Darvish Khan Writes

[cincopa AYHA4e6tPQ82]a cold wind blows from the north with the scent of red rose,
my heart cries out “saginaw” where raw spirit purely grows.

the blushing faces of proud resistance in hostile land,
stir my blood with the promise that victory is at hand.

the vanguard of the coming revolution is awake-
our lost way of life, full of longing faith, is at stake.

earth is now yearning with a vital aspiration;
our minds tremble at our bitterly frozen nation.

we must plant our hands to discover the living truth:
that all is lost except for beauty’s vibrant growth.

the poets’ singing armies march out across the white land;
our greenhouse magic will make a thorny and bloody stand!

darvish remembers the great who have crossed over the sea;
none have the brilliant green hands of theodore roethke!

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“The greatest story ever told” is about power and gold:
early on church history put truth and beauty on hold.

That Christ is son of man and woman is lovely in deed-
Mary’s purity received Joseph’s immaculate seed!

Christ’s greatest love was the chaste and beautiful Magdalene:
She was not a whore, but slandered by petty, jealous men!

She remains the greatest apostle- she never denied
the life of Jesus, and she never believed he had died.

Mary, obedient and with invincible speechless grief,
carefully attended his unconscious body with vital faith.

She was by his side two days later when he groaned with pain;
her prescient love agonized for his life to remain.

She and others decided to spirit him far away;
they left quickly, after he “appeared” over a few days.

Jesus, the real ascetic, who threw away cup and comb,
traveled the world and finally in India made his home.

All of Darvish’s tears about the lies of rich priests,
become joyous when truth and beauty are released.

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the beautiful pathan princess fled her wedding for god,
she wandered in the wilderness desperate to find her lord.

she had cheeks like red roses- golrokh was her early name;
her fragrant spirit and ardent love for god was her fame.

for decades she lived and walked the desolate path alone;
at last she met the master and by his grace took her throne.

the crown and throne and orb of a god realized emperor:
the sky her roof, the ground her bed and a rock her pillow.

she travelled the islamic world, even went to mecca;
at about one hundred, she finally came to poona.

her name was now babajan, and her seat by a neem tree;
everything about her was fiercely beautiful and free!

darvish, she sobbed to meet at last her spiritual son:
one day merwan rode by, she kissed him- his advent had begun!

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the master is always eloquent in his expressive silence;
he both inspires the intellect, and abides in holy presence.

it is our spiritual odyssey to find space between our thoughts;
we walk hand in hand with you after passing through the clashing rocks.

we long for the blessed landscape of your divine companionship;
lord and master, help us to surrender the mind in your worship!

the darkening blue revolving dome above with stars of twinkling light,
is your celestial coat with bright stitches of light for the night.

our greatest problem is to turn around and find we are still here;
if only the devil himself could help us truly disappear!

may our diabolical genius detonate like hell’s fireworks;
let the friend be well entertained, and save us from going beserk!

the bird of twilight complained to the departing rose, please don’t leave-
the morning will never come, and poor darvish will the long night grieve!

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The sea of mercy refers to the sufi master;
this friend is the one who saves you from disaster!

You can sink in base desire- what is called the nafs;
or you can swim to the rhythm played by the daf!

The murshid is most kind and believes in your pain;
he is the one whose loving regard is most sane!

Why fault the Muslim who is surrendered to god-
the ignorant opportunist is just a clod!

Wake up, america, to the sufi path of love;
it is the rabid demagogue who should get the shove!

Do we not all have the right to love together-
or is it only the Christian who knows better?

Darvish drums the fundamentalist on the ass;
the Bible thumpers have no beat- they are so crass!

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the lover gone crazy is a pathetic sight:
everyone is embarrassed by a majnun’s plight.

the madness of such overwhelming love is rare;
sober society can only stand and stare.

the one seized by love becomes a local event;
however, the lover remains indifferent!

the lover gone majzoob is a special instance;
only in the east does one drown in divine bliss!

this happens most often in holy india;
such intense exalted love is not trivia!

it is said, majnun loved layla with such a will,
his head came to rest on the perfect master’s sill!

look, if you think darvish is spinning a story-
you have no idea about god’s own glory!

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We have become superb robots of base desire;
Our conditioned thinking is machine inspired!

We are most obedient to depraved craving;
The pure and simple is no longer worth saving.

We are more enthralled by a neon Vegas choir,
Than we are by the simple worship of holy fire.

Nature used to be a direct analogy for God;
The elements now are no more than a silly fad.

Let’s applaud the spectacular ongoing regress,
Of the sickness we unfortunately call progress.

We must be drunk for us to so badly stumble;
We cry out in pain as the world starts to crumble.

Darvish, the lord and master suffers beyond belief;
His infinite love and mercy will bring us relief.

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No man knows his father, says the poet Homer;
All epic struggle seeks to discover one’s donor.

“Who am I” was the original conception:
All subsequent answers have been a deception.

This initial whim is full of great frustration:
Life after life renews the answer to one question.

We all long to return to where it all began:
The mother of all wombs and the cosmic bang!

Don’t bother with tracing your adoption service;
We are all ragged orphans crying out for bliss.

Sad Darvish feels abandoned by his creator,
as he receives an embrace from his dear savior!

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The ocean wave has carried us into your presence;
Our helplessness promises love’s renascence.

We can’t see you, but we feel your furious mood:
The grace and blast of great spirit has condensed.

Violent rain pounds the angry rolling horizon;
We are lost in our tossing boat without defense.

Our blood throbs with a rocking sea borne motion,
Our still brain has been beaten into common sense:

There is no god but God, and he is the lord of death:
We raise our hands in praise of the raw and immense.

Our aching eyes have been purified by your salt;
The courageous heart is washed clean of all pretense.

With each breath we die to the succession of the next;
Darvish cries like a bawling baby in consequence.

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wherever nandi is, shiva is not too far away;
the bull is the gate keeper who blocks strangers from the way.

to approach and meet god you must have a beloved friend;
only the perfect master can all confusion upend!

the glorious guru has become fully god conscious;
avatar is god revealed as man, by such a master’s kiss.

strive to receive the avatar’s overflowing grace,
as you lift your glass in praise of his merciful face!

when the lord himself out of compassion takes human birth,
oceans of love wash and purify our worn and tired earth.

now is the time to rejoice in ancient jubilation;
our beloved god has come down to our earthly station!

darvish was walking in the garden when he was nuzzled;
nandi licked his cheek with a warm wet kiss that dazzled!

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