Darvish Khan Writes

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Don’t think for a moment that God does not hear your prayer-
his answer lies in the anguish that only patient love can bear.

It’s a rough road to crawl and crawl to the feet of the Friend
when the broken glass of ignorance colors all ambition.

All great lovers with self respect keep this advice in mind:
death to one’s own ego but to one’s enemies, be kind!

“I was a hidden treasure, and I wished to become known”;
O when will my many lives for this ancient whim atone?

Where is the Medic who can bandage bloody hands and feet,
and beseech the heart to believe in lies saccharine and sweet?

We are the proverbial lambs led on to their slaughter
that we rejoice in the Master’s humor and wry laughter.

Darvish laughs and laughs but cries at one and the same time
because of this love ridiculous yet richly sublime.

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The world O the world a can full of lively worm,
wriggling for spirit to attain at last perfect form.

Man, at last, no more a wriggling worm, but aghast
at nascent mind crawling through mud to speak, at last.

The long journey, the long road into the black of night
to free the mute voice that wakes heart by dawn’s light.

The heart must sing, and sing and pass the many days
and learn the song that reveals spirit’s lonely ways.

Crawl O crawl my spirit into the voice of tall song
that prostrates before the Word who forgives all wrong.

Now is the time, the beginning of the cherished end
when the music of our longing will all breath expend.

Despite the fact, O Darvish, that you can not sing-
the voice of your heart is a diva who wears your ring.

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Now is the time of the Prophet of Light’s return;
Zarathustra will bring this Age of Iron to an end.

Rama, prince of virtue crowned as the Solar King
will again slay the dark rapacious lord and fiend.

Now is the dawn of Prince Siddhartha on this earth,
whose blissful smile inspires the soul to shine within.

The avenger of tyranny’s rule is now the Christ
whose brightness routs the black legacy of sin.

The Prophet, heart cut out and washed in snow,
sings again his praise of Allah as the loving Friend.

Yes, all the Prophets have returned to bless our age
in the person of Meher, the compassionate Sun.

O Darvish, the Sun that rises in our hearts will shine
for seven hundred years until he takes birth again.

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