In Islamabad arrivals, a great hullabaloo arose, like a volcano erupting. Hundreds of tired and disgruntled travellers crowded the luggage belts, struggling to catch sight of their possessions, like a flock of herons, frantically searching the water for fish. Faces scowled; babies wailed; ladies sat back, fanning themselves with their scarves. It had been two hours; their luggage had failed to arrive and, to make matters worse, the luggage of the next arrivals was beginning to appear instead.
“What the hell is this!” yelled a large, moustachioed fellow, in a rich, white salwar qameez. The officials, in blue uniforms, continued to play dumb, expressing platitudes: “we have some technical difficulties… One of the computers has malfunctioned, but it will be fixed, and your luggage will be here soon.”
It was the night of Isra and Mi’raaj
The night our Prophet travelled afar
To the glory of Masjid Al Aqsa
And then ascended beyond Al Muntaha
I’m your Venus, I’m your fire, at your desire- Shocking Blue
Venus came across a man
Gazing with her crystal eyes
Burning like a silver flame
Yearning with desire
She’s got it, yeah baby she’s got it
I’m your Venus, I’m your fire
At your desire
This stranger looked into her face
Her beauty encompassing the view
But looking beyond her, he was
Just like no-one else had
He’s got it, yeah baby, he’s got it
I am Yusuf, I desire Al Ma’rifa
“All things hang like a drop of dew
Upon a blade of grass”. W B Yeats
A lush and fertile patch of grass shivered in the breeze, sighing blissfully. Fully exposed to the benevolent sun and enriched by the timely monsoons, the grass grew to a staggering height, accommodating countless creatures great and small. Nothing, so it seemed, could curtail its life-force; nothing could obstruct the sun or the rain replenishing it. The grass was suffused with a rich and deep shade of green, so much so that just to look upon it brought relief to hearts, just to hear its whispers in the wind brought tranquility to troubled minds.
Advert taken from The Azali Times
Male or female
Young or old
Black or White
Rich or poor
Single or married
Divorced or disowned
Total submission needed
Salman the Green of Syria
Roamed the streets in search of marifah
Missiles whizzed and whined above his head
Children hid and the skinny street dogs fled.
Arise my friend!
And contemplate the Real World
For I need your help as time is running out
If I have no companion here to help me,
My eyes will close
Then sleep will cast me out.
He arose with gleaming eyes and the traces of last night
still smouldering from the ardour of the tryst.
From her side of the bed, she sat up, carefully observing
Pangs of suspicion swelling, sensing some foreboding:
What do you sing with a drunken dervish?
Sing and cry with a drunken dervish?
What do you cheer with a drunken dervish?
Early in the morning!
A dedication to Shaykh Muhammad Ibn Al Habib, Allah sanctify his secret
If you gaze at this world with your spirit,
You’ll see the light that shines through Him
If you pierce through the earth with your secret
There’s naught to fear or to grieve.