Hold My
Hand
Imprisoned
at the hands of sorrow, come my love
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer) [1]
Deserving
the ache of this heart, forsake me not
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Once I had
a bloodied heart, even that slipped through my
palms
Lost
control of all affairs, come to me O! Love
[2]
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Afar from
the reunion with You, always in depth of sorrow
I am ill
since that moment when forced away from You
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Now gaze
upon I: humiliated, destitute and helpless
Forsake me
not, by pass me not, nurse me back to health
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Miserable
I am, my dear, by this end-less loss [3]
Cannot
bear being afar, give me respite from this life
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Always
circling Your hearth, intoxicated by Your fragrance
Never
behold a trace of Your face, sobbing for that as well
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Pierced my
ear with the ring, Free me not! Sell me not! [4]
My
dearest, forget me not, remember me oft
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Heard my
sighs and screams, offered me no benevolence [5]
Fallen
this moment off my feet, lift me aloft
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Finding no
love in this universe, no companion solacing the
sorrow [6]
No one has
my heart, indeed You still have my heart
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
Africa, if
not in bliss, entangled troubled with sorrow
Moan at
Its door, Scream: O! My consoler [7]
Hold
my hand
(Dastam Geer)
What is left of a man? When
the blight of this world has
consumed his body, mind has been rubbed out, heart no longer even able
to feel
any pain! Poverty long gone… Since to have or not to have, to eat or
not to eat
no longer constitute a human affair. Araqi tells us, whom died from a
deadly
fever: What remains is the very essence of man himself as put together
by his
Creator!
Splendor of the life of this
world to a Sufi is the real
ailment, where you are ill by little pleasures of life, small
accumulations of
wealth, betraying any and all around specially the Beloved. Where you
are in
pain by the analgesic numbness of routine life, when life is for sure a
nightmare and you wish to wake up to death only to sober up and be once
again
that magnificent creature the Creator composed with Its love and
dressed by the
Hijab (veil) of Its beauty.
[1] I thought some readers my want to
rhyme with the
original words of Araqi in Farsi. So I added the optional Farsi rhyme
“Dastam
Geer”. ‘Dastam’ means my hand and ‘Geer’ stands for hold or fetch.
‘Dast am’
pronounces like “fast at” and ‘Geer’ sounds like Geese.
[2] Man has the capacity to fall into
situations,
that even the ache of his heart becomes a thing of the past. Araqi uses
the
Farsi term “bloodied heart” which is a colloquial phrase to mean
heartache or
suffering. Araqi says, in a common street language, I am beyond
suffering.
[3] Araqi teaches us that it is not the
AIDS virus that is
bringing the man in the picture the suffering. The real cause of any
and all
suffering, all treachery and heartache is being away from the Creator.
Foolish
man in the sanctuary of his wealth and health, afar, drown in
ambiguities of
his life, thinks that a poor African is dying from a horrific disease.
Behold!
Come closer, gaze upon this mirror and you shall view your own face!
Suffering because of being away from the Creator.
[4] In ancient Persia they pierced the
ears of the slaves to
indicate their status of bondage in the society. Araqi knows his ears
are
pierced by Allah, and he begs… Allah don’t set me free to become sick
like this
man… don’t sell me off to this life to become free and hideous.
[5] When a man falls of the cliff he
screams, but for whom?
He knows no one can save him from the fall. When a hot water pours on
the man he
screams, but for whom? He knows there is no way to reverse the awful
burn.
Araqi narrates that we scream and moan, though to ignorant there is no
one
there to respond back, even when we ourselves suspect that these
screams are
not heard, Behold! Since there is no one out there to help and since
Allah is
not like any one we know or heard or seen, then be assured,
indeed imperceptible, Allah is to lift us aloft, though we know not. In
that
precise moment of helplessness when all betrayed you and no one in
sight to
help, be assured Beloved loves you and It is close to you... About to
extend a
helping hand. For some like the man with AIDS, he is going to be lifted
aloft
after his departure from this world to his Maker, though we care not to
understand.
[6] I see words falling off the cliffs
of this patient’s
face and I see words blossoming from his emaciated legs, shouting at my
eyes,
“Hey! No one loves me any longer, have no money and no strength and no
beauty
or youth, but my heart is indeed with Beloved and It loves me much.”
One cannot
come to this moment of life-ending truth until and unless some ironic
events
deliver us the capricious moment to open the doors of perception.
Giving heart
to someone or someone else holding or having one’s heart, in Farsi
means to be
in love.
[7] ‘Araqi’ was replaced by ‘Africa’.
Araqi is teaching us a
valuable lesson, “Don’t complain to creation, no one will come to your
help,
moan to your Beloved Creator It is your one and only consoler”. My pen
hears
the silent beseech of this AIDS patient to our Beloved, though my ears
hear
not! Araqi was a child prodigy master Sufi poet from Hamedan, Iran whom
later
traveled to India to further his art and education. He lived around
1200.
Background: African AIDS
victim taking a bath.
Music: Dastam Geer by
GoodPersianBoy
©
2003-2002,
By Dara Shayda
