Splintered

The sundown splintered
into a feeble rainbow
that faded as soon as it was hinted
through the fractured window
because truth is almost always colorless,
not even monochromatic, just plain blindsight,
invisible mostly overlooked unmindfully
The intensity is the remainder,
the leftover weight is the reckoner.

–

Fana

I hear the rapturous saz call
inside the blue dome looking at
the six minars, tall thin pointing
heavenwards , my heady retreat
I hear the reed flute beckon me
to the dervishes white whirl

Prayerful, the pitcher’s empty
empty of thought, empty of feeling
the awliya is there, nowhere , everywhere
Only moaning, longing, swaying
Centering aligning coalescing
One outer-inner, the Hu-Zikr

The Lord is high on the cannabis
of love, the wine that is the
keertan of the soul’s pining to find
the water that will wash away all
of yourself to make you indivisible
the lover, the beloved all One.

___