Darvish Khan Writes

I am the slave of the Perfect Master who is without birth;
I am devoted to the Friend of joyous and robust mirth.

Only the saint remembers the dull pain of sleeping stone-
the world snarls and gnashes over raw and bloody bone.

By grace of His glance, and millions of hungry lives,
the soul leaves the beast-cage and at man-form arrives.

Now he snarls but mostly whines with articulate speech;
he walks on two legs and with vanity begins to preach.

O the pride of man as he imagines that he now can think,
when he has only just realized that his turd in fact stinks.

Now begins the long journey of grinding mind back to dust,
and of submitting to God as Beauty in rapt, loving trust.

Darvish has fallen in love with the Master of Masters,
whose divine sense of humor transfigures all disasters.

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The swirling gyre of the past empties into the now:
Each breath contains all of time in the eternal Tao.

The dark clamor of unlived desire chokes my throat,
And twists and subverts song of pure and golden note.

I lean and loaf by bubbling spring and envy observes
How water caresses stone, earth and grass with verve.

The frozen past that melts in the present to reveal fate,
Is only altered by the fire of love that destroys hate.

Where my love and where the days lost in her hair-
Tears blind me to all except rich and black despair!

This dance in which the lost partner can’t be found,
Makes me whirl to a timeless beat round and round.

Darvish breathes the Friend’s name with each breath,
And courts the lovely grace of the Mind’s blesséd death.

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I, the lost one, find my way to the ocean’s shore,
where none can hear my grief above the surf’s roar.

I would drown at once the sound of my own thought-
I would die now and forever to all that can be taught.

The ocean wave rises, threatens and then crashes;
spirit brightens as rolling water softly caresses.

All truth is revealed in the pure and virgin sand,
washed clean of all mark left by unnatural hand.

I read the scattered omens of shell, wood and stone:
only by the songbird’s cry can this blame be undone.

My grief shapes slowly into verse that disappears
along the curving ocean shore of bitter tears.

Darvish walks and walks to find the lost silence
that reveals again the beloved Master’s presence.

Line in italics by Francis Brabazon

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I long to lose all my senses in your thick curly hair;
what bliss to be lost in scented curls so rich and rare!

I long to lose my breath in lips of eternal promise-
no death can rival the heaven of your supernal kiss.

How to find the immaculate purity of my own being;
how to see the eye which is the source of all seeing?

These eyes of stone sunken in sockets will turn to dust
thousands of times before the heart surrenders in trust.

No pain grinds so fine -and slowly, as the Desire-Mind.
Where is that grace that bestows sight to the Heart-blind?

I forget everything to run my fingers through your hair-
what joy to caress my life back from dull-blind despair!

Darvish has lost all his good sense in hopeless desire
for the Friend. His eyes of stone flicker with cold fire.
 

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“Authorities are freaking out over tents. Boy Scouts
Do as they are told, but these lazy people are louts!

Why are they camping in city parks? Please, why
Abandon secure and comfortable beds to die?

In the Big City, we are afraid and have strong doors
We lock night and day! We don’t sleep on dirt floors!

Vagrants should sleep in the safety of a padded cell–
Crazy people should not trade such heaven for hell.

Why don’t they take the right drugs? We have doctors,
Not pushers who keep us sharp! They are such bores!

But really, they don’t occupy themselves with profit!
They just pick up their miserable lives and toss it!”

Darvish lives in a regal teepee with full amenities-
He bathes with a bucket and shits into infinity.

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[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/28893673″]

The dawn breeze kicks up the dust in lover’s lane;
My gritty speech praises the Rend‘s lonely pain.

I reach for the bottle rolling across the floor-
My arm can stretch so far, and then no more.

Where is the Friend with long black curly hair,
To fill my glass with glances that end all despair?

The Sun of Mercy has left us sobbing for his Face-
His shadow blinds with blackness in lieu of grace.

We can’t see you with stone eyes sunken in sockets-
The days bless with pity, and infinite regrets.

What light we have escapes from a broken heart,
That guides us to believe in our hopeless art.

Darvish’s song bites with grit but still inspires:
One day, he will see by the Light of love’s desire.

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