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