The sun in the shadow of the moon…..

The shadows, they illuminate

The narrow razor edge between

The timing of the passion

And the shining light of pain.

We knock like light on darkened doors

The knuckles seeking, searching for

The holy crevice, keyhole, escape

From the forms of thought in vain.

Ideas, spiral, convex forms

Of canvas culture, satin steel,

That rise like wind, tempestuous storm,

And fall like raindrops as we kneel,

And hold out roses, bound by norms:

The payment, bribe, to clinch the deal.

Yet, roses are survived by thorns

That serve a purpose, to reveal

That pin-prick touch of poison truth

That soured bribe, that probing hand

That yearning drive for conquest, and

For domination, instant, pure.

Five drops of blood, five grains of sand

Are all that life and love endures.

And shadows, they illuminate

The narrow razor edge that cures

The mind of thought, narcotic swoon.

And holds the silvered mirror up.

The sun in the shadow of the moon

Is empty, like a laid-down cup.

And in the tea-leaves we can see

Our soul reflect infinity,

And float in empty concept space

Between the forms of thoughts and dreams.

We flow, amorphous, at the edge

Of consciousness, quicksilver stream.

The shadows, they illuminate

The narrow razor edge between

Pale consciousness and fiery dream.

The edge we now inhabit with

The shadows and the silent space

Where, motionless, the spheres of time

Enrobe us in our state of grace.

While all around, in conflict locked

Are rays of light, and darkness, shields.

The sun in the shadow of the moon,

Once gave it life, but now it yields.

And feels the prick, the truth, the thorn,

And gazes, wistful, at the stream,

Tossed back and forth, dismayed, forlorn,

From conscious bank to island dream.

WHO WILL GRIEVE THE PASSING OF THE NIGHT ?

When all they have witnessed is light

And none with experience dark, forlorn

Who will grieve the passing of the night

When all are young, and after sunrise born?

I can see my future in your dying eyes

From its flickering knowledge, no power accrues

Your eyelids - a shroud - like a cloud in clear skies

From which only shadowy darkness ensues

A cloud that is growing, that blots out the light

Foreboding, of every silver lining shorn

Who will grieve the passing of the night

When all are young, and after sunrise born?

Will a final memory remorse beget

An imprint deep in unconscious mind

A silent requiem for night that set

A tie reached back, in time, to bind

A shriek suspended, frozen, still

A single phase from wavelet torn

Who will grieve the passing of the night

When all are young, and after sunrise born?

Baghdad's death, seven centuries long

With bang and whimper entwined, close

Legalized rape of the temple of law

With god run rampant, the devil froze

A blood drop ruby of the diamond dead

Will the crown of an ivory skull adorn

Who will grieve the passing of the night

When all are young, and after sunrise born?

MIND UNCLOTHED

The darkness is dripping

From the roofs as the mind

Wandering aimless, in the alleys of time

Through the dust and the grime

Peers at thoughts in the darkness

For a tryst with a crime

Or embrace with a lover

Too brief for a kiss

Or a sigh at the sight of the innocence and bliss

On the face of a flower in a cracked flower vase

That is lying on its side

Like a delicate bride

On the altar of misguided tradition

With a smile, like a ripple

On the face of a lake

With a shrug of the shoulder, it slowly gets bolder

Its eyes full of sin and sedition

The night and its sons and its daughters to take

And then, the retreat

But without a defeat

And the sun, with its light like a flood

The mind then strips off all its thoughts one by one

Till, at last, it is naked experience

To face the torment

Once the passion is spent

And all that remains is the blood

SHADOW AND SOUL

He the shadow, I the soul

Turn out the lights, the shadow fades

The soul remains in dark as well

The soul, to guide your ship in storm

The soul, a beacon, shows the path

The shadow, mindless, follows on

Till lights are beckoning, then departs

The soul, your eye in moral dark

The soul that truly is the spark

To light the fire of life in dying

Ashes, that heaped in the heart

Still have desires, wish to burn

Once more with light and fire of love

With flames that kiss the stars above

So let your shadow go its way

It's to your soul that you must turn

True life is union with the soul

The inner self is then fulfilled

If not, the inner self is killed

So come, my body, linger not

And let this fusion make us whole.

CALVARY

We have seen our world for the twelfth time

And though we have changed it has not

We have searched all these aeons for Judas

For the kiss that we never have got

The last page of the life of a prophet

Is reserved for Iscariot to kiss

And it carries the pain and the sorrow

But also the glory and bliss

We have seen our rebellions in tea cups

And the future of the world in the leaves

And the cross that inhabits our visions

And the daggers concealed in the sleeves

We have sailed on the ocean of madness

We have docked upon sanity's shore

We have wallowed in the blood of our sadness

We have knocked upon vanity's door

We have walked on the hair to the heavens

We have swum in the pool of desire

We have danced to the thunder that deafens

We have penned our soul into fire

Yet, we never did find what we wanted

But the world, then, made up for the loss

Being convinced every prophet is haunted

Unbetrayed, we were stretched on the cross

And they wept as we hung in our silence

And the clouds brushed the top of the hill

It was done with no malice, no violence

Just a stone-hearted effort of will

And then we said "Father! Forgive them

For they know very well what they do

And can't help it for all that they know it

And despite that their love has been true."

Ignorance deserves not forgiveness

But it behoves us not to seek revenge

For events dictated by circumstance

That the mind cannot dare to challenge

And they stood on the hill till the silver

Had merged into black, and then gold

And then sealed in their bosoms forever

A bible that never shall be told

THE EAGLE STILL SOARS........

The eagle still soars in the summit of heaven

And watches the earth in descent

And we pay, as interest, day by day our lives

For the time death has to us lent

We replayed the thoughts of Mr. Eliot

And the verses of Lorca and Pound

Will our ruminations be thus honoured

Or dark silence devour our sound

And no finger press down on no button

No new eagle then tend to soar

And the earth then be tossed, on galactic waves

To a distant and lack-lustre shore

The eagle still soars in the summit of heaven

But now everywhere sees the debris of dreams

For our freedom's constraints have moved in on us now

On our thoughts and our bodies and voice

We are free, we can choose, but the question remains

It's not we that present us the choice

The avenue of eternal hope is lined

With tear-stained faces,

Hair on end

And horror at the nightmare

That freedom became

While the dream to be free

To be you, to be me

To be different, or same, to rhetoric confined.

The eagle still soars in the summit of heaven

Wondering who got away, and who did not

And who it was that suffered more

The rise of mankind's sword

Alexander, triumphant, arm aloft

Or the silent Gordian knot.

PIETA

I painted a smile

On a face that was sad

And hid 'neath a grimace

Disguised as a grin

Though the paint wore thin,

The anger within, not revealed.

The 'pieta' of love

Did not even withstand

One single year,

To oblivion was flung

Like victory turned sour

At the gate of triumph

And the palette, deserted, still bleeds.

It's better to create

Using canvas or stone

For a petrified smile

Will outlast flesh and bone

And all of the memories

In all of the hearts

And all of the minds

In all of the parts

Of the world do not make a 'pieta'.

THE SMILE ON YOUR FACE

The smile on your face

Melancholy;

Like a dust cloud on the horizon.

A shimmering haze

Or the veil of death

To cover the parting

Ways, or a breath

Of fiery passion turned to mist

By the icy touch of fact.

Or a cloud to mark

For a while the trail

Of a caravan looking for the holy grail;

Like a foot-print on wet sands of time,

Or a curtain rung down on the act.

THE PICTURE

Some see it stark, in black and white

And some in seductive shades of gray

Yet others say, it's made of light

And there are those who swear it's clay

Some silent in their knowledge stand

At dawn, beyond both night and day

And some in ecstatic ignorance

Swirl like dancing autumn leaves

Before the winds of circumstance

And blissful in existence, sway

Reflected do some see it on

The silvered mirror of polished thought

And some in the turmoil of the soul

When once the heart and mind have fought

Some behold its beauty in

The dark deep recess of your eyes

And some experience, stark, the terror

Screams that chill their blood to ice

Some see loving strokes, the canvas

Flesh on which the artist traced

His love and life and fear and pain

And pride and pity, both misplaced

Some see hate, and flames that rise

Majestic, headstrong, proud and bold

And some see pain and grief entwined

In strands of laughter, stark and cold

The universe is but a picture formed

In different shades of reality

That merge and mingle, mix and blend

All myriad roads to a common end

So all who see these various sights

Behold but what they believe to be

And believe that what they behold is true

But you see you, and I see me

MY NAME IS TIME, THE RIVER

I met this man in Babylon

While staring at the sand

I sat upon a grassy bank

Looked out across the land

His eyes were like the sunset

And his hair a wispy cloud

He spoke with subtle cadence

Not too softly, yet not loud

"My name is Time, the river,

 From the rain-drop to the sea

 From misery to the sorrow,

 To the joy, and back to me."

I sat on grass, like history,

And watched the river flow

And swirling in the foam, the kings

And armies, watched them go

I gazed upon the sunset

Far beyond the western waste

In silent contemplation

Of the vanity of haste

I saw it all dissolving in

The shadow of the night

And then beheld the crystal of

The golden morning's light

The lamp, the moth, the watcher

All understand the game

That every tempest motion takes

You closer to the flame

And when the flower withers

From the stalk, and turns to dust

And the mask of love is lifted

From the face of lust

And when the moth is dying

And the lamp is burning out

The golden light of truth dispels

The shadowed night of doubt

The watcher, silent, contemplates

The transience of it all

The legends, then the books and pictures

And the final fall

And the rising of the hopes

From passion born anew

And then the glistening tear-drops on

The face of life, like dew

The legend of the phoenix

Is the final truth, he notes

One wisp of hay, eternal, on

Illusion's surface floats

SOFTLY IN THE NIGHT

Softly, softly in the staggering night

That has lost its footing in turbulent times

As a forlorn note hangs heavy in the air

A fossilized echo of a long lost rhyme

Softly, softly lest you lose your step

Knock once on my door and then fade away

For the memory lingers when the moment has fled

And I know that you don't have the freedom to stay

We move, like the shadows, not of our free will

At the whim of the moment, we stagger or fall

But the mind is still free, so knock soft on my door

And let me remember you answered my call

Softly, softly the morning returns

As the needs and desires of night ebb away

Yet, the knock on the door has been etched like a note

In the dark, silent heart of the turmoil of day

LET MY MEMORIES WHISPER WORDS OF LOVE

Let my memories whisper words of love

To your thoughts, as moonlight streams

          Through the windows of my dreams.

And the shadows of the snow-flakes write

          A verse upon the sky,

          As far away you lie;

Forsaken, not forgotten,

          By the soul amidst the stars,

Who carries every vision, right

          From Mercury to Mars.

                        

You sank beneath the tidal wave

Of circumstance and time

And bubbles that arise in wake

In unision burst in rhyme

          And far away, above the lake

          Where echoes, mournful, chime

The starlight glistens on the snow

Of nameless graveyards, and the glow

Of candles, to the thoughts of lonely lovers is confined.

And generations of merchandizing,

Sermonizing, tantalizing

Advertising taught us every virtue can be sold.

And we, believing this big lie

Did cease to live, except to die

And tried to turn emotion and our passion into gold.

But gold turns black with time and age

And so does beauty's fair visage

For shadows fall before the sun

Can rise; the clock will ever run,

And everyday a day is done

And time turns one more bloody page.

Thus every new generation comes,

Is born to live, yet lives to run

From death, and when its time is done

Is laid to rest within the cage

Of evermore and eternity

With a false facade of serenity

And the eye of truth perceives it all

And smoulders with a burning rage!

Let my memories whisper words of love

To your thoughts as moonlight fades

          Through the gaping wounded gates

That bound the fragrant garden

          Of love, where we did lie

          Together beneath the sky;

The world around forgotten on

          Some lonely pine-wood glade

When you spoke to me with glances

          "Let not this moment fade

           Let time, the river, cease to flow

           Let circumstance be bound.

           And I be lost forever in your

           Heart, and not be found."

I HAVE SEEN YOU MANY A TIME

"I have seen her eyes gleam forth from the walls of Ajanta"

                                      -- Ali Sardar Jafri, (Samundar ki beti)

                                        

Amidst golden pillars that reached for the sky

The sunshine on Iram was pure molten gold

Like a wisp on the heat-haze, your form shimmered by

A shadow made of light, too ethereal to hold

The soul of Sahara and the pulse of the Nile

Are your fire that feeds on your beauty and pain

Every pyramid tribute that you strayed for a while

As you wandered in search of Osiris in vain

Then a glimpse of you naked and trembling I saw

When the sun from the west quenched the fire of the east

And then later I found others gathered in awe

And among them I noticed both ruler and priest

You lived in the minds of the masters of art

For I saw you from Europe to China, in stone

There are many who saw you enshrined in the heart

Yet others who swore that you ruled on a throne

There are those who have seen you arise from the sea

Or ride on a tiger, a sword in your hand

And yet I have known you to lie beside me

On a bed made of flowers that I piled on the sand

And my fingers have whispered of love to your skin

And your arms have responded, and clasped me so tight

And I have been witness to the fires within

That you strive to extinguish with all of your might

I have followed your trail through the valleys of time

All over the landscape of our universe

I have gazed on your beauty with the glances of rhyme

As you smouldered encircled by the flames of a verse

I have seen you in Egypt, in Persia, in Greece

I have seen you in Venice, by the light of the moon

I have seen you in torment, in passion, in ease

In the night and the morning and the pale afternoon

I have seen you breathe life into each work of art

The artist gave form to it, yours was the breath

That imbued into paper the passion of a heart

Yet now it appears that I'll see you as death