Poems in The Times of India.

Four of my poems were published in the famous ‘Sacred Space’ and ‘The Speaking Tree’ of The Times of India.




The Sad Little Fairy: Forugh Farrokhzad.

I know a sad little fairy
who lives in an ocean
and ever so softly
plays her heart into a magic flute
a sad little fairy
who dies with one kiss each night
and is reborn with one kiss each dawn.


Exhausted stands everything, every word, all phrases, all sounds, echoes, whispers and even the silence. Words come and die. Death comes and writes. Comatosed to register what happened, unable to understand, shriveled under the feet of betrayal, man cries and screams and cries! And beloved takes a whiff of pleasure. Listen all; we are way past the age of Love. There is only one answer to sincere lover in this world; Annihilation.

When there is no refuge to bring peace into a head boiling in the well of love the sad little fairy, Forugh Farrokhzad, brings some relief by her exquisite verses. Forugh Farrokhzad  was one of the most talented and influential poetesses of Iran who touched millions of hearts across the globe by her immortal words.  Unfortunately, Forugh left us at a very young age of 32 in a tragic car accident. But her poetry makes us alive. Here is one of her magical poem that has always stayed in the inner-most chambers of my heart and this poem translates me unruffled…

 I feel sad,

I feel blue.

I go outside and rub my fingers

on the sleek shell of the night.

I see that lights of contact are blocked,

All lights of contact are blocked.

Nobody will introduce me to the sun,

Nobody will take me to the gathering of doves.

Keep the flight in mind,

The bird may die.

Zulekha in the Land of Rumi!

For the descendants of heart, madness and love are no different. They are one. Love the soul and madness the body. Taking one away from another quashes both of them. Leaving them gasping, withering and vanishing. When love knocks at the door -often in the hour of deep slumber- the human soul is entirely transformed to a different being. Where he loses all of the self and vanishes into the religion of love. No self, no nothing. I completely go with Victor Hugo’s careful remark in Les Miserables To love another person is to see the face of God.

One day, similarly, love knocked at the door of Queen Zuleikha. She was looted of herself, she no more was Zuleikha, she was Yousuf, and she was Love. Zuleikha was the wife of Potiphar the Egyptian. While most of the orthodox texts see a phase of seductress in her, Rumi the master, sees a mad lover in her. For Rumi she is a type of the lover, like Majnun, so lost in her love for Yousuf that she hears every phrase and every natural sound, the wind, the fire’s crackling, birdcalls, as messages from Yousuf. Zulaikha’s lust for Yousuf represents the soul’s wailing for God.

Begins love struck master Rumi;

“Zuleikha  let everything be the name of Joseph, from celery seed to aloes wood. She loved him so much she concealed his name in many phrases, the inner meanings known only to her.

When she said, The wax is softening near the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me.

If she said, Look, the moon is up, or The willow has new leaves, or The coriander seeds have caught fire, or The king is in a good mood today, or Isn’t that lucky, or The furniture needs dusting, or The water carrier is here, or This bread needs more salt, or The clouds seem to be moving against the wind, or My head hurts, or My headache’s better, anything she praises it’s Joseph’s touch she means. Any complaint, it’s his being away.

When she’s hungry, it’s for him. Thirsty, his name is a sherbet. Cold, he’s a fur. This is what the Friend can do when one is in such love.

The miracle Jesus did by being the name of God, Zuleikha felt in the name Joseph. When one is united to the core of another, to speak of that is to breathe the name Hu, empty of self and filled with love.”