*I do not think that poetry is something
called Godís gift, I feel it is a way of expression. Every one
likes to express himself/ herself. People use different mediums
to express themselves, some express in terms of wealth, some in
terms of their physical appearance, some in terms of fashion and
some in terms of power; even nature expresses itself in a
variety of ways. The mountains around us may express themselves
differently in accordance with their geographical position, time
of the day etc. Poetry too, is purely a means of expressing
Flowers of spring where do they bloom
Where do the spring flowers bloom
Searching in vain
I travel from Amernath to V.T.
There were no flowers on Raiba's paintings
Only the teeming crowds
On roads paved with molten asphalt
Pushing, jostling, scrambling and yet petrified
This is the moment
Before they enter the skyscrapers
Before they busy themselves on typewriters
You must hold their hands and ask
The spring flowers, where do they bloom ?
The antagonism between soul and body or the battle between
intellect and spirit can be seen explicitly in the poetry of
The soul in its separation from the throne like a she-camel
The body from its love of the thorn
The soul takes wings towards heaven above
The body claws at the earth
O You who have died for your country, as long as you are with me
My soul shall be far from Leilī.
In these couplets, Rūmī has likened the tug of the war between
soul and body or the battle between form and meaning and / or
the antagonism between intellect and spirit to the antagonism of
Majnūn with the she-camel.
BUDDHA IN GLORY
Center of all centers, core of cores,
almond self-enclosed and growing sweet-
all this universe, to the furthest stars
and beyond them, is your flesh, your fruit.
Now you feel how nothing clings to you;
your vast shell reaches into endless space,
and there the rich, thick fluids rise and flow.
Illuminated in your infinite peace,
a billion stars go spinning through the night
blazing high above your head.
But in you is the presence that
will be, when all the stars are dead.
RAINER MARIA RILKE
**** **** ****
My mind is pierced, Rana, my heart is stolen;
What shall I do?
The people of the town blame me.
Your advice is of no use to me, Rana;
What shall do?
An elephant strides through a crowded street;
If a dog barks, what does it matter to the elephant, Rana?,
I keep forgetting household chores,
I donít like food, there is no sleep in my eyes, Rana.
Miraís God is the lifter of mountains;
Fortunate am I, singing of God, Rana.`
Boatman, set sail;
I would like to meet him.
I will get diamonds set in your boat,
And will have a string of bells surround it.
Boatman, set sail,
I would like to meet him.