Author Information
ON WORSHIPING GOD
The calls to contact-prayer float in the air,
To me, like a funeral dirge do they sound,
There is no heart or spiritual awarness,
In all the hollow 'wails' that abound.
I often wonder at the mechanical,
Performance of religious ritual,
By those who claim to be faithful,
In their love for God, The Truthful.
Hah! Fie! Ah!!!!
Over 100 years ago the poet Iqbal* lamented,
Exclaimed and sighed-- like I do now --
At all the spiritless, mosque-filling 'robots',
Whose ancestors had Al-Hallaj* executed.
Al Hallaj drew the ire for his 'laughter',
At the mockery the Friday prayer,
At a mosque where only ritual did matter,
In the age of "Enlightened Baghdad".
Even I am (painfully) able to 'see' like a psychic,
Right through the hypocrisy of the so-called Godly,
Claiming love for Lord, via deeds ritualistic,
Programmed like a computer are such 'holy'.
Mere lip service and exercise is their worship,
While hearts and minds, lost in thoughts, adrift,
The essence of the prayer missing and absent,
As automated worship is all that is present.
O my grieving heart! Always in contact,
With the Almighty -- what's this my eyes see?
A prenuptial adoration of just the self?
Am I at fault instead of the hundreds around?
Ah, the 'act' of prayer, staged by worshipers!
How it saddens me and stabs insolently!
More than a thousand Brutus-like killers,
Disguised as Prophet Muhammad's followers!
When prayer becomes just an 'act' of devotion,
Lacking the ingredients of divine meditation,
Worship and contact-prayer sans true adoration,
Are a disease of the heart, the mind -- an affliction!
True I am just a poet like Ghalib and Momin,
And William Blake and a mystic like Rumi,
Ghazali, Bulleh Shah, Kabeer and Hali,
Rabrindranath Tagore and Alexander Pushkin...
For, like them, even I, have survived my fall,
While walking onwards, on the straight path,
Meditating, adoring and venerating my Maker,
Concentrating my focus on the God of all.
In the wee hours of still and silent nights.
I am like Grey's friend reminisced fondly,
By him, in his "Country yard Elegy" --
-- Away from the world of artifical lights.
Very deep and quiet, yet never insincere,
A secretive person called an "engima";
But by God, in whose love, I fly higher,
As a gnostic, toward Almighty Allah.
How strong my attachment with God is:
He knows it well -- my being believes,
As the "Azaan" of Bilal* breaks time's barriers,
His soul-soothing prayer call for centuries!
God's true worshipers are able to hear it,
For the contact-prayer with the Lord of all worlds:
Why reveal more of the blessed righteous ones,
Why cast spiritual pearls on a world -- hypocrite?
Only a numbered few chosen ones would be able,
To feel, comprehend, understand and cherish,
The truth and beauty of the One most lovable,
Unseen by eyes, to His loved ones, so visible!
