Darvish Khan Writes

Hafez means the preserver of the very Word of God;
For him, this was not the Koran, but truth’s very bod.

His vocation was the ghazal- a personal confession:
The Beloved’s long curly hair was his constant obsession.

For God to be bloody real, he has to be flesh and blood;
All other definitions can not ever be understood.

The religious prefer to flirt with a bloodless abstraction:
What the Lord said, gives the dogmatic enormous traction.

The passionate lover longs for genuine intimacy;
To undress a hidebound book is cerebral lunacy!

Hafez’s other name means Revealer of the Hidden;
For the preacher, the twists of love’s curls are forbidden.

Darvish wonders what in the history of sacred speech,
Can compare with what the Divan-e-Hafez has to teach?

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The Perfect Master reveals the Maha Yoga of you go,
Just like the perfect actor’s self vanishes in a show.

When the I, at last, starts to disappear from the mind,
The ego whines in protest that it is going blind.

God save us from the bogus Guru, whose real talent
Is to magnify me and mine into the truly repugnant.

When stone eyes sunken in sockets transmute into dust,
The heart surrenders to diamond song of radiant trust.

Life’s desires burn like a match to briefly flare and die;
Our only hope is like a candle to long for love and cry.

When Darvish’s tears freeze as they drip down his face,
The fire of longing will burn to an end without a trace.

The grace of the Perfect Master is the gift of surrender
Of all interminable melodrama to love pure and tender.

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The Eternal Living Ancient One is your best Friend;
He is the one on whom life after life you can depend.

He is more loyal to you than your own faithful shadow,
Who never fails to deny you in the twilight of crows.

It is his brightness that gives the Sun such royal lustre,
Which light is but a gross brilliance and dull impostor.

We thirst for the truth because it is also supreme bliss;
Anything less is both a foul lie and treacherous kiss.

But how can the humanity of his charm be described?
His human qualities cannot be so easily transcribed.

It is not that he is only glorious and fantastic,
But that he is simply and naturally authentic.

When Darvish walks in silent companionship,
He finds the Friend beside him sharing his friendship.

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We shout as cracks widen under our feet;
Shards of glass fly along the broken street.

All the many promises we promised to keep,
Pile into one another in a bloody heap.

Eyes wide shut stare at the falling ground;
Feet climb the air and earth can’t be found.

All this a premonition of the anxious mind:
We are transfixed by fears that undermine.

Death is no small disaster to our ego-fiction,
When each frame suffers review and elision.

The I-maker is our brilliant original sin;
Every subsequent lie is second-rate spin.

Darvish can’t improve on his enormous falsity:
Too many fears fracture love’s sweet unity.

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