• Work-from-home


(v)i§§· ßµølï ßµð£ï¨
Mar 20, 2007
Toronto, Canada
Allah! The practices of all these people are so tiresome,
That even within their midst I feel so lonesome.

The noise of the world urges me to run away
To a quiet place where silence begins and ends each day.

A place where movement will always yield to stillness,
And speech is completely awed by silence.
Sometimes I feel I am dying for this quietness;
To live in a hut near a mountain will be pure bliss.

The worries of the world burden me greatly, and from them I wish to part
Then I can live in solitude while the thorns of sadness leave my heart.

These birds who sit in the tree singing all day long…

Their chirping is beautiful and will be my song.
When I am in need of music I will listen to the waterfall's sound.

Harmony existing between the birds' song and the water rushing down.

The wine cup will be my view, the buds my messengers.

These two friends will inform me of any visitors.
With my hand for a pillow and grass for my bed,
I shall pass away the nights with good thoughts in my head.

This is the best way to live, among all this tranquil solitude.

It helps put to shame and open the eyes of the multitude.

The nightingale will know me so well that she will sit near,
Because she shall know that I would never cause her any fear.

On both sides of the river will be flowers gazing at their reflection,
In the cool, clear blue water, as it runs with perfection.

The mountain scenery just beyond the river will be beautifully exquisite,
That even the water will try to rise in waves just to see it.

In the lap of earth all greenery shall be at rest,
And the water will return among the bushes to glisten at its best.

Gazing at its reflection will be the bending branch of a tree,
Just as a maiden perches by a mirror, admiring her beauty.

When the sun puts henna on the evening bride, the flowers present a golden chest,
That the bride can take this along with her as a gift from all the rest.

When travelers get tired in the night and are looking for a place to stay,
Let my broken lamp provide hope for them to wander my way.

O Allah! Whenever the dark clouds are hovering in the sky,
Let lightning illuminate my hut so they wont pass it by.

The early dawn cuckoo is the caller of prayer, and I listen to her
Instead of the priest's sermons; I listen to the azaan coming from this bird.

When dew falls on the flowers as a ceremonious cleansing,
My tears will be my wudu and my prayer will be a blessing.

Let my voice depart from this place and touch the caravan of stars above me,
So it can ring a bell to signify we should all live peacefully.

O Allah! Let my cry make all those empathetic hearts ache,
And the ones who are unconscious or indifferent, awake.