Ali Ghafoor (24) keeps his body in Sialkot and his mind in the clouds. Sometimes he also writes poetry. He can be reached at aligh4@gmail.com.

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I put off my raiment and wrapped myself
In the white linen shroud of the dead
In my own home, I sought to destroy my sense of self
And embark upon a journey towards you,
My Lord
‘I am present, and at your mercy’ I shouted for all to hear
You must have smiled thinking of the irony of my shouting now
What has always been true
And my every step was towards you
Merciful One
But not every step was away from me
For there is no ‘me’, oh absolute one

There is only you

I basked in the thought of your presence
As I, like the first of us made by your hand
Encircled your house in wonder
And how could I doubt your affection for me
My Lord
When you drew me near to your home
That blessed spot right underneath your throne
I touched its walls and clung to it in submission
And I asked with tears in my eyes
‘Can you see me?’
‘Will you save me?’

And I’m sure you must have smiled to yourself again
In loving exasperation, My Lord
At the naiveté of my plea

The gentle breeze of a desert’s winter
Felt like a caress across my back
That you called me to your abode
Is it not enough to make even a deaf man weep-
With joy, in gratitude for the melody of your love?
I was there- in the center of centers, in the core of all that truly matters

Knowing all this, how could I ask if you would save me?
For it was for this very purpose that I had been called

And even the greatest of fools could see
That you behold every black jagged thorn
That you pull from my heart
And that you behold the radiant purity of my thoughts
When I try to come closer to you
And that you can easily pierce into me to see
That smallest particle of sentience
In the center of my centers buried so deep inside that
It could only be the truth
And the truth is that there is no ‘me’
My Lord
There is only you

In the midst of my journey towards you
I lay for a day in the hallowed plain
To which you would once again call us
Enshrouded now as I shall be then

In the mantle of the dead

The day waxed long and the sun lingered low
Men and their shadows fell prostrate
Grinding their foreheads into the dust
And at each other’s feet
Underneath your blue-black shroud of clemency
Thickening into dusk, I saw written in the sky
Your name and the name of the Beloved
And thus day fell into night
And your mercy cascaded down
A blessing so relieving
Like cool dew falling on parched grass
During the most unforgiving of summer months

What ode could I write, oh Lord
In admiration of the poetry within your design?
Of this divine paradox in our existence
Of sending the mercy of the Beloved
In a land so merciless
This land, my lord, is one where no crops grow
Where water is more precious than many a life
Yet so richly you’ve endowed it!
There was water being spilled like
It was naught but blood
Rice and wheat scattered like stones and dust
Like they were naught but the bone of the Faithful
And the Fateful
Where heat and cold are both our enemies
And both warmth and shade places of respite

In the mosque of the Messenger
I wrote upon countless hands in musk, the beloved’s name
Hoping that the love he represented
Would somehow seep into their very veins
And that those hands would rise for
Justice and virtue and goodness
For you, my Lord
For you are our God
And you are The God
And you are my God
And you are the only God
All in perfect symmetry

Your poetry transcends all life
It permeates our reality My Lord
For You are the only reality
If only we bother to see
And if only we bother to remember
To find you by losing ourselves
To die in order to truly live
To be slaves in order to be free
To win the greatest of victories in

The Surrender

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