Flowers that bloom and wither
By Tehzeeb Sialvi
Nourishing tiny buds with blood and sweat,
Watching them grow up, among endless threats.
Then witnessing in front of your eyes,
Them bathing in a barbarous, brutal tint of red.
A flower that’s taken care of, blooms the best.
Yet it withers before blooming,
And is made a prey of illicit behest.
For years this bloodshed has been going on,
Yet no one pays heed.
Whether it be Syria, Palestine,
He breathes into my ear
until my soul
takes on His fragrance.
He is the soul of my soul –
How can I escape?
But why would any soul in this world
want to escape from the Beloved?
We search for Him here and there
while looking right at Him.
Sitting by His side we ask,
‘O Beloved, where is the Beloved?’
Enough with such questions!
Let silence take you to the core of life.
All your talk is worthless
When compared to one whisper
of the Beloved.
Excerpted from One Whisper of the Beloved
By Rumi, translated by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
By Mashaal Farid
For all I know the pride was tied with a collar
And the leftover of it was scratching nails on the walls of that narrow cage
Lurking breath struggling through little pigeonholes
Battling to search for sight, those desperate eyes were sunken
Coming so close, crossing over every distance
Ye persistence so insistent in roughhousing the resistance
numb, deaf and weary; dumb, left and teary
Life was turning into the gas masses of existence.
Set on fire
By Ali Asghar Ghani
Burn down dark thoughts
with flames of positive emotions
and let their ashes evaporate
with winds of winter
Compiled by SK