WAKE UP UMMAH

STILL WAITING

Still Waiting

(Some Mystic Poetry)

From the book: A Wake-up Call

(By: M. Javed Naseem)

(It happened before dawn on one Ramadan morning, in 2010.)

It’s four o’clock in the morning, and third day of Ramadan.

I’ve been thinking wildly, and want to put them down,

Some thoughts that make no sense, but have ‘em off and on.

If I don’t care to write now, they disappear by dawn.

From place to place I wandered, for something so divine,

But every place I went to see, it wasn’t what I sought.

I cruised through the oceans, was thirsty all the time.

Was hungry all those years though it wasn’t food I thought.

I know I’m missing something, no clue of what it was.

One day I asked a wise man, if he had vision of that.

He said I needed Dervish, so deep in love I was.

“What non-sense, you oldie! I’m too smart for that.”

“You know love hurts too much, it leaves your soul to bleed.

As love is like a ‘slaughter-house’, said Rumi who was hurt.

They killed the best therein, I wasn’t best breed.”

He said: “You are so restless, and know not what you need.”

“And that was sure a sign of love, the love for an unseen.

Then why you go from door to door, on roads you haven’t seen?

I’ll tell you where to knock at, and knocking have you been.”

So, oldie brought me down there and vanished in the green.

I asked him what to do there, if no one helps me out?

He said: “Don’t worry about it, they know who’s coming down.

Have patience and be steadfast, no matter what the doom!

Your best defense is always: “Ya Hayee-o Ya Qayyoum.”

So, that’s what I am looking for, and don’t even I know.

What happens, I am wondering, if ever in I go?

I got my guts together and gave a gentle knock.

I waited for an instance, then gave a second knock.

At that moment I pondered, what Prophet had declared.

If no answer on third knock, you better turn away.

I didn’t knock the third time, I got a little scared.

What if that door now opens not, how can I go away?

I’m waiting still at the same door, it opens not for me.

I wish to see that wise man who talked about doom?

And am so tired and dizzy now, don’t even have the key.

I start whispering to myself: “Ya Hayee-o Ya Qayyoum.”

I feel if rain was coming down, my cheeks are getting wet.

“Ya Hayee-o Ya Qayyoum, Ya Hayee-o Ya Qayyoum.”

It’s warm and salty in my mouth, the skies ‘re clear I bet.

“Ya Hayee-o Ya Qayyoum, Ya Hayee-o Ya Qayyoum.”

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