My friends and foes do everyday grumble
‘What good can we do, everywhere is evil’
“Our brothers are getting cruelly killed
Our sisters in public can’t be veiled
Our enemies are racing each other
Who among them can inflict us greater?
Disasters are falling upon us like
As if none before us suffered alike
Some among us have been driven mad
They have resorted to means violent and bad
O Jaihoon! How do you console you soul?
What advise do you have for us all?”
I said in reply-
“The system has fettered my hands
My mouth is shut with fearful bands
I can no longer sing in open
I sell the fruit without ripen
At present I can only silently hum
I proclaim my message sans any drum
I use the sweet flower to scorn
The evil of the bitter thorn
I mould my words
To fit the unfit times
To please the enemy I hide my anger
To my own self I point the finger
I accept that I am weak of faith
Therefore I strive for an easy death”
I am a wounded nightingale
How then can I make you heal?
O reader! May Allah accept my lil’ deeds
Pray that it is to Him that my song leads
That is all I can do for you
Feel not for me any rue
Ah! I am myself throwing mud in the head
Where shall my soul find its bread?
I cried much for my mentors’ reach
I waited long on Destiny’s beach
I want the drink of ‘My Merciful Him’
I crave for love of the Beloved Mim!
January 4, 2004. After midnight prayers.
throwing mud in the head: A traditional way of lamenting, especially at funerals.