Baseball

If all beauty had one source
I would know it temporal to be you.

“I Will Not Submit”

The “Arab Spring” uprisings of 2011 look to be even more impressive and empowering than the revolutions of 1848. In honor of the self-sacrifice and dedication to righting the wrongs of their forefathers, I share one of modern Urdu’s most important canons, Habib Jalib’s “I Will Not Submit” or in Urdu, “میں نہیں مانتا”, with the hopes it will inspire a more deserving generation of Arab democrats, than the Pakistanis who betrayed Jalib’s words.

Till we meet in Tahrir.

Mein Nahi Maanta or I Will Not Submit

Deep jis ka sirf mehellaat hi main jalay,
Chand logon ki khushyon ko lay ker chalay,
Wo jo saye main har maslihat kay palay;
Aisay dastoor ko,
Subh e bay noor ko,
Main naheen maanta,
Main naheen jaanta.

The light which shines only in palaces
Burns up the joy of the people in the shadows
Derives its strength from others’ weakness
That kind of system,
like dawn without light
I refuse to acknowledge,
I refuse to submit

Main bhee kha’if naheen takhta e daar say,
Main bhee Mansoor hoon, keh do aghyaar say,
Kyun daraatay ho zindaan ki divar say,
Zulm ki baat ko,
Jehel ki raat ko,
Main naheen maanta,
Main naheen jaanta.

I am not afraid of execution,
Tell the world that I am the martyr
How can you frighten me with prison walls?
This overhanging doom,
this night of ignorance,
I refuse to acknowledge,
I refuse to submit

Phool shaakhon pay khilnay lagay tum kaho,
Jaam rindon ko milnay lagay tum kaho,
Chak seenon kay silnay lagay tum kaho,
Iss khulay jhoot ko,
Zehan ki loot ko,
Main naheen maanta,
Main naheen jaanta.

“Flowers are budding on branches”, that’s what you say,
“Every cup overflows”, that’s what you say,
“Wounds are healing themselves”, that’s what you say,
These bare-faces lies,
this insult to the intelligence,
I refuse to acknowledge,
I refuse to submit

Tum nay loota hai sadyon hamara sakoon,
Ab na hum per chalay ga tumhara fasoon,
Chara gar main tumhain kiss tara say kahoon?
Tum naheen charaagar,
Koi maanay magar,
Main naheen maanta,
Main naheen jaanta.

For centuries you have all stolen our peace of mind
But your power over us is coming to an end
Why do you pretend you can cure pain?
Even if some claim that you’ve healed them,
I refuse to acknowledge,
I refuse to submit

Türklük or My First Turkish Poem

Dünya Girdi bütün Türklerin işidir

Diyoruz.

Ne iyi yolu nedir,

Atatürk’ün yolundan daha?

Ruh ile Mücadele!

Kalp ile Mücadele!

Tanrı ile birleşir, Bir Türk ol.

Rumi: Rapped.

In probably the greatest crossovers of all time, Rumi is taken from the esoteric to the symbol of Hip-Hop Culture itself, bringing the thoughts of the world’s greatest Sufi to a knew generation of leaders, thinkers, and change-makers.

It’s also my top song for my morning work out routine.

The Seven Language Poet: Sachal Sarmast

Shair-e-haft zaban, or ”The poet of seven tongues” in English is also known as Sachal Sarmast or “the truthful mystic,” when translated from Urdu. He was from Kolhara, Sindh, in Southern Pakistan–an area dotted with the shrines of brilliant Persian sufis of a bygone era.

Sachal was a huge proponent of the doctrine of Wahdat-ul-Wojood, “Unity of existence”, which argued that essentially everything is a part of God.

The festival marking Sachal Sarmast’s life is on the 14th of Ramadan (today). Sufi Sarmast’s real name was Abdul Wahab, and he lived in the final days of the Mughal Empire, when Farsi (Persian) was still the empire’s national language, and Hindustani (proto-Urdu) was still in its infancy.

The Shrine of Sachal Sarmast (Daraza, Sindh)

Devotional ‘Poetry-Jam’ at Sachal Sarmast’s Tomb

As in Iran, Pakistani and Desi Sufi singers usually sing the poems as devotionals, known as ghazals. Sometimes the melodies come out just as smooth and awe-inspiring as in the Persian tradition. Other times, the overwhelming audio dissonance (like above) produced by the devotees is itself spiritually inspiring.

If you are inspired by what you’ve saw or read above, (and can read the Nastaʿlīq script), then check out a compendium of Sachal Sarmast’s work by Agha Sufi (below):

Sachal jo Risalo (Parts I and II) by Agha Sufi

Sufi Islam is the traditional sort of blending of cultures scene throughout Pakistan, and a hallmark of the Mughal era here.

There is no other Beloved,
There is only what I see everyday!
I was sitting by the roadside,
When the path became clear to me;
In the palace the Beloved I saw,
a glimpse the Beauty gave;
Through the window was the vision,
a glimpse the Beauty saw;
Take care of the ignorant;
Our bond was made for a reason.
I truly recognized the Lord,
My companion He sure became;
‘He is the Creator of all
and intrinsic to all’,
All doubts in this perished;
With happiness shall I carry
Sisters, if your trust I have.
All the journeys, all the manifestations
The Dear One’s own;
Friend ‘Sachal’ know this correctly,
Slumber has created illusions.
Sachal regarded love as the path to spirituality:
‘Tis not in religion I believe
‘Tis love I live in.
When love comes to you.
Say Amen!
‘Tis not with the infidel
that love resides
Nor with the faithful.

http://animation.dawn.com/sachal-sarmast/

Another of my Favorite Poems

Stream of Life

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.


-Rabindranath Tagore

River. Hallejuah.

As it flows, so should you.
Let go the hatred of your heart.
Be gone the angst of your Ruh.

Embrace the color of the water.
Drink of it what you can.
It will be here tomorrow.

Have some pistachio ice cream,
Make jokes with him/her–I never know with you.
Create someone beautiful and new

Hallelujah.

***
Ruh-Perso-Arabic for Spirit/Soul.
Pistachio Ice Cream is a South Asian and Persian delicacy of the highest merit.
Please read this poem while listening to
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14PbaW7kBto)

Ruby (Another Poem by me)

Wah

Nargile

Beloved.

Sip as you would a gentle wine.
Or the finest Chai.
Shh! Do not slurp. Mind your manners.

Stoke charcoals so she will stay warm.
Gaze into her shining eyes. Gems.
She is worth our patience.

Sounds of Rai Music? Where are the Bedu?
Friends gather around while Habibiti sparkles.
Speak coarsely, if you want to be a martyr.

Romantic.

Seeking (The Bridie Lama’s Lesson). (Poem by me)

Bismillah

You sought for days without luck,
You drank for hours without quench,
Where hast thy soul been lost?


Spin like the dervish in love with Allah
Sit like the monk in Nirvana.
Do what pleases your heart.


Peace and love come from within,
Not from the here now.
Desire is just another term for insecurity.


Do as the Bodhisatva preaches,
Speak as the Prophets listened,
Love. Love. Love.

1962.

Here lies the King of the East, a voice to the West.
Here lies the prayers for better, and hopes for the best.
We came in sorrow, and left in pain,
All we hope for now is the healing sound of rain

What can we buy with our wretched souls?
We sold our King into the slavery of these trolls.
Goodbye our Yemen, goodbye our crown,
God has taken from us San’aa town.

We stood and watched as the bullets flew
And down our Beloved fell hitherto.
Now we have no land to call our own,
And our people are without a throne.

Stood we have against the Reddened Night
Here with our strength we lost our fight.
What shame we’ve brought to our name,
That one day Arab men should be called lame.

Here lies the King of the East, the hope of the West.
Here lies the prayers for better, and hopes for the best.
We came in sorrow, and left in pain,
All we hope for now is the healing sound of rain