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Often has heart run after her, to no avail;
All desire, fresh and old, gambled- to no avail.
Desperate, caged in chest’s corner, with cunning
Plays all its arts and wiles, but to no avail.
دل از پی دلدار بسی تاخت و نشد
هر خشک و تری که داشت در باخت و نشد
بیچاره بکنج سینه بنشسته بمکر
هر حیله و فن که داشت پرداخت و نشد
Remember- that when my house was on your street,
It was the dust at your door that made my eyes bright!
True like the lily and rose- the result of pure company,
My tongue revealed all that was in your heart.
While the heart was receiving truths from the wise elder,
Love was relating what for the heart was so difficult:
“In my heart, I never wish to be without the friend;
What can be done, when all my striving is for nought?”
Last night, I went to the wine-house remembering cronies;
The wine made my heart pound; then my head hit dirt.
Much have I wandered and asked about separation’s pain;
The Mofti buried his head in the matter, but couldn’t find it!
To be sure, the royal turquoise ring of Abu Ishaq
Flashed brilliantly, but his reign lived but a moment.
Hafez, did you see the clucking and strutting partridge
Who was so careless of the eagle’s claw of fate?
Nosh Anzar gleefully reported today through an email newsletter that Pete Townsend has gifted Beloved Archives, based in New Jersey, with artifacts and relics of Meher Baba which had been given to Pete as host of an English Baba Center, the Oceanic.
Evidently, Pete has decided to quit himself of the role and responsibility of looking after these treasures by shipping them off to America. More details than this were not forthcoming. Naturally, one supposes that Nosh wheedled them from Pete to enlarge his already impressive collection.
But by whatever means Nosh has acquired an English Baba Group’s legacy of artifacts and relics, it is completely repugnant for this to have been presented as a fait accompli. Many questions arise at once, but the most basic one is simply WHY. Why defraud English Baba lovers of a significant legacy of Baba treasures- regardless of the rationalization, and I’m sure Nosh will not stutter for one.
The only right and decent thing to do is to simply return the whole lot, without exception, to England.
It is probably not an exaggeration to say that the happy future of Beloved Archives depends on it.
چه دانستم که این سودا مرا زین سان کند مجنون
دلم را دوزخی سازد دو چشمم را کند جیحون
How could I know that this longing would drive me so crazy;
That it would make my heart a prison, and my eyes a river?
How know tears like a flash flood would carry me away,
And hurl me like a boat into a vast sea of blood?
That waves would beat and split this boat board by board,
Until each board twists away from all the many tortures?
That the sea-monster would raise its head- and swallow the sea;
That such an immense sea would go dry like a desert plain?
That the devouring sea-monster would then split this plain,
And suddenly pull me down into a pit, like Qarun, in wrath?
When these transformations occurred, naught remained;
What do I know, when why and what swallow each other?
O how many the “I don’t knows” there are- but I don’t know;
For I have swallowed the foam of opium, to forget that sea!
This land will heal because of the Master’s and Mehera’s blood
Blessing our earth. From splattered grace springs a sacred flood.
The violent shadow of America blossomed as a bloodied rose,
And was offered as a tribute to genocide and enslaved Negroes.
The cult of the machine demanded the loveliest sacrifice,
And the energy of our greed exacted the cruelest price.
God-Man’s body and his greatest love were smashed by the car;
The lust and anger of our greed will be redeemed by the Avatar.
This land will be convulsed by the pain of our cruel ignorance,
That will one day be healed by the lover and Beloved’s innocence.
Lord and Master, forgive us for we know not what will happen:
We had no idea that progress would result in such terrible sin.
Everywhere the earth is crying for the Eternal Beloved’s pain,
But the pride of man will not yet be humbled for mercy’s gain.
Darvish walks the earth and his feet feel the miraculous cry
Of the insentient for the wounded Beloved who never dies.
All the love, all the hate that bids me sleep,
Wakes me to an angry laugh so complete
Eyes become bright with victorious song!
Sweet sorrow of grace makes me weep and weep.
O soggy log, you will never dry out
Until fire blazes forth from your heart!
Rip off body’s cloak for the bosom friend,
And learn love from the Master of love’s art.
ای هیزم تر خشک نگردی روزی
تا در تو فتد ز آتش دل سوزی
تا خرقه تن دری تو بی دلسوزی
عشق آموزی زجان عشق آموزی
I run from the rotting stench of my precious thought,
But cannot find the pure, sweet breeze of I am not!
The sweet grace of Lord and Master will set me free,
When I submit myself to grace and cease to be.
For now, God help us to learn the high circus arts,
Like how to make a lion laugh and a monkey fart!
Perhaps, the Master will be inclined to believe,
We are useful to his pleasure and deserve reprieve.
We hang out around his court by all contrived means,
(And never with complaint about the refried beans.)
We understand no man has ever petitioned love
Except at beauty’s feet, with the Beloved tall above!
There are few things about which Darvish has no clue:
The most regrettable is how to his foul mind eschew!