Punjabi Poem: ਜੇ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੀ ਆਖੇ, ਤੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਰਬੰਸ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ / .

On Facebook on July 30, 2013

ਜੇ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੀ ਆਖੇ, ਤੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਰਬੰਸ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ / .....

ਮੈਂ ਹਾਂ ਖੰਡਰ , ਪਰ ਜੁਗਨੂੰ ਇਸ 'ਚ ਲਖਾਂ ਟਿਮ ਟਿਮੋੰਦੇ ਨੇ 

ਕੋਈ ਆਖੇ ਹੈ "ਸੜਿਆ ਘਰ", ਕੋਈ ਚਾਨਣ-ਮੀਨਾਰ ਆਖੇ /



ਹਾਂ ਠੰਡੀ ਰਾਖ , ਹਰ ਜ਼ਰੇ ਤੇ ਲਖ ਸੂਰਜ ਬ-ਸਜਦਾ ਨੇ 


ਰਬਾਬੀ ਧੁਨ ਕੋਈ ਏਹਨੂੰ ਆਸ਼ਕੀ ਦਾ ਆਬਸ਼ਾਰ ਆਖੇ /


ਨਹੀਂ ਸਿਵਿਆਂ ਦੀ ਚੁੱਪ ਮੈਂ, ਇਕ ਸ਼ਹੀਦੀ ਜੋੜ ਮੇਲਾ ਹਾਂ ,


ਕੋਈ ਮੇਨੂੰ ਆਖਰੀ ਅਰਦਾਸ , ਕੋਈ ਆਸਾ ਦੀ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ /



ਮੈਂ ਆਖਾਂ ਜੋ ਪਿਆ ਆਖਾਂ , ਇਲਾਹੀ ਹੁਕਮਨਾਮਾ ਹੈ ,


ਜੇ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਇਸ਼ਕ਼ ਦੀ ਆਖੇ, ਤੇ ਫਿਰ ਸਰਬੰਸ ਵਾਰ ਆਖੇ /

Beware the innocence of hyacinths, beware!!

"Sane voices are often soft and subdue" ..  cri de coeur from Pakistan through Fozia Hafiz ( Please do not despair, the warriors of love and sanity)  HB 

BEWARE THE INNOCENCE OF HYACINTHS , BEWARE !! --

By  Harcharan Bains 

"Soft and subdued is  the music of spheres,

Soft and subdued is the whisper of spring

Soft and subdued the rustle of leaves with dewy tears

And soft and subtle  the wounded nightingales sing..

Soft and subtle is the pregnant breeze

Soft and subtle the drizzle-drops, her off-springs;

And the cuckoo and the breeze beneath her wings.

Soft too was the hour that presaged violence

When  Creation found voice in the big bang

Subtle the message that through the skies rang

Of billion suns ‘n stars and their radiance.

Beware the silence of lambs, beware !

Beware the innocence of hyacinths, beware!!

Hiding in gossamer clouds is the thundery vault

Wrapped in  pitch dark silence is  the lightning bolt.

Hiding in mother’s helpless stagger is the tigress’ leap

And an ever wakeful energy beneath her languid sleep.

In the enveloping gloomy dark

Sleeps the incendiary spark

That, once woken,  will wreak  vengeance

On Kings’  and  their kins’ arrogance;

And   spread through the skies such  gentle radiance

As drown out  hatred  which is a bliss of  ignorance.

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"......