The inevitable death,
once, only momentarily, dies—
just for a pause,
like a blink in open eyes—
then passes this
whooping, precious,
deathless garland
over to her.
Just in one single sip,
you drank it in—
that painstakingly unique,
imperishable elixir of being.
The timeless time sprawls,
spotless and fine,
across the ages—
echoing through undying rhymes,
tuned into countless tunes
on this deathless-dead skeleton
that breathes, that hums:
"Alhamdulillahi Rabbil Aalameen."
The note before the sun sings,
in the Night of Creations—
within, and without.
Translation...
is never enough.
The nexus of time
burst across the ages.
The dew left the rose—
not to fall,
but to stir
the ocean’s deep heart.
Credible, nature!
The blue peahen of the sky
scurries down
into that innermost drop—
it flows in the soul,
in a thousand and one rhythms,
in the swell of song,
a perfect, complete drop.
As if sound itself remembered its beginning—
The melody-nymph,
in the orchestra of the sea,
lifts the flute to her lips.
Oh, that first music—
mind-blowingly perfect.
There — in that single drop —
floats the sea,
floats the full moon.
A blue lotus shadow
rests on the ocean’s deepest floor.
Clothed in blue upon blue,
sky-hued —
forever shading the air.
Her panache, midstream,
remains out of reach.
Who could ever touch
that forever peerless ******,
that numinous, untouchable water-nymph?
Into the vast,
sea-wide goblet
of Tahura’s wine,
all the thirsty warriors
drowned deep.
Even time took a deep breath of Ma,
knowing not what was coming.
Then you arrived — wondrous Shaaqi,
from the far side of the eternal shore.
Measured for just one sip,
Your Highness—
you poured it, indeed:
all that is death,
made immortal sweet.
Start to finish,
all in all,
everything came
to soothe the eyes —
even the grave-dirt
was placed in your hands.
A single fistful of loosened soil…
You became life
to this death-struck soul,
yet never did you let it slip
into life’s final flow.
How can I ever forget you —
in life?
Or in death?
A birthday poem.
