Echoes of the Chalice!

At the moment of my death, in longing for you ,
I die In the hope of becoming dust of your path,
I shall part with my soul.

At the dawn of judgment day,
when I raise from my ashes,
I shall only rise to search for you ,
to speak of you !

-Shaikh Sa’di.

Beya Jana, Enayat Kun To Moulanaye Rumi Raaa.

Is it so easy to forget everything. Aren’t there any blades that cut down the flesh, before an attempt to forget, forget the closest to heaven, is made. Have the silent echoes lost their power to blow through the hearts. Is a fake smile enough to hide the pain of separation in every breath. I wanted to be a kilim for your feet, but  could’nt even be dust of your door.  I cannot live like this anymore. My figures have lost.  Where do I have to tear my body and let my soul free, flying, far away to the winds of eternity, the streams of unseen. In the search of love. A moth. A flame. And a death.

Helplessness, the best word that depicts life, at least, far better than the common misnomer of life, is the crux of world. Deserve it, have the power, have everything, but stand helpless and pass a sharp needle through the lips to stitch them down, for, saying may hurt the ego. And then call it world. There is nothing in here. At the best of vision, this castle has an inept human dummy in two forms, one styled with the power and pride- the master, other in the pains of being -a slave.  Slowly and slowly they set every nook of lovelorn slave ablaze.And the silent slave, desperate to drink away the sweet poison of beloved, willingly dies a thousand deaths, every movement, hold, all without a word of protest. The joyous pain of burns rendering him ecstatic to register his transcendence into ashes. No smoke, no flame, just the ferocious fire of beloved. Let me stop it here , I curse myself, for I always forget these voices echo just in me, That these blades just have to cross my chest. I am alone.  Bring me the chalice, intoxicate me, annihilate me.

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