That Ancient Tree

On our ancestral estate

Beneath it’s roots

Great treasures lay

I would sit by your side

As a young child

You became a silent witness

As Shahid and Mashud

To my heart’s facade

Shedding tears

of separation

For my future master

I knew even then

Of master and disciple

Without a teacher

who taught me these lessons

Who brought me to Hu

Being taught the wird

As I sat in solitude

And transcribed my words

In mystical metaphors

Speaking of Ayyaz

and the land of Shiraz

Who taught this to me

What would I know

Was it you

I would sit with your friends

towering evergreens

Shading the famed veranda

Alone with the Alone

I would sit

on cane chairs and cotton cushions

Maids offering exotic fruits

and butter biscuits

pomegranates the fruit of mystics

Wine forbidden for this young soul

Yet she desired to drink more

Underage as a determined femme sage

But what would I know

Gardeners running to and fro

Ambassador cars and foreign delegations

A common scene in the presence

Of this royal tree

of ancient wisdom

Remotely in silence

I continued to sit

Until the ink of my heart began to stream

I sat and observed my thoughts

In order to take heed of

Idris Shah’s wisdom

who planted the seed

I would write

After moments in silence

To allow Divine Tajjali to traverse through

From heart to pen

On pages of old

by words turned to gold

During those days

Where you became my gaze

And I yours

Like a grandmother

Overseeing my affairs

You watched and taught

Through a language unspoken

I was lead to Khayyam

Upon a dusty shelf

The room I slept in

Housed his works

Like forbidden imagery

I dusted the pages

Glaring at Persian delights

What would this young soul know

Of the truth of red wine

The secret of lovers

I dared to ask for more

What would I know

As I turned the pages

Khayyam pierced into my eyes

Infecting my soul

With a rare Sheraz

Rubayyat I sought

In awe of poetry

As a young spirit

What would I know

I decided for the life of my life

That I would drink eternally

And pen my heart openly

That same summer

Of starry nights and rainy days

Where the winds of monsoons

Would moan in pain

I received your blessings

And composed like the ancients

Of Persians and Sumarians

Of Rabia and Mirabai

Of Hashimites and Bakhtites

They opened my heart

ALAM NASHRAH

A spiritual surgery

Something was deposited

My memory recalls

But what would I know

This happened not once or twice

But thrice and more

While asleep and awake

Sealing my heart with

golden threads and silver brocade

a  honey dew love for ahl al bayt

But what would I know