HAZEL: The glow on mother's face

o     

.saari umar manzil di aagosh vich guzari par adhi umar manzil ton hi manzil di raah puchhan vich guzari...the day she saw a smile on my face and knew what it meant, she smiled back, and then suddenly , she was mother again, and said, "ja, maa naal mashkriaan nahi karee dian.." I touched her feet and hugged her, and i kept smiling to myself for long....

Je koi miljaaye bakhshia

About this, once I asked my mother how to recognise this blessed one, where to fnd him? Mother said," "Tu soch na te Tu ghar na beth, akhaan khol ke turia chal...Jadon tenoo koi bakhshia mil gia, taan maa ton puchhan di lod nahin paini.. kisse ton puchhan di lod nai paini..Tu aap hi khush ho jayenga , teri khushi hi tenoo dus dayegi ki koi mil gia...Noor taa us de andaron futtega par dikheha ohde mathhe utte vi -- par saariaan nu nahin dissega...Tu bus turia chal..."

HAZEL: Finally, silence is beginning to sing.

The important thing in life is not to be heard; the important thing in life is to find out what is it that will be heard. The important thing is to beat with the heartbeat of the ones you are talking to. The important thing is to hear your own voice to know how it must sound to others. I find a long life laid waste not just in stubborn refusal to listen to hearts that beat in bosoms other than mine own, but in a failure to hear even my own voice.     The important thing, I said, was to hear one's own voice to know how it must sound to others. I found a long life laid wasted,  not just in stubborn refusal to listen to hearts that beat away from my bosom, but also in a failure to hear even my own voice. Most times I didn't hear what I was speaking but only what I thought I should be  speaking. "Most times , my words did not speak my meaning but my desire for meaning. Most times, my words were nothing more than claws of some unknown longing that sought only sound but missed the silence from where they sprang.

It is bad enough if your words are meaningless and don't make sense. But its worse if your  silence too is meaningless and makes no sense. Fear the meaninglessness of your silence."

Most times I didn't hear what I was speaking but only what I thought I should have been speaking. Most times , my words did not speak my meaning but my desire for meaning. Most times, my words were nothing more than claws of some unknown longing that sought only sound but missed the silence from where they sprang. 

It seems finally, silence is beginning to sing. And it is so peaceful all around. Will it last? Should I bother ?

HAZEL: “A prayer is not an argument”

1.  Love guru: It matters not who you love, where you love, why you love, when you love or how you love. It matters only that you love. John Lennon:..........  Na sanam koi khuda koi na koi dil ruba /phir bhi dil main ik munnawar Ishq ka paigham hai /  Na tammana hai sile ki, na sitam ka khauf hai/ Phir bhi har chehra munnawar, har sada  hai

:  

“a prayer is not an argument”

A prayer is a song addressed  to oneself ... There is no entity I pray to, though to amuse myself, I may create a construct and call it my beloved or God. But prayer has nothing to do with anyone except me. A prayer is an answer in itself. Why confuse it with a demand, no matter how humbly we word it ! A demand is at the end of the day only a demand, no matter how humble. A prayer is at the end of the day nothing but a prayer, no matter how proud. ( Yes, a prayer can even be a complaint; it often is ! Mohe na visaaro, main jan tera.. This is expressed to no one in particular. Its a lyric, an outcry of unfulfilment, a yearning for fulfilment...There is no God here save the one one's fulfillment ; it is self contained. ) Humility of a demand is a method; humility of a prayer is an attitude. A prayer seeks nothing except to be accepted as a song of gratitude and love. Gagan Main Thaal Ravi Chand Bane taarika ... is a prayer. "Give me and my children food and shelter and save us from danger and poverty and disease" is a demand. ....."Kaisie aarti hoye bhavkhandana teri aarti, anaht sabad vaajant bheri.... A prayer a song in wonderment and ecstasy.... Yes, of course we have a right to demand. But then, thats a demand, not a prayer. But prayer at least to me is nothing but an opportunity to express the love that I find hard to contain within me, a love that is always overflowing across the bounds of my being. A prayer is a love song at  its highest peak of bliss and peace...man ka vishvaas kamzor ho na

HAZEL: If I wear a mask and love it, it is no longer a mask.

My life is a mask. "

" You obviously know more than I do.  If your face is unscarred and your masks are scarred --and you know that -- then, obviously you don't need any advice from me, my friend; I need advice from you. Lead on."

On another level, if I wear a mask and love it, it is no longer a mask. It reflects a face that exists somewhere in me, desperately seeking to be seen. Mask is its way of coming out in the open. Masks hide nothing and reveal a lot of choices I make. A mask is a declaration of what I want to look like, and what I want is a part of who I am; my wants also define me; they are my wants. These are my masks. Hence they speak my features.

HAZEL: Know a gimmick from a truth.

I  have long  stopped believing that I know a gimmick from a truth. I have stopped beleiving that I know anything at all. I do not want to know. I want to live. 

Masks hide nothing and expose at least one thing: fear and the resultant desire to hide.

 

I  have long  stopped believing that I know a gimmick from a truth. I have stopped beleiving that I know anything at all. I do not want to know. i want to live.

 

 

"I have no face; only masks."

" But I am okay so far with both, the face and the masks."

"How do you manage your masks?"

"I do not manage them; I keep trying to peep out from behind them to be noticed for who I am. Masks are beginning to get tired of me by now."

" I am not able to get rid of them. At least one of them -- death -- refuses to go."

"Death is not a mask, nor is life a mask either ....As masks they are painful. See them for what they are, and you will begin to double up in laughter"

“Well I think we can not exist without masks. Masks make  us feel safe"”

 "They do. But slowly and slowly, I am beginning to see that masks hide nothing and expose at least one thing: fear and the resultant desire to hide.  And I also notice that masks are not prettier than your or my face. The faces were are born with are a part of a musical symphony called our being or our persona. You try to take your face away from it, its like missing a note. Symphony will begin jar. Mask does not belong to me, and is therefore dispensable. Face is me, and therefore indispensable.

 

" Try this: instead of hiding your face behind a mask, try to wash it clean so that you fall in love with it. There is some spot of filth on our faces that needs a mask. Remove that spot and the mask automatically becomes unnecessary. No, not just unnecessary; it becomes a burden. Try this."

 

""Mask is  a fact of life. Face is naked and ugly without a mask."

 

"Yes, so long as faces are besmirched with filth, they will look ugly. Wash them clean; the face will look pretty and so lovable."

"Will try.....I think as if we can  not exist without  a mask.

mask makes me feel safe."

"Slowly and slowly, I am beginning to see that masks hide nothing and expose at least one thing: fear and the resultant desire to hide.  And I also notice that masks are not prettier than your or my face. The faces were are born with are a part of a musical symphony called our being or our persona. You try to take your face away from it, its like missing a note. Symphony will begin jar. Mask does not belong to me, and is therefore dispensable. Face is me, and therefore indispensable.

FOR HAZEL: Only a man ( or a woman) who has seen love in all its violence can experience it in all its innocence...Those who outlast the a storm know it.

:      Radha, Meera or Rukmani... these are all faces of woman in love, equally lovable....But Sammy Gill I would still rather be a man than a woman to experience the wonder , the glory and the grandeur of being in love with a woman....As a man, its my destiny to lift this grandeur to a level from where it never dips nor loses its glow in boredom and dreariness of mundane living.To me, life is a great gift; we need to bring it to a great mood and sustain it there. Fortunately or unfortunately, I got enough years at my back to be able to proclaim that mine is not a teenager's flicker of fleeting infatuation but an abiding glow of love. And I am not even talking about love for A PARTICULAR woman. I am enough of a worn out, old man and enough of a man of the world to have known that even petty materialistic pursuits are no excuse for giving up on the grandeur of love. I am not exactly in my thirteenth year nor unfamiliar with what some call 'the harsh realities of life. I see no contradiction between my "mundane work and social duties" on the one hand and the awesome magnificence of love on the other. I stop here, before taking off into realms of the infinite........

 

 Only a man ( or a woman) who has seen love in all its violence can experience it in all its innocence...Those who outlast the a storm know it. I find myself annoyed with myself for pitying those who flaunt little worldly pebbles as souvenirs of success, allowing their cowardice to steer them away from the magnificence of storms. They miss the pearls of the deep for the flotsam they gather to last them through the winter of fear. But what a pity that those who gather flotsam should be known as realistic achievers and the pearl gatherers as dreamers and "philosophizers". My mother once asked me to always display some materialistic flotsam at my door so that my pearls are not seen as souvenirs of worldly failures ..."Not that it matters", she said, "but it might help some blind see pearls for pearls and flotsam for flotsam." ..I passed a few exams and took up a few jobs in deference to her quiet guidance. "Now that you have them, you will also know when to cast them away," she had smiled at me once. She did not dreams and daring were mere "philosphizing"......

HAZEL: "The fragrance and substance of woman

    The fragrance and substance of woman has different scents and meanings at different ages, and at any age, this fragrance and this substance are the essence of all that is beautiful and meaningful in life. She alone lends elegance, beauty and romance to the power and depth of man. Without her, man is no more than a uni-dimensional and drab construct, no matter how perfect. Woman is to this life what fragrance is to garden . Above woman, only God -- and by that I mean the All Pervasive Spirit of Universe. The most revolutionary line in the famous Guru Nanak hymn to womanhood is also the least noticed (on purpose??) : "Nanak Bhandey baahira, eko saacha soi.." ( Says Nanak: Outside woman, just one thing: Almighty Truth.")

HAZEL: Blinkers, narrow lanes:There is an arrogant judge sitting somewhere at the back of my mind

......and she said, " Stop looking at life, at things, at men, women and children with the arrogance of a judge...One day, it might "happen" to you that the first step towards knowing and enjoying life in all its naked glory is to stop looking it at it all. Then, that day, that moment, you will find yourself breaking into a song of high romance , unknown , unheard but experienced by your soul in silence , all your life.  The winds will speak to you:" There is arrogance that I must side-step at every turn  if I am to be one with the body and spirit of life and universe. I feel with greater and greater intensity that I have laid waste practically all my life in the pulpits, seized by a mad desire to pass judgments. What arrogance !  Why does this madness t judge possess me like a demon. Why can't I get rid of it?  That arrogant judge  residing somewhere at the back of my mind and directing me all the time to "assess", "evaluate", "grade" or "judge" others -- men, women, even children and things by how they look, how they behave, their  intelligence, sentiments, wisdom, innocence, smartness, honesty, love (Gosh! even Love!!) their beliefs, opinions etc. This judge wears  blinkers, pretending fairness and impartial view. Are these the blinkers of arrogance, and of prejudice?  Are they not what blinkers are? --- blocking  a whole universe to see a narrow lane, and pretend that that is the whole universe. Blinkers are about more than narrow lanes -- a proclamation of Godliness.  This blocks a vision of  naked  innocence of life and people. These blinkers have kept me from falling and staying  in love. There is  narrow lane of desire which I proclaim Love's High Road."

" But may be , I will one day at least peep a little vaguely through these blinkers.  I might  see a boundless landscape of unspeakable , breath-taking size and beauty-  a stunning vision of myriads of shades and images in stillness and motion. O the thought ! My heart is about to burst with love at the very thought of such stunning magnificence. My eyes are tired and moist. They can not bear light. They can not bear  what Light reveals....they can not look  even for a few seconds on anything beyond the narrow lane for fear that they fear they would lose the way. They love the way and are scared of the landscape.... But even a split-second apperture leaves billions upon billions of rapidly shifting images --all in  memory's kingdom, in  a moment that someone once called moment of life "recollected in tranquility." ....................

.....Paraphrased from a dialogue between and a mother and her son in "Hazel" lllll

ਲਖ ਸੂਲੀ , ਲਖ ਜ਼ਹਿਰ ਪਿਆਲੇ , ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੇ ਪੱਲੇ ਆਵਣ ਹੋ ,

Saturday, March 20, 2010

"SOOL SURAAHI, KHANJAR PIYAALA"

ਲਖ  ਸੂਲੀ ,  ਲਖ  ਜ਼ਹਿਰ ਪਿਆਲੇ , ਇਸ਼ਕ਼  ਦੇ  ਪੱਲੇ  ਆਵਣ ਹੋ ,
ਜੇਹੜੇ  ਲਭਦੇ  ਰਾਹ  ਸੁਖਾੱਲੇ, ਓਹ  ਇਸ  ਰਾਹ  ਕਿਓਂ ਜਾਵਣ ਹੋ  !
ਲਖ  ਚੁਰਾਸੀ  ਗੇੜ  ਤੋਂ  ਲੰਬਾ , ਪਲ ਇਸ਼੍ਕ਼ੇ  ਦੀ  ਪੀੜਾ  ਦਾ ,
ਪਰ  ਨਚਦੇ  ਜੋ  ਸੀਸ  ਤਲੀ  ਧਰ , ਓਹੀ  ਹੁਜੂਰ  ਨੂੰ ਪਾਵਣ ਹੋ ,
ਤੋੜ  ਰਿਵਾਜ  ਲਖਾਂ  ਰੌਹ–ਰਸਮਾ , ਪ੍ਰੀਤ  ਦੀ  ਰੀਤ  ਨਿਭਾਵਣ  ਹੋ .
ਪ੍ਰੀਤ  ਦੀ  ਰੀਤ  ਨਿਭਾਵਣ  ਖਾਤਿਰ , ਜਿੰਦ  ਅਜਾਬੀਂ ਪਾਵਣ  ਹੋ ,
ਬਿਸ ਪਿਆਲੇ  ਨੂੰ  ਕਿਰਪਾ   ਜਲ  ਕਹਿ, ਹਸ ਹਸ  ਕੰਠ  ਲਗਾਵਣ  ਹੋ .
ਨਸ਼ਾ  ਮੌਤ  ਦਾ  ਪੀ  ਪੀ  ਨਚਦੇ , ਵਾਂਗ  ਫਕੀਰਾਂ  ਗਾਵਣ ਹੋ
ਲਖ  ਖੰਜਰ , ਲਖ  ਬਰਛੇ , ਤੇਗਾਂ , ਜੇ  ਕਰ  ਆਣ ਡਰਾਵਣ  ਹੋ ,
"ਮੈਂ  ਨਾਚੂਂਗੀ " ਆਖੇ  ਮੀਰਾ , ਲਖ  ਲਸ਼੍ਕਰ  ਆ  ਜਾਵਣ  ਹੋ .
ਰੋਗ  ਰਜਾਈਆਂ  ਓਢਣ ਛਡ  ਘਰ  ਮਿਤ੍ਟਰ  ਪਿਆਰੇ  ਜਾਵਣ  ਹੋ ,
ਯਾਰੜੇ  ਦੇ  ਸਥਰ  ਤੇ  ਓਹੀ  ਵਸਲ  ਦੀ  ਸੇਜ  ਸਜਾਵਣ ਹੋ ,

Mother!..this one word echoes all that i should have been ..!

In Chandigarh, the sky is overcast and its perfectly still but cool..May be, an occasional mild whiff of breeze..but other than that, all around, the city is so quiet and peaceful. There is the occasional chirp of birds, just about audible to me, thanks to a genetic poor hearing, a bliss for which I have to thank my ancestors who ensured that I would have ears for music, birds and love only. All abrasive sounds are generally filtered out, a boon that has kept me smiling while the whole world is swearing at me, and I only lip-read admiration there !. On mornings like these,my mother used to be walking quietly on her way back from the Gurdwara and then quietly into then kitchen to make tea for her son who had to cycle about 45 kilometers to his job early morning to be able to take the first period with students in a rural college. While mother would still be humming from Asa di Var, I would be listening to Beghum Akhtar's "Kabhi hum main tum main qaraar tha." Mother would walk in quietly, cup of team in hand, ltaking care that my romance with the song was not interrupted. She would ook at the ramshackle tape recorder and smile at the words and then go out out without a word. One day, later in the afternoon when I had just come back from college and was changing into my sports gear for my customary evening with tennis ( yes, we have a hard court in our village !!), she asked me, "Enna sohna kaun likhda." When I told her, she was quiet for a while and then, placing her palm gently on my cheek, softly spoke, "Kaka , tu bhi likhiya kar. Guru Sahib bhi shayar si. Bohat uchchiaan gallaan karde a eh lok. Ehna ton sikhia kar."...Unfortunately, I drifted away from her words and led a life which she would only half-approve, and that because I was her son and , more importantly, because she believed I would at some stage come back to the meaning of her words. Mother !

 ·  ·  · See Friendship

• Rinnkie K Gill likes this.
• • 

    Rinnkie K Gill ‎"Guru Sahib bhi shayar si. Bohat uchchiaan gallaan karde a eh lok. Ehna ton sikhia kar."...Simple, sweet, touching and from the heart core...! Wow..Thank you Jee..

    13 minutes ago · 
  • 

    Sunnymindcaves Caves Rinnie K Gill . !! ...mother -- this one word echoes all that i should have been ..!

    11 minutes ago · 
  • 

    Rinnkie K Gill ‎......and are.!

    10 minutes ago · 
  • 

    Sunnymindcaves Caves ‎Rinnkie K Gill .. if i live along for a few more years, i am hoping to travel in that direction... and on every step, i will see that quiet smile coming my way from everything i will look at ....

    6 minutes ago · 

Teri komal-ta , teri komal-ta

Teri komal-ta , teri komal-ta
Kion sikhr dopehar-e Jaldi e
Kiopn tapdi rete jaldi e 
Kion soolaan ton na taldi e 
Nit bhambad de vich baldi e 
Kion ishq di nikki zid pichhe 
Ho sooli val nikaldi e 
Kion degaan vich ubaldi e 
Ehnu maran di kahdi jaldi e
Kion teri meri nahin mann di
Teri komalta, teri komalta

Disgrace to journalism

To be honest, there are fine people too in journalism, but then they are a disgrace to their profession...

MAIN ISHK MIJAAZEE KAR CHUKKA PUNJABI POEM

MAIN ISHK MIJAAZEE KAR CHUKKA

PUNJABI POEM  ( Rough Draft)

JULY 2, 2013 11.55 PM

 ਮੈਂ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਮਜਾਜ਼ੀ ਕਰ ਚੁੱਕਾ

ਹਰ ਪਲ ਹਮ ਬਿਸਤਰ ਕਰ ਚੁੱਕਾ 

ਅੰਗ ਅੰਗ ਇਥੇ  ਰੁਸ਼ਨਾਯਾ ਮੈਂ 

ਅੰਗ ਅੰਗ 'ਚ ਅਗਨੀ ਭਰ ਚੁੱਕਾ 

ਓਹਦੇ  ਧੁਰ ਅੰਦਰ  ਤੰਦੂਰ ਬਲੇ 

ਜੇਹਦੇ  ਵਿਚ  ਮੇਰਾ ਹਰ ਰੋਮ ਜਲੇ  

ਕਦੇ ਭਸਮ ਹੋ ਜਾਂ , ਕਦੇ ਉਠ ਬੈਠਾਂ 

ਇਹ ਅਗਨ ਨ੍ਰਿਤ ਦਿਨ ਰਾਤ ਚਲੇ

ਕਦੇ ਜ਼ਹਿਰ ਪਿਆਲਾ ਪੀ ਲੈਨਾਂ

ਕਦੇ ਵਿਚ ਸ਼ਰਾਬਾਂ ਜੀ ਲੈਨਾਂ

ਕਦੇ ਲੁੱਟ ਲੈਨਾਂ , ਕਦੇ ਲੁੱਟ ਜਾਨਾਂ 

ਕਦੇ ਫਾੜ ਕੇ  ਦਾਮਨ ਸੀ ਲੈਨਾਂ ...

ਲੜ ਮਸਤ ਕਲੰਦਰ ਦਾ ਫੜਿਆ 

ਛਡ  ਕਲਮਾ ਪਾਠ ਨਵਾਂ ਪੜਿਆ  

ਨਾ  ਹੀ ਮਸਜਿਦ ਨਾ   ਮਸ੍ਜੂਦ ਕੋਈ

ਘਰ ਸਿਧਾ ਰਬ ਦੇ ਆ ਵੜਿਆ 

 ਜਿਥੇ  ਗੀਤਾ ਗ੍ਰੰਥ  ਦਾ  ਮੂਲ     ਨਹੀਂ 

ਜਿਥੇ ਸੂਖਮ ਨਹੀਂ ਸਥੂਲ ਨਹੀਂ 

ਨਾ ਦੀਨ ਦੁਨੀ ਨਾ ਦੀਨਅਨਾਥ

ਕੋਈ ਸ਼ਰਾਹ,ਸ਼ਰਮ ਤੇ  ਅਸੂਲ ਨਹੀਂ 

ਨਾ ਪੰਜ ਤੇ ਨਾ ਪ੍ਰਮੇਸ਼ਵਰ ਜੀ

ਨਾ ਪਾਪ ਪੁੰਨ ਕਿਸੇ ਸਿਰ ਜੀ 

ਨਾ ਅਲਖ ਨਾ ਅੱਲਾ ਹੂ ਅਕਬਰ 

ਨਾ ਈਸ ਤਾ ਨਾ ਹੀ ਈਸ਼ਵਰ ਜੀ 

ਇਹ ਗੱਲ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੁਣਨੇ ਕਹਿਣੇ ਦੀ 

ਤੇ ਨਾ ਹੀ ਰਹਿਣੇ ਬਹਿਣੇ  ਦੀ

ਹੈ  ਸੁੰਨ ਸੰਨਾਟੇ ਵਿਚ ਛਮ ਛਮ 

ਮੁਟਿਆਰ ਦੇ ਨਚਦੇ ਰਹਿਣੇ ਦੀ ...

ਮੁਟਿਆਰ ਜੋ ਅੰਬਰ ਜਾਈ ਹੈ

ਮੁਟਿਆਰ ਜੋ ਚਾਨਣ ਨ੍ਹਾਈ ਹੈ

ਅਸਮਾਨ ਜੀਹਦੇ ਲਈ  ਸੈਰ ਗਾਹ

ਜੋ ਪੌਣਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਸਮਾਈ ਹੈ ...

ਸੌ ਸਾਗਰ ਅਖੀਂ ਤਰਦੇ ਨੇ 

 ਓਹਦੀ ਹਾਮੀ ਤਾਰੇ ਭਰਦੇ ਨੇ 

ਓਹਦੇ ਸਾਹਾਂ ਨਾਲ ਹੀ  ਇਤਰ ਬੇਜ਼

ਫੁੱਲ ਬੂਟੇ ਬ੍ਰੇਹ੍ਮੰਡ ਭਰ ਦੇ ਨੇ ...

ਓਹਦੇ ਗੀਤ ਨੇ  ਪੌਣਾਂ   ਛੇੜ ਰਹੀਆਂ

ਧੂਪਾਂ  ਦੇ ਚਵਰ ਨੇ ਫੇਰ ਰਹੀਆਂ 

ਓਹਦੀ ਚਰਨ  ਛੋਹ ਲਈ ਗੰਗਾ ਜਲ

ਦੀਆਂ ਲਹਿਰਾਂ ਘੁੰਮ ਘੁਮੇਰ  ਰਹੀਆਂ 

ਜੀਹਦੀ  ਆਰਤੀ 

 ( ਗਗਨ ਮੈਂ ਥਾਲ)

 ਮੰਦਿਰ ਵਿਚ ਸੰਖ ਅਸੰਖ  ਵਾਰ   
ਨਿੱਤ ਹੋਣ ਅਜ਼ਾਨਾਂ ਅੱਲਾ ਦੁਆਰ

ਹਰ ਸ਼ੇਖ ਬ੍ਰਾਹਮਣ ਨਚ ਰਿਹਾ 

ਮੁਟਿਆਰ ਦੀ ਝਾਂਜਰ ਦੀ ਝਣਕਾਰ 

ਮੰਦਰਾਂ ਵਿਚ  ਵਜਦੇ ਸੰਖ ਨਾਦ 

ਮਸਜਿਦ ਵਿਚ ਸੋ ਅਜਾਨ   ਆਜ਼ਾਦ

ਹਰ ਸ਼ੇਖ  ਬ੍ਰਾਹਮਣ ਤੱਕ ਰਿਹਾ 

ਮੁਟਿਆਰ ਦੇ ਪੈਰਾਂ ਦੀ ਅਰਦਾਸ ( ਛਣਕਾਰ) 

ਲੂਕਣ ਮੀਚੀਂ ਖੇਡ ਖਤਮ -- End of Hide and Seek( Punjabi Poem)

ਲੂਕਣ ਮੀਚੀਂ ਖੇਡ ਖਤਮ  --

POEM ON HIDE AND SEEK AND SEEK

July 3, 2012 11.54 PM

ਬੰਦਗੀ ਤੇਰੀ ਯਾ ਤੇਰੇ ਹੁਸਨ ਦੀ ਪਰਵਰਦਿਗਾਰ ?
ਤੇਥੋਂ  ਵੀ ਦਿਲਕਸ਼  ਤੇਰੇ  ਜਲਵੇ,   ਤੇ  ਤੇਰੇ  ਚਮਤਕਾਰ.

ਹੋ ਰਹੇਗੀ ਬੇਵਫਾਈ  ਮੈਥੋਂ ਕੁਝ ਨਾ ਕੁਝ   ਜ਼ਰੂਰ 

ਤੂੰ ਏਂ ਗੁੰਮ ਤੇ ਚਾਰੋਂ ਪਾਸੇ ਖਿਲ ਰਿਹਾ ਹੁਸਨ ਓ  ਜ਼ਹੂਰ  

ਭੁੱਲਾਂ    ਤੇਨੂੰ , ਤੇ ਕਰਾਂ  ਬਸ  ਹੁਸਨ ਦੀ ਮੈਂ ਬੰਦਗੀ 

ਕਹਿਰ  ਬਰਪੇਗਾ ਮੇਰੇ 'ਤੇ  ਯਾ ਤੇਰੀ ਬਖਸ਼ੰਦਗੀ? 

 ਹਾਂ , ਪ੍ਰਸਤਿਸ਼ ਨਕਸ਼ ਦੀ  ਦਾ  ਮੈਂ   ਆਂ ਮਾਲਿਕ  ਗੁਨਹਾਗਾਰ

ਪਰ ਮੇਰੇ ਇਕ ਕੁਫਰ ਤੋਂ  ਨੇ   ਹਕ਼ ਹਕੀਕਤ ਸਭ ਨਿਸਾਰ

  

( ਹਾਂ  ਮੈਂ ਪੂਜਾ   ਨਕਸ਼ ਦੀ ਹੀ  ਕਰਨੇ ਦਾ ਹਾਂ ਗੁਨੇਹਾਗਰ 

ਪਰ ਮੇਰੇ ਇਸ ਪਾਪ ਤੋਂ ਮੈਂ ਦੇਵਾਂ ਪੁੰਨ ਲਖਾਂ ਹੀ ਵਾਰ) 

 ਤੇ ਸਬਬ  ਇੰਨਾ ਹੈ ਬਸ ਕਿ ਤੂੰ ਤੇ ਤੇਰੀ ਕਾਇਨਾਤ 

ਲੁਕਣ ਮੀਚੀ ਹੋ ਮਗਨ ਪਏ ਖੇਡਦੇ ਹਰ ਦਿਵਸ ਰਾਤ 

ਹੈ ਕਿਤੇ ਓਹ  ਤੂੰ, ਕਿਤੇ  ਤੂੰ  ਓਹ, ਕਿਤੇ ਓਹ ਤੂੰ ਓ ਤੂੰ 

ਮੈਂ ਖਤਮ ਝੇੜਾ ਹੀ ਕਰਤਾ, ਤੂੰ ਏ ਓਹ ਤੇ ਓਹ ਏ ਮੈਂ ਤੇ ਮੈਂ ਆਂ ਤੂੰ