Poem
I have become isolated from the gatherings of the world, O Lord,
What pleasure does the company hold when the heart is extinguished?
I flee from the tumult, my heart searches for silence,
Such a silence that even speech is sacrificed for it.
I die for the sake of silence, this is my desire,
A tiny nest of mountains in the folds of my robe.
I am free in thought, spending days in seclusion,
The thorn of the world's sorrows has been removed from my heart.
I find delight in the chirping of birds,
A melody is playing in the rush of the stream.
Like a flower bud that speaks a message,
A cup overflowing as if it were my entire world.
Let my hands be adorned with the touch of greenery,
That modesty which enhances solitude in seclusion.
My appearance is human, like a nightingale,
Its sweet singing does not disturb my little heart.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio: https://www.pexels.com/photo/sad-isolated-young-woman-looking-away-through-fence-with-hope-3808803/
Rows of green plants on both sides, I am surrounded by lushness,
The clear water of the river capturing the image.
Such a deceptive view of the mountain range,
Even the water rises and falls like waves.
Green grass sleeping in the arms of the earth,
Water sparkling again and again in the bushes.
Touching the water, the petals of the flowers bend,
As if seeing a beautiful mirror.
When the sun decorates the bride of the evening with henna,
Golden robes of every flower become adorned.
Those who walk through the nights, exhausted at every moment,
I have hope in them, my broken lamp.
Let the lightning show them my pain,
When every cloud gathers in the sky.
The coal of the previous evening, the morning's caller,
I am its companion, and it is mine.
May my ears never lose the sense of the mosque and shrine,
The morning light that resembles the glow of a lantern.
When the dew comes to wet the flowers,
My weeping becomes ablution, my lament becomes prayer.
In this silence, let such high cries rise,
That my voice reaches the caravan of stars.
Make every suffering heart weep and mourn with my tears,
Those who are unconscious may awaken them.
When the lightning illuminates them, show them my sadness,
When every cloud gathers in the sky.
Those who are immersed in the mosque's evening prayer,
I am their fellow voice, and they are mine.
May the sense of the courtyard and sanctuary not leave my ears,
May the window of the lattice become my morning dawn.
When the dew comes to wet the flowers,
My crying becomes ablution, my supplication becomes prayer.
In this silence, let such high cries rise,
That my voice reaches the caravan of stars.
Make every suffering heart weep and mourn with my tears,
Those who are unconscious may awaken them. Muhammed Nadeem Sadiq
