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Wishes
One more year and so many reprehensible blots getting washed away in the drizzle of sunshine and monsoon showers. This is singularly the most hideous task that I take up to my chest to carry off and most probably it will keep turning out to be a routine on a yearly basis till I spare all my life years and months and day. I am so much detached yet so much aware of the fact that this is one of the biggest setbacks that has seen me nearly snatched away by the grimness of the riper into the mouth of sheer madness and coming years will witness the uphill struggle of my wounded soul to make up for this Mexican fall.
Still, I am having the same streak of benevolence and love for all that has hurt me and is constantly making me bleed in one way or another. Nevertheless, some distant offing reminds me of my helplessness that is brewing inside and untiringly stifling the occasional bursts of laughter whenever I chance upon them.
I wish that at the expense of the rest of my life, someday I might be able to surmount the mountain of repentance to win a chance to die at the feet of my master and a glimpse of the slightest of the speck of mercy in his eyes. Let the world rest in all the peace and happiness.
“In this path to die enslaved to the Lord, Than all the world, that Soul is better.
Ask healer of my painful discord, Will this invalid ever get better?”
The song of the Angels
Hafiz 198
I said, when will your lips mine satisfy?
You said, with your wishes I’ll comply.
I said, your lips demand a price so high,
You said, your profits will multiply.
I said, who found you while only on himself rely?
You said, there are very few who even try.
I said, leave the idols, choose the one that won’t die;
You said, for lovers, love to all will apply.
I said, the tavern drowns my every sigh;
You said, happy is the one who makes sorrows fly.
I said, in my creed, the way of wine must defy;
You said, this is the way of the creed of the old Magi.
I said, what use the wine, for one as old as I?
You said, it wets your spring of youth, which has gone dry.
I said, when will the master beside his bride lie?
You said, when the conjunction of moon and Jupiter is nigh.
I said, your praise is Hafiz’s ceaseless cry,
You said, this is the song of the angels in the sky.