He's in the rain that falls,
The desires that rise,
The aimless clouds,
And heads tilted to the sky,
He's in the madness that Mira wore,
The notes she struck on her ektara,
In the childhood of every child,
And the love of every lover,
He's the language in the eyes of animals,
And the playfulness of their being,
He's the food on our plates,
And the street smartness of the beggar child,
He's in the lips that sing to Him,
And the worthless straws that make a nest,
He's as much in a sermon,
As in a smile,
When a few gather to pray,
He's in the chanting of His name...
In the dots that follow the verse,
For the poet is speechless.
The desires that rise,
The aimless clouds,
And heads tilted to the sky,
He's in the madness that Mira wore,
The notes she struck on her ektara,
In the childhood of every child,
And the love of every lover,
He's the language in the eyes of animals,
And the playfulness of their being,
He's the food on our plates,
And the street smartness of the beggar child,
He's in the lips that sing to Him,
And the worthless straws that make a nest,
He's as much in a sermon,
As in a smile,
When a few gather to pray,
He's in the chanting of His name...
In the dots that follow the verse,
For the poet is speechless.
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| Photo courtesy - The Song Of The Sufi Masroof |
4 comments:
After writing a poem like this, the readers will be speechless and I'm sure everyone will say this.. Keep inspiring Ismita.. :)
Someone is Special
@SiSpl,thank you and you too!!
Of course I am speechless
@Sathish, thank you so much :)
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