I am not a Sufi, but I follow the Sufi.
quote by Nusrat F. A. Khan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sufism and The Skinny Old Horse
As I was walking by
"Al Hamra" sea shore,
I saw a skinny old horse
Pulling a Cinderella like
Carriage, and is led by
A thin young boy,
There and then
I could not but stop both:
The boy and the horse;
I reproached the boy
For not feeding
The horse well,
And for forcing
Him to work as well,
Tears dropped from both;
The horse‘s and the boy's
Eyes. The tears were dripping
Like rain,
I felt like crying too.
Yet, my reason
Was so different;
It was sympathy,
Not huger, poverty,
Or even pain.
The boy blamed me for
Saying tender words that
Caused the horse to cry,
And so confused was I,
For I did not know
With whom should I
Sympathize more:
The horse or the boy!
I sided with the horse,
Because he could not
Express his feelings
And what caused his pain.
That I felt for an animal,
As I feel for Man,
Made me wonder whether
Am I a Sufi or not?
And what kind of a Sufi
Am I, if I could define?
Myself as such?
And what does
My Attitude in life follow,
If it was not hollow
From meaning target,
And philosophy as well.
If I ever belong to Sufism,
Then, what kind of Sufism
Do I belong to?
Sufism has many a definition,
But no particular definition
Is that definite yet:
A Sufi is supposed to be
A person who
Belongs to people
Who worship Allah or God?
Out of love before fear:
If a Sufi is a person who
Wears wool, I am not a Sufi,
For I am allergic to wool,
And I live in a hot country,
Or rather a region,
That its people rarely
Need to wear wool.
If Sufism means to wear
A lengthy hat and a big round
White skirt that goes round
And round and round
Again and again and again,
When dancing after being
Enchanted by a spiritual song,
While sitting around a fire
In a desert or any landscape,
I would rather escape
From such a scene,
And this makes me no Sufi
Indeed.
Sufis do not fear
Such a deed, though
They are not fighters,
If Sufism means that one
Loves to visit grave yards
To ask help from the dead,
Then I am certainly not a Sufi.
But if Sufism means belittling
Materialistic things
And abandoning
Worldly pleasures,
Like a hermit,
Then I am a Sufi,
If Sufism means you sing
With birds in the sky,
I am a Sufi,
If Sufism means you let
Your spirit flies with a butterfly,
I am a Sufi,
If Sufism means you feel for
Other creatures as if they were
Human beings, then,
I am certainly a Sufi,
And If Sufism means
Thinking a lot of the day
Of judgment, Oh, then
And only then I can say
I am definitely a Sufi.
10 Nov.2012
editted 15Nov.2012
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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Reflectiom In The Morning
The society where We live is really messed up
Have U ever been dissolved in it, at least
Without the need to judge other
If u want to clean ur body nd soul
Then be a sufi
Rubaiyat 21
Don’t make me fall in love with that face
Don’t let the drunk the wine seller embrace.
Sufi, you know the pace of this path,
The lovers and drunks don’t disgrace.
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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There wouldn't be such a thing as counterfeit gold if there were no real gold somewhere.
My Islam
My Buddhism
Is gentle prayers
Burning incense in the evening.
My Christianity
Is Jesus forgiving prostitutes
While writing in the sand.
My Islam
Is sweet Muslim friends
With hearts of Sufi poets.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Gift of Life
Birth
Is the
First step towards
Death.
Life
Is a gift,
Though
Rife
With
Strife.
So why postpone
Unwrapping it?
Live
As if
There is
No tomorrow.
Do we know
When its time to go?
Lest
You are overcome
With regret
And shock
When death
Knocks.
BASED ON SUFI PHILOSOPHY
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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After ceremonial with Tugur
Gur, you should be proud with this
falling on the top of the table
and you buy the Sufi's book
often
We teased by gymnastics pamphlet ~
......HEALTHY ALA.....
or stop smoking
but we don't know
who is the king of our hearts
This hand may also have
could no longer hold
our children
because
as leaf
we have
yellow
will soon fall
by the wind
and the rain hit
our heads with his love
and we can not avoid it
Gur, I should proud to have
a friend in the old days
(9/5/2001)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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I searched for God and found only myself. I searched for myself and found only God.
In the Dead of night
In the dead of night, a Sufi began to weep.
He said, 'This world is like a closed coffin, in which
We are shut and in which, through our ignorance,
We spend our lives in folly and desolation.
When Death comes to open the lid of the coffin,
Each one who has wings will fly off to Eternity,
But those without will remain locked in the coffin.
So, my friends, before the lid of this coffin is taken off,
Do all you can to become a bird of the Way to God;
Do all you can to develop your wings and your feathers.'
poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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Only Breath
Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu
Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion
or cultural system. I am not from the East
or the West, not out of the ocean or up
from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not
composed of elements at all. I do not exist,
am not an entity in this world or in the next,
did not descend from Adam and Eve or any
origin story. My place is placeless, a trace
of the traceless. Neither body or soul.
I belong to the beloved, have seen the two
worlds as one and that one call to and know,
first, last, outer, inner, only that
breath breathing human being.
The Sufi's meet
The Sufi's meet, a silence so terrifying
They meditate with quietness so glorifying
Capturing a moment that is electrifying
A journey that is ultimately mystifying
In the midst of the silent crisis
They search for that inner one for all
That spiritual redemption of peace
Missions for each maybe big or small
In their midst I hear the shifting of bones
Without anyone actually throwing a stone
The creaking of the cane chair is done
Suddenly I feel the presence of none
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Jesus Burger
Feeling spiritually hungry,
I stopped by at an
Internet writers' joint,
Where I was served with
A Jesus burger, well done,
On a mystic Sufi bun,
With kosher pickles,
Kabbalic lettuce and
Shamanic tomatoes,
With that secret Zen sauce
And transcendental Maya,
With a large order of
Wicca fries and a bottle
Of flavored holy water,
And I ate it all up
Hook, line and sinker
Until I got a heartburn
From all the baloney -
So I started writing
My postmodern Marxist
Slogans that New Age
Consciousness is the
McDonald's of the masses.
March 26,2006
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Ch 04 On The Advantages Of Silence Story 03
An intelligent youth possessed an abundant share of accomplishments and discreet behaviour so that he was allowed to sit in assemblies of learned men but he refrained from conversing with them. His father once asked him why he did not likewise speak on subjects he was acquainted with. He replied: ‘I fear I may be asked what I do not know and be put to shame.’
Hast thou heard how a Sufi drove
A few nails under his sandals
And an officer taking him by the sleeve
Said to him: ‘Come and shoe my horse.’
For what thou hast not said no one will trouble thee
But when thou hast spoken bring the proof.
Rumi Jelaluddin, come again
Rumi, what ink did you dip your pen in
When you wrote those wonderful poems?
Ambrosia from heaven? Honey fresh from bee-hives?
Your words sooth parched throats and sweeten even poisoned tongues
Rumi, come again, we need you now.
Science solving Nature's many a mystery
In the process, minds losing their mystic insights
Souls drowning in seas of technology
Mass media desensitizing human hearts
Concrete jungles crushing all sensibilities
Greed growing exponentially for possessions
Humanity heading towards its own destruction
Rumi come again, we need your sufi pearls
To awaken our sleeping souls
poem by Shakuntala Sharma
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Read, Make understand & move towards yourself
God is infinite and his powers are infinite.
Everyone who reads and writes about him, only gives the reference of their mind.
Mind is changeable and what is the use to give reference of changeable things.
And it is also known that Mind never becomes of yourself.
Knowledge given by your senses is called your mind.
By means of reading some books written by famous and intelligent wirter, you got the verification of mind.
By means of some holy books, you become like a holy person.
By this, education and religion are tied in words.
Education is necessary to live simple life.
poem by sufi mohan seth Aggarwal
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An evening in the company of a Sufi...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
The café was packed-event,
Book release and reading of excerpts
From ‘love and Longing’
A compilation of letters
Exchanged between
Imroz and Amrita
Over a time span
Of five decades.
Imroz took the dais,
Simply dressed in white
A pair of spectacles
Resting on his nose.
Began to shyly share
Sufi poems and
Anecdotes
On a reminiscent note…
Love shone in his limpid eyes,
In the delicate curve of his smile,
Reverence in his mellifluous voice,
Sketches made by him
Framed on the walls.
He said there were no laws
In their relationship- laws
Are for the irresponsible;
We gave each other space
And moved at our own pace.
Love is in small details;
Anticipate the needs of the beloved:
Amrita loved to write in
The silence of the night.
I could make out from the
Light filtering outside.
She loved tea;
I trained myself to wake
At mid night and make
Her a cup steaming hot,
Kept it, on her desk.
At times it
Remained untouched.
She didn’t explain
Nor I complain.
I called her my
Heer, as well as Fakir
Spoke he
Like a true Sufi.
Even today she is
With me.
I feel her in the gentle breeze,
Fragrance of Jasmine...
Spoke of her in present tense
With fondness.and affection.
His words
And demeanour
Left me
Bleary eyed…
it was a union
destined,
with God's blessings...
Amrita Pritam was hailed as the doyen of Punjabi literature and was world renowned.
She was the first prominent Indian women writers. She wrote many poems, novels, short stories and essays. A number of her works have been translated into English, Trench, Danish, Japanese languages.
Amrita and Imroz love story is a legend. They lived together for fifty years. ‘Some love stories reverberate like hymns in the universe’ said Uma Trilok, her biographer.
At her death, Imroz on being questioned said, ‘why be sad, what I couldn’t do, Nature did.’ Such words of love and wisdom, because her last years were painful and
Death came as a release.
Imroz is a noted painter and poet.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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In the spirit of Rumi - 23
I asked My Beloved
How may I know the secret
of being a perfect Sufi,
insan al-kamil,
a perfect Friend of God?
My Beloved said
You will never in your life be sure;
and that is just how it should be;
that way, you will be safe in Me;
instead, seek always where My secret might be found:
as you walk, look closely at all of nature;
every flower, every tree, every lake, every cloud,
every bird, every animal;
look closely at them, to see
if they hold My secret;
as you walk down the street,
look into the eyes of each human being
to see if they know My secret in their heart;
listen to every sound and every word
in case My secret hides within them;
or in the scent of roses, or in the taste of food;
go to sleep with this question on your lips,
wake with this question in your mind;
and though you will never find the answer,
one day the question shall cease to be a question
and become the song which you have always known.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Before The Day Breaks
Its neither day nor night,
The sky is veiled with fading moonlight.
There is perfect peace and quiet,
Spiritual energy is at its height.
From the distance strains of Sufi music,
Aura in the air is mystic.
This is the best time to write,
As creative juices are at their height.
Just the sound of your breath moving in harmony,
Mind free of clutter, worry and acrimony.
You can hear the sound of pen
On the paper, as you write in a state of Zen.
I feel serene and sane,
And queen of my domain.
Slowly the night has withdrawn,
And ushered in the dawn.
Fresh ideas spawn
And I wander out to my lawn.
I am awestruck, how without noise,
Nature performs its miracles with poise.
I am filled with piety,
And say thanks with closed eyes.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Bridge Ghazal
My love and I reside upon the belly of a bridge
with heartbeats of the sky?--the drums upon the bridge.
I've heard of songs that rise at night from pitch black oceans.
I've heard the strums of lyrics made by four hands on a bridge.
My love and I do landscapes for the gardens of the sea.
At night we sleep as seedlings at the center of its bridge.
Once I saw a Sufi breathe in seabirds, and send them out again.
I've seen people bearing blindfolds near the entrance of a bridge.
My love's old love, he says, had tried to douse him in a moat.
He grew gills to save himself and hid beneath a drawbridge.
The masters speak of magic at the middle of the rings
where Yes and No chase each other round the props of any bridge.
My love's new love, some say, makes far too much of things
as fundamental, elemental, as the structure of a bridge.
Anonymous submission.
Wonderful India
India is a wonderful nation,
Here Indians are insulted
But foreigners are respected,
Here Hindus are snubbed,
But minorities are nurtured.
Here patriots are offended,
But terrorists are flattered.
Here natives are hounded,
But intruders are welcomed.
Here honest are defeated,
But corrupt rule the nation.
Here merit is mocked,
But UN-meritorious gets quotas.
Here disciplined get intimidated,
But rogues roam fearlessly.
Here SRKs are above law,
But saints are booked.
Here justice is injustice,
And injustice is justice.
Here stone dargahas get cozy chaders,
But living souls roam naked in streets.
Here Sufi baba, pester, imams get trillions,
But aged parents die penniless.
Here secularism is communal-ism,
But communal-ism is secularism.
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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