A Lover may not be a saint with the pious-paint. Yet he pleads the Lord to let untie their love-lunacy for His Beloved— writes Mujeeb Jaihoon
In the early morning hours
Love into my heart did pierce
I pressed my heart hard
Dewdrops soaked my love-beard
Rose is pre-possessed
By the Nightingale
Of what use is
The silly spade’s feel?
Bystanders are of no merit
As wine belongs to the cup
‘When did I even
Have the right-
To claim the love
Of Your Beloved’s
YOU are His Lover
He, YouR beloved
Neither a word before
Nor later, can any afford
Do the dust have any worth
To claim the Sun’s sky-heart?
Even as millions proclaim
To be his lovers
They realize not the folly
Of their words
Here O Lord!
Hear O Lord!
Bear with
My insane-hoard
I am no saint
Of any sage-kind
Poor and pale
With no pious-paint
I have earned
No years of worship
My wages are nil
But service of lip
Here O Lord.
Hear O Lord!
For the sake of whom
Is said my word
I begin my month and year
In the name of Your Meem Dear
Embrace me
Curse not
Grant me
Withhold not
With these words
Of a wild goose
My Love-lunacy for him
I let loose
Dec 01 2014. Edit March 2021