These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
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THE OLD KING’S
LAMENT [ZAFAR’S LAMENT]
When
we first had met
Time
had brought me into my later years. I
was a man of a “certain age.”
Now,
older still, it matters not
How
much longer my life extends. The
moments remaining are way too few.
Soon
I die and with me go the memory of those days,
When
you were with me in the sun, And
I could have you within my reach throughout the night.
You
meant more to me than all the prize Which
once was mine and mine alone in the treasury.
Bitter
my fate then that
I
am not allowed to cry at greater length.
Never
shall I have the hours enough To write all
the poems of my lament, My
having lost your love, What
woe my life has been without you.
This
lease of breath,
Though
well beyond the count of years That
any man, even a king, might expect,
Now
I know too short, indeed!
*The lines above represent an original love poem. Shah Zafar
was properly know as Bahadur Shah II. His pen name was Zafar. He
was the last Mughal Emperor. For both his Urdu and his English
verse translation from which I have adopted some sentiments and lines
see,
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THE WORD, A Lover’s Exhortation
Well! What do you say, honey? I believe that I say it right. It is God alone Who knows The one dimensionality -- the real tragedy -- The empty when we call upon the soul. Only He can quell the hunger, quench the thirst. But, sweetheart, hey! I tell you now. Forget it! Fly straight! Think of the Frick with its fabulous El Greco, Small though that one painting is, it amply captures the fury, When Jesus castigates the money changers. The Word is clear. No man may serve two masters. God loves the prisoner, the downcast, the lame. He loves the lilies of the field. Grass need not care how it clothes itself. Though great it may be to be King, what profit in it, When the first shall be last and those with least, Most, and beggars shall inherit the earth, And children be fountains of wisdom?
We have seen the sorry example, What terrible breach of precept! Celebrated priests and magistrates have not known the Lord, Yet once He had stood right there before them.
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DIE FOR YOU, Crossroad Let me take this moment, or two, And publish, 'You are the best thing That has ever happened in my life!' May God forgive; I have no wish to disdain His great gift. Yet were fate to bring us to terrible juncture, A crossroad whereat all choice reduces To either my earthly existence, or yours, Gladly would I give up mine. I would die for you. I express this simple interlude, Mean it as a paean to the experience The joy of having had the splendid fortune, How wonderful the time I spend with you!
