Darvish Khan Writes

In the year of the Water Dragon, good luck
Quacks her way to market like a Peking duck.

Power ebbs and dribbles into a big puddle,
And confidence dissipates into a muddle.

In the last year of the 13th Baktun, Mayan hope
Despairs of the innumerable Anglo dopes.

When Lord Neptune and his Trident enter Pisces,
Oceans boil in praise of spectacular crises.

In the month of November two thousand and twelve,
The ballot will be stuffed by political elves.

God help us all in the hour of our great need:
May the angel of death not drown us in greed!

Darvish plays in the tub with a rubber ducky
That quacks and quacks big bubbles of bhakti!

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I long for the smile of  the beloved of God,
Her smile that felt the pain of his every nod.

Mehera is all grace that blesses our longing;
She is the laugh that encourages our singing.

Your forehead bears the scar of his infinite pain;
Always you hold him close and his beauty proclaim.

Your memory is a fire that never burns out;
Always the fire burns and consumes all doubt.

We long for your smile to renew our ardent tears;
We long for your eyes of light to remove our fears.

Only your love delights the Lord and Master;
Only your smile heals him with purest laughter.

Look my way with the light of brilliant purity:
May Darvish long with the pain of infinity.

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I am the slave of desire and expectation;
My speech is twisted by the play of jinn.

A squawking jay from high hell, why describe
The noxious nest of mind where I reside?

I was never an angel squatting in heaven,
But Adam played me for sixes an’ sevens.

No houri filled my arms by crystal water
Who compares with the supernal Master!

O Master, you taught me only two letters:
A and B twice reversed spells you better!

What astrologer can read my stellar fate,
Unless the mother of time reveals her mate?

Ever since he became the slave of love’s wine,
Darvish oinks with the great pleasure of swine!

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The well of memory cries out for water:
Where are the days I longed to hold her!

My lost love with long black curly hair:
Why are her lips pale and without care?

We wait and wait but she never arrives;
How can desire her sweet body contrive?

We never met the girl of ancient dreams,
But are blessed by desperate lies and themes.

Her curls are lies that wind around my throat,
That choke my longing into gasping notes!

The girl with full red lips- does she exist;
Why does she all my advances resist?

Darvish can’t remember a single kiss:
His empty arms are full of her cruel bliss!

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The Word was born to reveal love’s Silence,
And heal the tyrannical mind of violence.

The Ancient One came in the black of night;
By dawn, he was lost to our longing sight.

He was abandoned on that hill of pain,
Left for the wind to share his sighs of pain.

One held by his open arms would not leave;
She kept him company as did the thieves.

Love washed his body and hid him away:
He would rise in her arms on the third day.

The Roman cross consumed his memory,
But the Christ lived to gainsay history.

Darvish says the Word is wondrous mercy,
That heals the mind of infinite cruelty.

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Dawn fills my glass with the wine of the Sun;
my heart drinks the light of the Ancient One.

Cry and cry to forever drown in his Bliss:
swallow your blood tears to receive his kiss.

Give up hope of all your presumed merit:
the Master’s mercy precludes disrespect.

All truth and beauty lie buried in mud;
only his bright Name can reveal the Word.

The beloved will draw aside her black veil,
when the lover renounces his charming tale.

The misery of ten thousand sordid lives
is removed by a single glance of her eyes.

Darvish is smashed on the image of the Friend:
the light of her face intoxicates the rend.

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