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An answer from Hz. Hafiz Shirazi
Early morning, drunk from the night before
Wine in hand, asked the harpist to play more.
For my mind's journey, sent forth supplies of wine
From Existence City, sent him to explore.
Beautiful wine-seller gave me a sip of wine
I was safe from trickster Fate's horror and gore.
The wine-bearer to me said, with arched brows,
O target, arrows of reproach on you pour
You won't gird your waist with such binding belt
If you see that it is yourself who becomes sore.
Go and lay this trap of yours for another bird
Phoenix, at great heights will fly and soar.
Yet bind, belt, and trap are from Kingly grace
To adore itself and show endless amour.
Friend and player and bearer are all He
Water and clay to this path are but the door.
Give wine and let our ship happily sail
Upon this endless ocean without a shore.
Hafiz, our existence is a metaphor
This dreamy tale we tour and implore.
Poem 428 from Diwan-E-Hafiz.
Mistakes!
The word mistake in itself carries a lot of gravity provided the doer possesses a chin to take its repercussions on a positive note with regard to its future implications. My life has lately been marred with my own "Follies" to an extent that every action of mine seeks its origin to the wrong end of rationality. This inevitably erroneous backtracking is invariably gaining immortality with every passing moment to the detriment of my physical and mental faculties. Unstopable yet appearent it is surmounting my senses and any degree of consolation is confirming inadequacy of my resources to bring about any change to its status quo. The puzzled self-awareness is lost in the live wire that my mind has been been walking on. It is repeatedly tilting at the windmills without even knowing its own way out of this vast and endless terrains of worthlessness and jeopardized existence of my soul. Longivity of consciousness is defying every mean to sustain the life force withing and as I have been seeing is written on the wall well and truly. I am not the person who soars high with the baseless ground beneath lurking with my own dug pitt of sorrow and squalor..as a fact of the matter the spiral of my flight to belie the "strenghts" of waxed wings is yielding to the monumental might of the Sun. Off I come to the resting place that is destined for my end in the most painful and humiliating fashion. Can I seek any hap to be endowed with my haplessness? The hope to find an answer from THE ONE outthere is the only only subliminal scaffold I am hanging my life onto. Seems very unscrupulous and deserved but this ragged vision sees nothing in the offing.
How can I live like this where fear of unknown is turning out to come along with every known fear and smacking me in the face with every flutter of my eyes. Blurred realism and perceptions with ominous voids have become parts of my days and nights. Whatever comes in my ways is doomed to get trapped with the loss of time and space on the fetal and enoxorable periphery of the "Event Horizon" of a black hole called "My Life" in an inexplicable manner........