Sometimes, I feel
that the modern world
has traded love, for clarity...

has traded flowery gardens,
for deserts.
has traded stars,
for a picture of stars.
has traded dance and songs,
for analysis.
has traded ecstasy,
for mere control.
has traded heart,
for mind.

has traded life,
for death...

© Manan sheel.

Life is a river.
Music is its flow.

Sometimes swimming,
Sometimes drowning,
I enjoy its melodies.

This life river takes turns,
Scenes change on both its banks,
Sometimes they are colorful and bright,
Sometimes they are gloomy and grey.

But I will trust it and flow with it,
enjoying all its scenes,
for I know in my heart, that,
all of it is just a play,
just a play,

And this harmony,
this melody,
is what is true...

© Manan sheel.

I will do
these amazing
things, just for you...

I will go to the nearby garden
of my neighbour, and steal the juiciest
fruits, the tastes of which contain
the wondrous tales of the trees,
you will be so excited to listen to
the tale of the mother parrot, who tasted
every Guava, and took the bite only from
the sweetest part to share with her children.
This neighbour might come after me carrying
his stick, but any risk can be taken, for our fruity
moments of togetherness, when we will sit cuddled,
and munch on fruits making surpy-surpy sounds...

I will make an orchestra
consisting of singing bulbuls,
koyals, pigeons and sparrows,
and will not say no to any
bird or animal who wants to join in.
For example, crickets and monkeys,
can join in, and even happy wolves with
their hoo-hoos. We should not say no
to anyone, because although our orchestra
may not sound well, but everyone
should be happy, everyone has a heart
which must not be broken...

Then, there will also be a dancing DJ for
the Sur-Suri Dance of the snakes,
for the Halli Dance of the dogs,
(originated from Hallaq Kuttaq,
their great-grandfather),
also some monkeys will be allowed
to swing their hips, all for your entertainment,
Some hyenas may also do yip-yip-yip,
and cry and laugh, laugh and cry,
but you mustn't be afraid then,
for these hyenas are also pals...

for you see for this day everyone
is our friend, the whole universe
is our friend, love flows like a waterfall,
for we are in love...

© Manan sheel.

Who has picked up pencil colors,
Such deep red colors,
And lighted a little red fire,
on that pine shrub:
Who, O Who, has made
this red cardinal!
On this colorless white
morning, who made my
morning, lucky with red!

© Manan sheel.

These thick waves of this river,
This fading sun, a little above it,
This unique universe,
These eyes which carry universes,

All these are works of art,
created for us,
so that we can see glimpses
of our home, in them,
in certain moments,
and reach it,
when worthy.


© Manan sheel.

Yes, you people
would have dreamed
of your sweetheart,
A thousand things you
would want to see
in your sweetheart,
Oh! I want but one -
May she love me,
May she love my heart
for its tears,
May she be a gift of flowers,
to my tender heart,
May she fill it with her fragrance,
My tears, her fragrance,
Let these two combine,
And I won't ask for anything else...

© Manan sheel.

When heart melts,
mind is bewildered.

This is the time,
when the flowers blossom.

This is the time,
when love sends melodies,
to you and to everyone.

These are the moments,
when you have to sing,
and take care that the
song, and melody
inside you doesn't get old,
and not take rust.

Please sing with happiness
then, for the universe looks
at you then, with eager eyes,
and waits for your song...


© Manan sheel.

A single evil thought, has the potential
to destroy centuries of creation, in a second,

Still, a single drop of creation, a little thought to create,
is worth more than oceans of destruction...

© Manan sheel.

No, No, No,
I don't know
what will happen
tomorrow!

But, Look, Look, Look,
I am happy today
and now!

This wait is sweet,
My beloved is sweet,
A delicate bud is she,
An apple of my eyes, is she!

I write a poem for her,
A kiss would be better,
Sing this song of mine,
She is about to come,
it is already nine!

© Manan sheel.

Isn't this night full of stars,
this musical night, this sweet night,
this purple tender night,
Isn't this for me?

And this moon peeping from
the branches of this long-leaved tree,
Doesn't this shine for me?

And these, my sweet tears,
fresh like the morning dew,
these are also mine.

I ask that people know me,
that they become mine,
yet, I don't see,
that everything here,
is for me...

© Manan sheel.

He put his head in his mother's lap,
closed his eyes, and was lost.

He felt a velvety, comforting
restfulness, beginning to spread
behind his eyelids, and over his body.

He evaporated, and was in the womb,
once again. In that musical womb,
where he was, before the duality of identity.

His mother's hand caressing his hair,
felt to him, like something he had experienced
when the ocean breeze touched him, but more intimate.

He lost his name then, and was lost to everyone.
Only his mother knew, where he was in those moments...

© Manan sheel.

The water of love
was unbearably hot
for my soul.

Time and again,
I had tried to get
into the water,
But just the touch
of it, and I would fled,
but it had the attraction,
its touch would haunt
me afterwards,
It would penetrate
my dreams.

Each time, I went a little
further into it,
but fled away,
Each effort took me closer,
And today, finally,
the spider made its web.
Today, finally, I settled into
love...


© Manan sheel.

There is sweetness in my life,
that is balanced by me,
in the middle way,
by the meeting of my breath,
and my heart,
but time and again,
my mind wants to take
the royal path.

Who will hold me, then,
when I fall from the heights?
And haven't I fallen before,
walking in the path of thorns,
maddened with that,
which I don't have,
and cried like a child,
in utter grief?

Why, even then,
my mind wants to
burn itself again?
Or, is it in the burning,
that it becomes beautiful?
Or, are these royal talks,
just words?

This seeker is sincere.
He wants answers,
that are within him.
May he find them.

© Manan sheel.

Many kings there have been,
Many those who tried to leave their mark,
and thought that they left.
They were destroyed by nature and time,
in some years.
Nature and time, the real kings, they spare none.
Yet, the one who lives for others,
becomes a sweetheart of these kings...


© Manan sheel.

Looking at the world with new eyes,
today, when I left my home,
I saw a group of geese, flying
in unbelievable symmetry,
with tremendous grace,

My eyes were free of their dirt,
they were clean and beautiful,
and had the capacity to love
whoever they set themselves upon.
And maybe, I was gifted this scene
by god, for the love in my eyes...


© Manan sheel.

Love is neither just old,
nor is it just new...

Love is when the old and the new
intertwine warmly,
and it is difficult to tell one from
the other...

Love is when the strings of
the old and the new play together
to fill this earth with music...

© Manan sheel.

if you ask me
the symptoms
of love,
i will only say
'love is like flying in the sky,
nothing flies like love,
when all your bonds
from the earth break,
and you fly unrestrained,
when you disappear
and a light remains,
when you have no
boundaries,
you are in love'


© Manan sheel.

Let me live a wild life,
for my soul is wild!

Don't arrange my mind's garden,
Let it also have space for all that is considered unimportant..

Let it have space for songs, and poems,
and all the flowers, and birds..

For somewhere inside I know
that these are the things, that matter..

Let me carry in me, the love of the things
that are still unknown to me...

Let me live a wild life,
for my soul is wild!

© Manan sheel.

When there is the madness
of love in my eyes,
then, the fairies of happiness
and sorrow unite and make love
inside me.

Then, you can see death's
nectar flooding in my eyes,
and life, enjoys this nectar,
for her beloved is melodious
in those moments.

Melody, is the word
that is closest to love...


© Manan sheel.

La lluvia,
con frecuencia,
penetra por mis poros,
ablanda mis tendones,
traspasa mis arterias,
me impregna,
poco a poco,
los huesos,
la memoria.

Entonces,
me refugio
en un rincón cualquiera
y estirado en el suelo
escucho,
durante horas,
el ritmo de las gotas
que manan de mi carne,
como de una gotera.