Ecstasy

by Karin Schaefer

There is a place for us
that no one else can enter.
It is a place that holds no secrets,
only beauty, peace, understanding.
A place that we come to,
thinking we are one,
only to have our souls
fused together for a moment.
And in that moment,
I know you;
every pore, every pulse,
every thought, every fear.

And I love you more.
I feel myself laid bare before you,
and I feel content . . .
joyous that you are with me,
loving me in my nakedness.

I don't love you .....

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Pablo Neruda

IBN E INSHA

The Poet: Sher Muhammad Khan شیر محمد خان, pen name: ابنِ انشا Ibne Insha (takhallus: Insha انشا ) was born in tehsil Phillaur of Jalandhar district, Punjab, India, in 1927. He had started writing poetry in his school years. He started his career as a translator with the All India Radio. He did his Bachelors from the Punjab University, Lahore, in 1946. At the time of partition of India in 1947, he opted to stay in Pakistan. He did his Masters from the Karachi University in 1953. He worked for various departments in Pakistan, including the National Book Centre, the Ministry of Culture, and the Radio Pakistan. He also served at the United Nations and visited various countries. He was diagnosed with a Lymphoma and passed away in London, UK, on 11 January 1978.

Inbe Insha wrote both poetry and prose in Urdu. He used to write regular columns for the Urdu newspapers Jang جنگ (harf-o hikaayat حرف و حکایت ) and Imroz امروز . His travelogues include, aawaara gard ki diary آوارہ گرد کی ڈایری , dunya gol hai دنیا گول ہے , ibn-e batoota key taaqub mein ابن بطوطہ کے تعاقب میں , chaltey ho to cheen ko chaliye چلتے ہو تو چین کو چلیۓ , and nagri nagri phira musaafir نگری نگری پھرا مسافر . He also wrote humor and his books are: urdu ki aakhri kitaab اردو کی آخری کتاب and khumaar-e gandam خمارـ گندم . His collections of Urdu poetry include chaand nagar چاند نگر , iss basti key ik koochey mein اس بستی کے اک کوچے میں , and dil-e vehshi دل ـ وحشی .

The Singer: Ustad Amanat Ali Khan استاد امانت علی خان was born in Patiala, Punjab, India, in 1922. His father was Akhtar Hussain Khan اختر حسین خان , and his grandfather was Ali Bakhsh Khan علی بخش خان , founder of the Patiala Gharana (family) پٹیالہ گھرانہ of musicians. He moved to Lahore, Pakistan, after the partition of India in 1947. Two of his brothers, Ustad Fateh Ali Khan, and Hamid Ali Khan are also very popular. He was awarded the Pride of Performance Award تمغۂ حسن ـ کارکردگی by the Government of Pakistan. He passed away in Lahore in 1974. His son Asad Amanat Ali Khan followed his footsteps, but he also passed away at a young age.

In the ghazal uploaded here, Ibne Insha is talking to himself and is saying of moving on from the city. It has been very popular since early 1970s, perhaps since Ustad Amanat Ali Khan passed away shortly afterward in 1974 and Ibne Insha also passed away in 1978.
Courtesy:
خاموش تماشائی

(KhamoshTamashai)..... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TcDJe6CpD8k

The House deserted by the beloved

I will ask these walls and floors and doors
how they feel when you depart
your touch, your talks, your being
your laughs, the pleasant moments you enjoy the most
your tears, yours wailing and your hugging the pillars
The imprints of your lovely hands
and your fragrance your smell dissolve
And ......
Their sadness, their sobbing, their tears
would tell me the truth
how much your presence a blessing
A spring with your being, Now autumn with absence
Same would be my heart, when you leave me for good

but then I will remember my resolve

I am that lover who don't want to escape the pain..

'Love Is The Only Food For A Starving Lover'

A poem by Rumi.
Translation by Solo Gak

A Sufi had his tablecloth hanging on a nail and was whirling and ripping his shirt off while yelling and crying out loud.
He was belting out these most heart wrenching tunes filled with tales of starvation and lack of medication for his incurable love pain.
As his moaning cries and passionate singing got louder and louder,
all the Sufis who heard his cries also joined him in whirling.
The Sufis then entered into this indescribable trance-like state of uproar,
becoming totally intoxicated, gone out of themselves in rapture and ecstasy.
There was one very nosy fellow who was keep bugging the ecstatic Sufi:
'What is this, you've laid out the cloth but no food on it?!'
The Sufi finally had to explain the reason:
'Love is the only food for a starving lover.
Without love, you're just a meaningless facade, go away.
You have no business being here at our sacred gathering, just go away.
If you're not in love yet, it's high time you go and find the love of your life.
Any lover who's truly in love can not be bound to a loveless way of life.
Lovers have absolutely no business with the existence,
They make profit from love without even having to invest in love.
The Sufis fly around the universe without wings, and return victorious from a
battlefield even with their hands tied up behind their backs.
A poor Dervish who has truly grasped the deep meaning of inner reality,
can weave baskets of love even with hands already cut off.
It's in the non-existence where lovers pitch their tents,
just like in the non-existence, lovers are also of ONE color and ONE essence.
Can a milk-sucking baby appreciate the beauty of a naked breast?
Can an Angel smell and differentiate between the tastes of different dishes?
Humans on the other hand can smell and easily differentiate between the tastes,
because a Human's superior quality is quite the opposite of an Angel's.
Even the non-smelling Angels become smell experts by the smell of love,
but you still can't smell love from a hundred bare-naked lovers like me.
For those Egyptians who sided with the Pharaoh, the Nile River turned to blood,
but for the Twelve Tribes of Israel, the Nile turned into the most beautiful River.
The Red Sea became the path of salvation for the Twelve Tribes of Israel,
yet the same Sea swallowed and drowned Pharaoh and his fighting Army.'
Rumi.


Rumi's highly mystical and meaningful above teachings are based on the Biblical and Quranic teachings of Moses (peace be upon him) parting and crossing the Red Sea along with the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Within the Judeo-Christian teachings, the story of Moses and Pharaoh are related in details in the Holy Book of Bible -Book of Exodus in the Holy Old Testament (Holy Hebrew Bible), and within the Islamic teachings, Moses and Pharaoh and the Twelve Tribes of Israel are related in details in the Holy Verses of The Heights
-سوره پاك الاعراف در قرآن شريف-Surah Al-Aaraf or The Heights, and also in the Holy Verses of Bani-Isreal or Children of Israel-
سوره پاك بنی اسرائیل یا اسراء در قرآن شريف.


دفتر سوم-"از مثنوي معنوي حضرت مولانا جلال الدين بلخي "رومي
-قصهء عشق صوفی بر سفره‌ء تهی

صوفیی بر میخ روزی سفره دید
چرخ می‌زد جامه‌ها را می‌درید
بانگ می‌زد نک نوای بی‌نوا
قحطها و دردها را نک دوا
چونک دود و شور او بسیار شد
هر که صوفی بود با او یار شد
کخ‌کخی و های و هویی می‌زدند
تای چندی مست و بی‌خود می‌شدند
بوالفضولی گفت صوفی را که چیست
سفره‌ای آویخته وز نان تهیست
گفت رو رو نقش بی‌معنیستی
تو بجو هستی که عاشق نیستی
عشق نان بی نان غذای عاشق است
بند هستی نیست هر کو صادقست
عاشقان را کار نبود با وجود
عاشقان را هست بی سرمایه سود
بال نه و گرد عالم می‌پرند
دست نه و گو ز میدان می‌برند
آن فقیری کو ز معنی بوی یافت
دست ببریده همی زنبیل بافت
عاشقان اندر عدم خیمه زدند
چون عدم یک‌رنگ و نفس واحدند
شیرخواره کی شناسد ذوق لوت
مر پری را بوی باشد لوت و پوت
آدمی کی بو برد از بوی او
چونک خوی اوست ضد خوی او
یابد از بو آن پری بوی‌کش
تو نیابی آن ز صد من لوت خوش
پیش قبطی خون بود آن آب نیل
آب باشد پیش سبطی جمیل
جاده باشد بحر ز اسراییلیان
غرقه گه باشد ز فرعون عوان

Me and Taj ud din

When I repatriated to my parent department, i was posted in Islamabad. I faced a lot of problems when landed in Islamabad. My family is settled in Peshawar, and they were least interested to relocate. Eventually I had to live alone again, a bachelor life.  I have rented a flat in I-9 sector of Islamabad. Taj ud din is my cook. I know him since my last posting in Islamabad i.e. 1991. But since then a lot of water has passed beneath the bridges. A new Taj ud din has totally now changed, he is became more mature, clever and versatile. Now he irks. hahahha. we used to go out in the evening, a stroll or walk. Enjoying the greenery of Islamabad, watching beautiful faces and commented. He thinks he is old enough but always talks of another wedding and forcefully suggest me to embark upon on the same venture. However I always argue the reasonability of marrying another.