neither acknowledged blood
Nor anybody's love.

Until that one day
When eternity knocked
Asked the wild beast
Where did it come from?

The beast all set
The darling crook he was
Answered in no regret
"My genesis is unreasoned love".