First published on Jaggerty
[South Asian Lit Journal]
Your voice is that of millions
wandering, lost,
bedraggled and confused,
seeking peace and enlightenment
everywhere,
but from within.
Yet you seamlessly describe
the pure beat of thunder in your veins,
indigenous drums,
ancestral circles,
of smoke
rising.
Your breath is my own.
Thoughts that scatter
inside my skull,
you have written of them,
reaching into my heart
with open palm
behind my sternum,
gently,
you take one tip of finger
and tell me
what my own soul
already knows.
Dear Sir, you make me beautiful.
I am lost in your words,
unable to do anything
but melt
within the beauty
of the divine.
– For Sir Muhammad Iqbal
[Shair-e-Mushriq, Poet of the East]
in response to “I Desire”
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