We are crying to our lord and master without peer:all but his long curly hair is small and cheap beer.
We have lit a candle to his blazing presence,and written many a ghazal about his essence.
We can’t help but sob a big puddle yet again:whatever we have to say ruins paper and pen!
We have nothing at all to say that can exalt him;our best praise bumps along like a bloody hymn.
We mumble to find a phrase that doesn’t quite snarl;it turns out our loving is nothing but a quarrel!
We would shut up and forget all about such love-if we didn’t think someone else deserved a shove!
To be sure, Darvish is inspired by two buck chuck;but we have to say, all but the beloved bloody sucks!
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10 Jun 2024
Green grows the heart's longing, vines on fire
Green grows the heart’s longing, vines on fireBreathing your name in love’s ascending gyre.
Green grows the longing heart skyward, brightTongues of flame praising the sweet Word of light.
Your name, your bright name is our dawn laughterThat rises and resounds to announce the Master.
Starlight dreams its way into sleeping stone,Becomes the gold hammered into your throne.
The car that carries you across the skySings your bright name of mercy as it flies.
Meher is light spilling infinite blissOn all galaxies throughout the universe.
The tangle of wild roses in Darvish’s heartHave bloodied him with thorn and graceful art.
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14 Apr 2024
Where the way and where the path...
Where the way and where the path that arrives at your feet?Open the door and open the heart that we abide in love street.
We have heard, no man has increased his height by taking thought;We have heard, silence is genius that can never be taught.
The sun rises, the sun sets, and the mind whirls ’round and ’round;And my beloved glides through the night, full, without a sound.
I hold out my empty skull as a wine bowl for her to fill;Maybe, maybe this raging will be drowned, and become still.
But by the beloved’s glance, the door to del is slammed shut;the heart will never reveal spirit, but chase some tawdry slut.
Master, fill the crystal skull with wine that opens the doorand ushers me to regale you, like a drunk, on the floor.
Darvish’s whining for a drink has become indiscreet;all his pounding has yet to open the door to love street.
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