Category Archives: english language ghazals

We are crying to our lord and master without peer: all but his long curly hair is small and cheap beer. We have lit a candle to his blazing presence, and written many a ghazal about his essence. We can’t … Continue reading →

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The well of remembrance draws not from memory, but from the fount of Silence that is creativity. Do you remember, do you forget, the stillness of rose unfolding? Such is how the longing spirit boldly grows. Bolbol, singing from the … Continue reading →

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I run from the rotting stench of my precious thought, But cannot find the pure, sweet breeze of I am not! The sweet grace of Lord and Master will set me free, When I submit myself to grace and cease to … Continue reading →

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Big Fist and the gods of doublethink command our praise; we have become devoted to flag waving all our days. The corporation now wears a crown as a religious right, with the grasping public gasping with spiritual malaise. How did … Continue reading →

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Step after step we track you searching for some sign; The salt of our tears burns our throat as your sweet wine. We bear your living presence in our longing heart- But your curls and dancing eyes, we can’t live … Continue reading →

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The Machine Age grinds and lurches to its beautiful end, As the ugly spirit of Iron breaks and rusts into oblivion. Zarathustra was the first Prophet of this Kali Yug; He brought Fire to forge Spirit, not smelt ore into … Continue reading →

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I drink and drink, and lift my ruby glass; How, O how can I forget her- promise? Smash the mirror, O smash the mirror, now; What else to do when she finds me- remiss? And what to say, yes, what … Continue reading →

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Open the door, and let us in to embrace Your reluctance to bestow your grace. We have been banging with our callused fist, And wonder why you our ardor still resist? The Beloved, we have heard, is never so cruel, … Continue reading →

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We long to breathe pure air and drink sweet water, Cook and warm by clean fire, and eat good tucker. There was a time the sacred elements spoke of god, But we forgot that language with a passing nod. We … Continue reading →

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The Ancient One has come again with his long curly hair, With nothing but his message of divine love to declare. Baba’s John was the aged fakir with bright rosy cheek; She gave him the kiss that tore away his … Continue reading →

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