These ghazels I write and songs of praise,
do they bring me nearer to You?
Do they soften my heart?
Or Yours?
Draw my mind away from illusory distractions?
Or draw Your nazar upon me?
Is my spirit,
by mere words and music, attuned more closely to Yours?
It makes no difference. I write these ghazels,
the Baba songs, too, because it gives me comfort.
A soldier on the battlefield presses the photograph
of his sweetheart to his chest;
a grieving mother clings to the blanket of her dead child;
a refugee sings songs of his distant homeland.
Comfort from an opportunity lost;
an attempt to voice longings that are beyond words.
O child of God, why would you ever think these ghazels
and songs are
your gift to Him?
They are His gifts to you.
(from The Garden of Surrender, 2004)
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