Darvish Khan Writes

“Yezdan, Yezdan” was the intimate breath of Sheriar;
This ancient name was his preserver and protector.

Walking, he would remember the timeless Godman;
As for the world, since a boy he did not give a damn.

The worship of the resurgent sun was his special birthright:
He was born at that time when day triumphs over night.

The sacred flame burning in his heart would never go out;
Day and night were devoted to defeating every doubt.

He was a fakir who had mastered base and dark desire;
The light in his eyes was a pure and matchless fire.

Sheriar’s thirst brought the angel to stand before him;
The waters of heaven filled his cupped hands to the brim.

Never has there been a darvish like the father of God;
This pretender repents that he is no more than a clod!

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The lover with a long curly wig shot me a glance;
this was just the beginning of a risqué romance.

The early light blessed me with a god-awful headache:
my sincerity was much too painful to relate.

What can I say to the raw and bloody uncooked?
Stay away from love unless you wish to be booked!

God forgives all of our embarrassing advances;
try and try to always pursue love’s best chances.

Pigs squeal, dogs howl and man pleads to get some bliss;
the serpent twines around his mate with a sweet hiss.

God help us all to figure out this conundrum:
the more the mind thinks, the more dumb it becomes!

Darvish was laughing and crying about such pain;
repeating the name of god is the best refrain!

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Step after step we track you searching for some sign;
the salt of our tears burns our throat as your sweet wine.

We bear your living presence in our longing heart;
but your curls and dancing eyes we can’t live without.

Farhad dug through rock to one day find his Shireen;
we breathe your name in hope that beauty’s form be seen.

The pale dawn broke and washed the eyes with shards of light:
pain is small coin to pay for the price of such delight.

We know we must renounce the lie of our own fiction;
we know we must die to our every conception.

The master’s warm hand reaches out and touches ours;
each breath is an arti to offer him fresh flowers.

With each step Darvish finds a clue in the wise earth;
breathing, he longs to die and in beauty find rebirth.

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The reluctance to act on truth breaks the spirit;
rage from doubt and fear drives us far, far apart.

Believe all pain from the Rose is but a trial:
know she does scorn and disdain her glib denial!

The status quo above all admires its own huge ass;
it regards its own anusial speech as first class!

Talk and talk and talk will someday bring you to god:
the chairman’s speech will drag you to the land of nod.

Our brother lies dead and his murder is ignored:
talk of embezzlement makes the trustees so bored.

The rose petals drop one by one in bloody red;
so much talk, yet so much more has been left unsaid!

Darvish cries out, where has our bright courage gone?
the real men have departed- we are so alone.

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The awakener of eternal spring is here;
Our frozen feeling is flowing- we have no fear.

Long have we longed for the return of your bright light;
We cry out for that day the heart receives your sight!

Our blindness has been an awful lonstanding curse;
We have been sightseeing from a dark windowless hearse!

Have mercy on our willful infidelity-
release us from our serial stupidity!

That we can’t see you is hardly our special blame;
Life is all darkness unless you ignite your name.

Meher is light and means the compassionate sun;
By the grace of the master we see him alone!

Darvish’s heart is a garden of red roses,
fed by the sweet spring of the beloved’s waters.

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With each breath, the world advances to a sure end;
Not even god’s mercy can our lifespan extend.

When earth’s time is up, the sphere will wobble and fall;
And when we gasp our last, the eyes go still and dull.

Don’t worry about which came first- the chicken or egg;
No matter what happens at the end- do not beg!

The last thought determines the way of the next birth;
Die afraid, you will tremble; the brave will have mirth.

The only important fact of dying is love-
what matters is always the willingness to serve.

No matter what, we all die but god doesn’t care;
Yearn for love like the drowning man panics for air.

May the wheel of birth and rebirth come to an end;
Darvish, only on the master can we depend.

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I dream repeatedly of your laughing presence,
but cannot wake to find your love street residence.

The light from your flashing eye ever teases me;
Yet when I look again, you are much too busy.

How do I finagle an invite to the dance?
How do I make good on your sweet amorous glance?

God help us to believe in our own ridiculous pain;
And may we never hoard our huge enduring blame!

God help us to box it up and give it to him:
The ocean of purity accepts all our sin.

The lord and master’s humor is quite infinite,
and his laugh and smile equally definite.

Darvish was stumbling after a bottle of wine,
when the master offered a single drop divine!

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The storm of desire leaves me a piteous wreck:
spirit becomes twisted and broken from neglect.

Snarling dogs of discontent prowl around the door;
unless love gives us courage, we hunt after spoor.

We can’t see you in the darkness of our hunger;
bless the day when we miss your embrace no longer!

Bright light fills the space swept clean by the chaste wind;
mind becomes brilliant by the pure breath of the friend.

The strength of your loving smile inspires my tired feet;
all bitterness by singing your name becomes sweet.

By your grace I fill the lungs with diamond air,
and by your grace expel all doubt and black despair.

Darvish dreams of waking up to a vast pure heart,
with the beloved ever present- never apart.

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