Tag Archives: search

do Lavz….two words


I call myself Some…..a simple 4 letter word.

It means I am unspecified.
Although I do mean things,
they are just unspecified at the moment.

These undefined things made up of a few outlines,
include the undefined place I come from
or the undetermined place of my origin
or most importantly
the unknown places I want to be in.

Like most unspecified things,
I am wondering if I need distinct definitions for who I am.
Ask me now about them,
and I don’t know what those things are!
Until I met you.

I met you, the ‘one’
and together we became someone.
Nothing exemplary, just the two of us,
finding meaning in each other.

I ran into you, ‘where’,
we were known as ‘somewhere’.
And almost instantly, amidst getting to know each other,
we dreamed of all the places we wanted to go to.

I rather unexpectedly found you, ‘times’,
and we were happy sometimes.
For now we could make some exceptions and break the rules,
although not always, just sometimes.

I was surprised when I met you, ‘thing’,
and as a combination, as something.
We floated together,
feeling that we are meant to do at-least something.

I reached out to you, ‘body’,
and after we became somebody.
We could now introduce our self to others,
as unknowns who knew each other.

I was introduced to you, ‘place’,
and then as someplace,
we could talk about that secret place inside our heads,
that we both escape to when in a crowd.

I was delighted to meet you, ‘day’,
because as someday,
we had hope,
we could nurture dreams and make plans.

I met you,
the one who is known as ‘what’,
so that now we can be unabashed and undecided ,
and not take a stand, as we join together as somewhat.

I was happy that you came by,
you who is called ‘way’,
because then as someway,
we know there was no obstacle too hard or challenge too big.

stihiya-voda-zemlya-ogon

This poem is inspired by Muamma(Riddle), a poem by Javed Akhtar, that is about 2 words or ‘harfs’ meeting, separating and trying to meet again.

Although, things, ways, places, times and the one, may eventually leave, a little bit, some of it will always remain that defines us.

Muamma
By Javed Akhtar

hum dono jo harf hain
hum ek roz mile
ek lafz bana
aur humne ek maani paaye
phir jaane kya hum per guzri aur
ab yun hai
tum ek harf ho ek khaane mein
main ek harf hoon ek khaane mein
beech mein kitne lamhoN ke khaane khaali hain
phir se koi lafz bane
aur hum dono ek maane paayeiN
aesa, ho sakta hai
lekin sochnaa hogaa
in khaali khaanoN Mein humeiN bharnaa kya hai…

Translation
by David Matthews

Riddle
The two of us were once just letters
We met one day
And a word was formed
We found a meaning,
Then something happened
And now
You are a letter
In one square;
I am a letter
In another square
In between
How many squares of moments lie empty!
Another word can be formed
And we can find a meaning
It can be so
But
We have to think
How to fill those empty squares

Touchstone


The madman, his eyes gleaming and bloodshot, his muscles tense, sweat streaming down his face drives into the crowd. This haunting image is seen on screens, hundreds and hundreds of miles away almost instantly.

Misery is not just surrounding us, it reaches us instantly on our screens through news channels, apps and alerts.

Closer home, I walk into a room made cozy with warm lights, burning incense sticks and soft Sufi songs playing in background. It is Sunday evening meeting of like-mined people who want to listen to the words of Rumi.

As I find a spot in the corner of the room, my eyes wander to the crowd gathered there. I started absorbing the faces, the colors, some smiles I return, some eyes I avert.

Just as we all wait for it to start I realize that among the 50 odd people gathered in that room, 47 of them are between 20 and 35 years of age. The logical mind says that the event was publicized on FB, and isn’t that the demographic that uses the social media more prominently.

The less skeptical part of the mind wants to believe in the power of the many souls gathered in that room, seeking wisdom from an ancient mystic, poet and philosopher. And comes to the conclusion that as we move more into the fast paced future, the more will we  move inward, looking and searching for answers as we engage with new questions and toy with deeper ideas.

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A Touchstone: used to test the purity of gold and silver by the streak left on the stone when rubbed by the metal.
It is a term also used when referring to something that is used to make judgments about the quality of other things.

During our quest, when seeking answers, we are looking for our touchstone, for the wisdom imparted by teachers, mentors, confidantes and guides.

I find comfort in the thought that for every stone that has slipped through the cracks while looking for answers and found his touchstone in religious fanaticism, radical ideologies or violent dogmatism, are many other, like those 47 others in that room, around the world who choose to look for words of inspiration, drawn towards all-encompassing love, and a touchstone in the words of old masters, like Rumi.

In His words, this weeks poem.

The Quest for Reality

from The Masnavi Book II

Everyone seeks joy in this world,

And on account of the hope comes fire.
The old and the young are ever gold seekers,
And they know not the difference,

the gold from the tin,

for the common of the heart cannot see so well,
The good from the bad, the cheap from the pure.

If you have your own touchstone,

then all will be well,

But those who have none should seek one who does,
Seek one who knows the difference,
All others will lead you astray.
Don’t follow cry of riches to be,
Don’t trek to the spot where the promise is made,
For there all you’ll find

are the wolves and the lions,

And the day will be spent,

life lost, and the road far off.

Find the Work of your Life, and the Worker too,
For both exist as one—-this is you.
Discover vocation, creation

and joy will come like clairvoyance,

When blindness is gone before.