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My Lord, My God
Kamala Surayya
Translated from Malayalam by:

Kalim Ahmed

Contents

Kamala Surayya

Translator’s note 11
A Romance with Divine Satiation
Dr. Shihab M Ganem 13
Submission 19
Oh, the boundless 21
Ya, Mohammed 22
A forlorn woman 23
Companion 25
My Lover 27
Servant 28
Prostration 30
Hearths 31
Experiment 32
Smiles 34
I am safe 35
Sunflower 36
Mirrors 37
Another string of the moon 38
Mercy killing 40
Locusts 41
New Year 43
Embrace 45
Merger 46
Kingdom of the God 48
Seed 49
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End of the footsteps 51

Palace 53
Fortunate Woman 55
Warmth and cruelty of love 57
Waters 58
Walls 59 Mirage 60
Armour 62
Apology 63
Musk deer 65
On the cross 67
Road to uphill 69
Beloved grand daughter’s face 71
Tinkling of chandelier 73
Sight of the blind woman 75
Horse sacrifice 77
Hospitality 79
Kamala Surayya

Kamala Surayya was born on the 31st of March 1934, in Kerala. She is a renowned poet and story
writer. She belongs to the Nalapat family, which has a resounding reputation as being the home
of so many illustrious literary figures. Literary talent runs in her blood, as is evidenced by the fact
that her mother Balamani Amma was a famous Malayalam poet. Like her mother, she too
excelled in writing. Her love of poetry began at an early age through the influence of her uncle,
Nalappatt Narayana Menon, a prominent writer. Her father V.M. Nair was also a reputed
person, being the managing editor of Mathrubhoomi Newspaper, a significant daily in Kerala,
many years ago. Her husband Madhav Das was a senior consultant with the International
Monetary Fund. He was also an eminent Journalist. He passed away in 1992. She has three sons.
She is one of the very few writers from Malayalam who writes effortlessly both in English and
Malayalam, yet maintaining high quality in both. She had earlier used the pennames of ‘Kamala
Das’ and ‘Madhavi Kutty’; the former for her English writings, and the latter for Malayalam
writings. Currently she uses the penname Kamala Surayya.
She was short-listed for the Nobel Prize in literature in 1984, along with Doriss Lessing,
Yourcener and Nadine Gordimer. She has been honoured with a number of prestigious awards
for her constructive contributions to the enrichment of human civilization. Many of these have
come from internationally reputed organisations.
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She received the P.E.N. prize in 1964, The Kerala Sahitya Akademi Award for best short fiction
in 1969, the Chaman Lal Award for journalism in 1971, the Asian World Prize for literature in
1985, and the Indira Priyadarshini Vrikshamitra Award in 1988. Kent Award for English Writing
from Asian Countries. Vayalar Rama Varma Sahitya Award. An Honorary Doctorate from the
world Academy of Arts and Culture, Taiwan came her way in 1984.
She was the poetry editor of the Illustrated Weekly of India, which was once the best-known
English magazine in India. She was specially invited to the
South Bank Centre Poetry Festival in London.
An ardent humanist, Kamala Surayya tried to describe in her works the most basic of human
emotion, love and the lust for it and the internal tensions. Her writing career literally started
from the very beginning of her adolescence. Some of her creations have been filmed. Her story
‘Rugmini’ was filmed with a very appealing call to the social reformers to contain the evil reality
of luring, trapping and selling of youngsters into the wretched world of flesh trade.
Her famous English writings include: The Sirens (1964), Summer in Calcutta (1965), The
Descendants (1967), The Old Playhouse and Other Poems (1973), Only the Soul Knows How to
Sing (1996), Collected Poems (1984), Best of Kamala Das (1991) and her autobiography, My
Story (1976). Other equally reputed works include The Alphabet of Lust (1977) is a novel. A
Doll for the Child Prostitute (1977), The Anamalai Poems (1985), Padmavati, the Harlot and
Other Stories (1992) are short story collections, and The Path of the Columnist is a collection of
her columns. ‘Tonight this Savage Rite: The Love Poetry of Kamala Das and Pritish Nandy’ is a
book of poetry done in collaboration with Pritish Nandy. Her works are available in French,
Spanish, Russian, German, Arabic and Japanese.
She is a well-travelled person, having had the occasion to participate in immense literary
conferences all round the world. In order to read poetry she has been to Germany’s Essen,
Bonn and Duisburg universities, Adelaide Writer’s Festival (Adelaide, Australia), Frankfurt Book
Fair, University of Kingston, Jamaica, Singapore, and South Bank Festival (London), Concordia
University (Montreal, Canada), Columbia University (New York), Qatar, Dubai, Sharjah, Abu-
Dhabi, etc.
She has lectured in many famous universities. The audio contents of her speeches have been
preserved in some universities for the benefit of posterity. Moreover, many of her works have
been prescribed as standard text books in many universities. She converted to Islam in
December 1999.
Translator’s note

Kamala Surayya is one of the most influential feminist writers of our times, her language reveals
liveliness and imaginative aura.
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I have a great admiration for Kamala Surayya’s writings. Her simple prose and stirring poems
have always attracted me to her, the personality as well as the writer.
This is one of her most celebrated collections of poems. This was first published in Malayalam
by Islamic Publishing House, Kerala, in the year 2002. In many ways, this work reflects the real
personality of this acclaimed poetess. The theme is directly connected to her intense emotional
attachment to her God, Allah. The poems move through the wide array of her experiences in her
incessant search for the god, in whom she wants to submit herself.
The total style of her writings is that of simplicity, and an enduring mood of passionate love. She
takes the reader to the stirring world of physical caresses and emotional attachments that go
beyond the parameters of modern social conditioning. Essentially, there is a lingering mood of
sweet reminiscences and nostalgic yearnings, resounding throughout many of her works.
I express my gratitude to Ms. Surayya for permitting me to do the translation; it sure was a
privilege. I hope that I have been able to do justice to the original verses.
I would like to place on record my gratitude to a few of my close associates who have motivated
and helped me in this endeavour. They include Dr. Shihab M Ghanem, noted Arabian poet;
Shaikh Mohammad Karakunnu, Director, Islamic Publish- ing House, Kerala, India; Balan
Taliyil; M K Johnson; and P K Mohammad Kappad. I would also like to thank Ved from
Victoria Institutions, for his superb copyediting.
Kalim Ahmed
A Romance with Divine Satiation
by Shihab M Ghanem Ph.D
In 1996, Kamala Das, Yousuf Ali Kechery and I were honoured by the Dubai Kairali Kala
Kendram in Dubai. During our brief meeting, Kamala Das gave me a copy of her book of
collection of poems written in English, ‘Only the Soul Knows How to Sing’. I gave her a copy of
my book, ‘Shades of Love’ a collection of some of my Arabic poems, rendered in English.
During her speech, she made a literal translation of a few of my lines into Malayalam, and read it
out. She spoke of the theme of love in my poems. It was truly impressive; her mental capacity to
comprehend and to translate, so fast.
I became captivated with her writings, and within a few months, I had translated five of her
famous poems into Arabic. They included ‘Nani’, ‘An Introduction’, ‘Next to Indira Gandhi’,
‘My Grandmother’s House’, and ‘The Intensive Care Cardiac Unit’. They came out in local
literary magazines and newspaper supplements. Later in 2005, they were included in my
collection of Arabic translations called ‘Poems from Kerala’. This work consisted of around 50
poems of 28 poets from Kerala. Many of my translations of Kamala’s poems have appeared in
various Arabic websites.
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Kamala’s writings are vibrant with emotions and passions that transcend the barriers of national
and sectarian divisions. Her ideas are original, and there is a pulsating mood striving for social
change in her words. Beyond that, she writes with a daring that is most unusual. This along with
the frankness of her words and thoughts are unique, and rare to discern in modern feminine
Indian and Arabic writings. Her language is like a breath of fresh air, simple and vivid.
I have met her only once. That was in 1996 at the aforementioned function. I was impressed that
she was attired in Islamic costumes. She had not yet converted. In fact, her conversion to Islam
was only in 1999. This change of religion caused a new controversy around a poetess and writer
who is probably India’s most controversial writer; one who had won many prestigious prizes and
was short-listed for the Nobel Prize for literature since 1984.
Her conversion was not a sudden impulsive act; on the contrary, it was decision taken after years
of deliberation and intense evaluation of the Islamic faith. The poems in this collection were
written by her as part of her search, and yearning to be with her God, Allah. She wrote them
under her new name Surayya. They were compiled and published as a collection, with the title
‘Ya Allah’.
When Kalim Ahmed, the translator of this collection from Malayalam, came to Dubai last year,
he visited me. He gave me a copy of his book on Mohammad Iqbal’s philosophy, ‘The Living
Stream’. He mentioned that he intended to translate ‘Ya Allah’ into English.
Recently, he sent me the translation of the first three poems in the collection. I translated them
into Arabic. They have come out in my book ‘Poems from India’ published earlier this year. This
book contains 80 poems written originally in 12 Indian languages by 30 well-known Indian
poets.
I have gone through this complete collection of poems as translated by Kalim Ahmed, and I am
impressed by the quality of the translation. I have enjoyed reading the poems.
In the first poem in the collection titled ‘Oh! The Boundless’ Surayya says:
You raze the boundaries of
Cities and of households.
Yet, I encapsulate you
In the depth of my heart.
Is it human heart alone
A world never ending?
Prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) has said that Allah is boundless; yet, the human heart
of a true believer can contain Him. I find that Surayya conveys this very idea in the words quoted
above. ‘Ya Allah’ is one of Surayya’s celebrated collections of poems. It contains a true reflection
of her intense spiritual personality. She lives in these poems, alone with her God. Her
experiences are all very personal, and reaches out to divine yearnings. She stands submitting
herself; nothing less. In the poem titled ‘The Warmth and Cruelty of Love” she says:
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Ya Allah!
I don’t yearn for
The Kingdom of Heaven
It is not my desire to
Conceal my trespasses.
And in the poem titled ‘Apology’ she says:
Ya Allah!
Forgive me, My Lord
Even in the serene vicinity
Of mosque
My voice turns bitter
As of a weary lover.
These are essentially romantic poems, with a difference. It is love, and love alone that is depicted
here. Yet, not wanton cravings of the physical kind. It is really a spiritual journey, filled with
passionate misgivings, and longings. The aim is to arrive, in the realm of mental equanimity, and
spiritual salvation. The poetess’ paramour is none other than her Lord God. It is poetry of the
mystical kind; one that transcends the levels of ordinary human emotions. The reader familiar
with Surayya’s poetry can feel that this restless creative poetess has at long last found true peace.
Dr. Shihab M Ghanem
Dubai, May 2008

Submission

The body and the soul; for ages,

They were intimate companions.
The soul lives in the body;
And the body is its robe.
When the body departs,
The soul would be naked
Like a new born baby, of course.
Once, the simmering pangs of earthly living
Revealed as an island of dense dark.
My journey was to search
Of cosmic luminance.
At last, one night,
When I was engrossed
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In my prayers,
I beheld the heavenly light, all at once,
As if basked in the moonlit.
That blessed sight made my eyes blind;
Yet, it sprouted in me the sublime insight of love.
I humbly offer these verses to Allah,
The loving and the merciful.
Kamala Surayya

Oh, the boundless

Ya, Allah!
Unbound by
Religious shell, you are!
Epitome of unbridled freedom, you are!!
Your light
And your shade,
For my happiness, I seek!!!
So too for my restful sleep.
You raze the boundaries of
Cities and of households.
Yet, I encapsulate you
In the depth of my heart.
Is it human heart alone
A world never ending?
Oh, the core of boundless infinity,
I worship thee.

Ya, Mohammed

Ya Mohammed,
May the lord shower
His grace upon him!
You are the golden dawn
That illuminates the dark Arabian nights.
The last prophet
Who fight for fidelity and truth.
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We hear about the luminosity of that face

Even after the long fourteen centuries.
We are unfortunate
Who came late,
We blame our fate.
Oh, the master
Esteemed by more than
Forty generations
We prepare for you,
The banquets of love.
You came like the raindrops,
On the desert, unexpectedly;
The rain has long gone,
Yet, as a golden memory, it remains,
In each tiny speck of sand.

A forlorn woman
You are not alone, Surayya!
Allah’s deep love is like the soft moonlight.
You have worn it as a shield;
You alone hear the rhymes
Of the soundless tunes.
As the seas - tongue,
At the ebbing of the tides,
Toiling to reach up these steep steps,
You fainted at the door,
With your soft bleeding feet,
Seeking the formless guardian’s care.
No more would any dare stone you,
Do not keep the agony of remorse yourself;
The bewitching calmness
Encased deep in the turbulent sea;
Is yours from now.
The soft hue of the twilight time,
When the dying day
Joins the emerging night;
Is yours from now.
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Mountains and wilds,

Hillocks and streams,
You have traversed;
To reach here.
Once under the flowering tree,
When you strolled,
The rain fell on you,
Then came the shower of flowers;
Your face lit with delightful smile;
Does not this memory linger on in you?
It was the rejoicing of the youth;
Is the same mood reverberating again,
In you?

Companion

Ya, Allah,
It may be for my faltering steps,
And my hazy vision,
I travel along with you,
Always.
My hopes and my yearnings
Are in thy hands
And yours alone.
Somebody says,
That Surayya is mad…
It was enough for me
The white rod the destiny of blindness
In my loneliness, My lord.
It has been thus said,
Is the religion only a crutch?
Attired in a shroud of discernment
Burdened with decaying wisdom,
How foolish has been this journey.
Didn’t I renounce, this foolish.
The kith and kin, and the dwelling,
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The attachments and the companions;

My lord!
Thou art everything,
My kinfolk
And my companion.
In my manor, now,
There is no empty granary.
The ceilings are back to brightness,
There are no doorways,
You have not entered;
There remain no beds,
You have not slept in.
No gardens
You have missed;
No ponds
You forgot to swim in.
Oh, my lord,
This my last dwelling,
Is yours.
Your soothing caress, my lord,
Is intoxicating
Like the scent of the sweet alluring flower.

My Lover
Bring no garland of flowers
For my lover has no neck;
No welcome with betel to chew
For he lacks a human mouth;
My lover is my lord,
Who has no body.
In the sphere, where the
Spirit and the body,
Vanishes, he exists.
Oh, Ye wayfarers!
Partake in my rejoicing,
Won’t you?
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Servant
Ya Allah!
I am ready to forget,
Forsake, and refuse, everything.
Oh, Time! who were you,
In my previous birth?
Only a servile escort
To the harem;
One who took me
To the portico of my lord.
In his radiance, I stood
Awestruck, and numbed.
Somewhere, soundlessly,
My anklets fell down.
Tongue-tied, I stood,
Chiselled in electric silence.
I forgot you in his presence.
A singer I was,
Yet, speechless and powerless,
I stood.
Though a dancer,
I lost my steps.
I have no care for you;
You are in oblivion.
Your brown eyes do not
Haunt my sleep,
Nor my dreams.

Prostration
Ya Allah!
I immersed in joyous celebration
In the pond lit by sunrays,
Trees in blossom,
Showered their flowers.
Like sheep gone astray,
On the meadow,
Were spread
The silver tinted clouds.
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What is my offence,
My lord?
Is ecstasy
A violation of rules?
Jeers and sneers,
I hear around me.
I see furious eyes.
My living and my departure,
Mean the same.
Who gains?
Who loses?
This novel sense twitches my body,
My spirit feels ashamed,
And it prostrates at your feet.

Hearths
Ya Allah,
In my desolate final moments,
Will he come hither?
To pay his dues?
His right hand propping the doorframe up,
Will he stand in the open doorway,
A moment?
And gaze at me,
With his brown eyes?
Thwart that reunion,
My lord.
No stirring fire kindles
In my hearth, my lord;
Only pieces of cinders,
And barren ash, remain.

Experiment
Ya Allah,
I was a girl,
Playing in the courtyard of my home,
Celebrating the feel of the youthful sun,
Of the early mornings.
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It was you,
Who put me through
The appalling tests.
The pain and agony of the
Beastly deserts,
I have experienced.
A fraud woman and a liar,
They called me.
My lord,
Was it for
You sprung up inside me,
Like a banyan sprout?
And you bathed me in
Your soft starlit moonlight always?
My lord,
You who, in your infinite patience,
Allow the blasphemers
To go scot-free;
Is it possible that
You may never come
Giving me shelter?

Smiles
Ya Allah!
Can the forsaken laugh?
May be they;
Yet, what they create
Is only artificial flowers,
Shaped with miserable rags;
By destitute,
Bloomed in market.
My lord,
Wilt thou also,
Forsake me,
As your creations have done?
Neither my lips smile,
Nor my eyes wail.
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The one who has no

Reason to smile,
And to wail too.
Surayya, your servant who had
Once cried out
With unspeakable pain and yearnings
At your feet.

I am safe
Ya Allah!
Ye, who is true in words;
Ye, who hath unveiled to me
The gorgeous features of love,
My lord!!
I am your Sunflower,
Basking in the Sun
That you are.
Both in my hours of sleep,
And in my conscience,
I have felt you.
Oh, my dear husband,
Who has died with
Unfulfilled passions for me;
Oh, my lover,
Who left me with unrequited love;
You both know not,
That I am secure,
And I have a guardian too.

Sunflower

Ya Allah!

In what season of the year

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You covered my body

With the blanket of love?
And in what birth?
My desolate solitude,
Was the sun in the summit
And your face a sunflower.
Mirrors

Ya Allah!
I, Surayya, desperate
The expectations of the guests, always;
Ill-Starred and inauspicious I am,
I reach out to you
With flung out arms.
Memory, and also forgetting,
Are both fleeting.
In mirror-less corridors
Where I wander,
I find myself in oblivion.
My terrible insufficiencies
Also fade away along with me.

Another string of the moon

Ya Allah!
In your weaving house,
For whom do you weave
By the sacred silk thread,
This soft and tender attire of worship?
Could it be for me, my lord?
Is it to wear for me, the belittled,
In the solitary darkness of the night,
This robe like the moon?
When innumerable sins and trespasses
Come bouncing to the top,
Like cadavers in the ocean of oblivion
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I hear the ranting

Of the public
A sinner you are, and
Impure is your body.
A stainless soul,
Is it afar, for me?
The lovely touch of my lover’s body,
Just a nightmare?
Is the tender beauty
Wrapped in frightening themes?
Oh, You maiden,
Standing under the gallows blind fold,
Your body may fall
Trembling to the ground;
Yet,
Your spirit,
Your soul will flutter out,
And join the moon
As another ray of light
In the brightness of the
Moonlit night.
The night of love
Never would come to an end.
The cocks won’t crow
In the silence of night.

Mercy killing

Ya Allah!
The moment you accepted me,
My form, my figure, and my nature,
All changed.
Only the scar of worship,
Remains, on my forehead.
Where once an adornment
Donned, a callus nothing more.
A born fighter I was,
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I cast my eyes downwards,

And wrath died in mouth.
Old foes and assailants, I seek
My sentries are armed with guns;
Who are the aggressors, they ask.
Are they asleep
In the dark corridors?
Are they hiding
In the dark attic of my dwelling
Preparing for an assault?
Is it destined that
My life is meant
For a mercy killing?
Locusts

The onslaught of the locusts?

On the golden paddy fields,
Have you seen,
With a ferocious roar,
They come.
Covering the skies,
With a dark tinge;
Their wings fluttering fast,
They come thus,
With an unnerving clamour
In the air.
A thousand locusts,
Their immense hunger,
Their yelling was my thirst;
And their onslaughts,
My yearnings.
My desperation
For quietude;
I flew miles and miles
Seeking a symbol of love.
I fell into your fields,
At last,
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With wounded wings,

I pressed my head
At your invisible foot steps.
Oh, Merciful Allah!!
I am in need of nothing,
You are my hunger;
And you are its satiation, too.
You are my thirst,
And also the water to slake.
Ya Allah!
Surayya is safe and secure,
Today.
New Year

Ya Allah!
They say,
The New Year is tomorrow,
The hopeful children,
The robust children,
They came for the supper.
I remained immobile,
As a statue of stone,
Though I heard the talks, unheard.
When the moment of hunger
Had passed; I the mother
Who worn away to nothing,
In ceaseless love for her children;
Satisfied in seeing
The triumph of the children,
Become exhausted a moment,
Because of a momentary feeling
That I had landed in the remote
World of dead.
Unfortunate Surayya!
Within the limits of compassion,
Is she an abyss of love.
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When the revelry is over,

Come to this frail woman,
As a sweet slumber.
Embrace

Ya Allah!
Weeds and plants
Would grow at the cemetery;
Flowers would bloom,
On the grave;
Allah will come
As rain,
As light,
And embrace us.

Merger

Ya Allah!
Those who made haste
Hearing the call to prayer;
They cannot understand
My reluctance.
Surayya,
She who failed to learn
The table manners.
She who failed to learn
The refinements in expressions;
With all her effort,
She who failed to learn
The quintessence of your words;
That is me,
Yet, I know you,
I swim in your ocean of mercy.
I rejoice loudly in you;
The oceans that I felt
Have the warmth of blood.
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And the fondling of you, the formless,

Enters deep down
And reaches my inner-self.
Today,
I perceive that
I am yours;
I bow to thee.
Kingdom of the God

Ya Allah!
You reap gold,
In the mine of my soul;
What about my body?
In each vessel which the artery bears
You fill the radiance,
Profound radiance,
Like the newly reaped spike of corn.
In the three-fold junction,
I won’t ask yet,
The wayfarers the west.
It was you who
Lent me the glorious redness
Of the setting sun,
As a toy for the crying child,
You gave me the Sun.
A mere honeymoon,
I lost;
And the kingdom of God,
I gained.
Seed

Ya Allah,
You were a seed within me,
In the rain, you grew,
In the heat, you dried;
Yet, you remained,
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Till the very end of the age.

Endless you are;
you need no farewell.
I have felt the tremor
Of ploughs in my heart;
There was only my blood,
To fertilise you;
Yet, you sprouted,
And grew as a tree,
With twigs and branches,
And bunches of flowers;
I plucked your sweet fruits,
And savoured it.
Ergo, I remain beyond the
Clutches of death;
It cannot touch me.
Designed to live
In another planet,
By God, I was.
Yet, doomed,
To wake up from sweet slumber
Here forever.
End of the footsteps

Ya Allah!
As the clock struck twelve tonight,
Allah whispered in my ears:
You need sleep, Surayya;
Repose in me, and sleep Surayya!!
You wake up from your bed
When the cock crows at midnight.
When you call me,
I too leave my sleep.
Shall I endure the impatience,
That shatters the dreams?
It is not time
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For you to depart;

Beggars are waiting for you,
Children are waiting for your sweet kiss.
Oh, you whose ears have
The fragrance of the exotic scents;
You, who is adorned in
Sparkling diamonds;
Devoid of indifference, you are.
You didn’t have miles to tread
For you are on the doorsteps
Of eternal abode;
To the heart of gushing love;
Oh, Surayya, the wayfarer,
Your footsteps end here.

Palace

Ya Allah!
In which season of the year was it
That I entered within you?
I Surayya,
Sought security
Among human beings only;
Gone astray I was,
And made to wander
In the dales.
What was that propitious time
That I came across your open doors?
I treaded to the light,
Pushing away the dark shrouds.
The pain in my feet,
Was forgotten,
As I went up the stairs,
Moonlight lingered
In the mirrors;
Unfamiliar was my face.
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My countenance had changed,

And my name erased,
As I entered your chamber.
The soul needs no name,
And an address.
Fortunate Woman

Ya Allah!
I perceive thee alone,
In the core of
Each and every
Inspiring truth.
Hope fills my heart,
You are my all.
Love is just a mirage;
It was you who
Quenched my thirst.
You lent the halo
Of luminance to my face.
You said, I will change
All those I adopt,
Not just the form,
But also frame, and figure,
And nature too…
For You I bear,
In the pond full of lotus blooms.
In the incessant chirping of the birds,
I whisper my love in your ears.
Beloved in the chambers
Of the Sultan;
Who bathes in perfumes,
Who clothes herself in soft silks,
Who is the beloved of
The eyes and the ears;
She who has converted;
The Chosen;
Surayya!!
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Fortunate Surayya!!!
Warmth and cruelty of love

Ya Allah!
I don’t yearn for
The Kingdom of Heaven
It is not my desire to
Conceal my trespasses.
In the end,
When I slip and topple,
Over the burning hell, insensibly,
Do not let me,
Weep in inconsolable despair.
Today,
You alone are my beloved;
My solitary protector.
Punishment, from you, I deserve;
Long have I endured
The rapturous ecstasy of love,
And the pang of love’s end.
Why should I
Who have felt
The simmering heat and
The harsh reality of violent passions,
Need fear the burning fires of hell.
Waters

I have heard always;

Islam is a lake,
Risks hidden in its depth.
In those green tinted waters,
Await
Green-eyed serpents,
Crocodiles,
Venom-spitting crabs;
With morbid fear,
I moved afar.
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Really,
Islam is a stream of peace;
I have discerned
Serene greenery in it.
I swim in its cool waters;
My deliverance,
I seek in it with blessing...
Walls

Ya Allah!
Is to keep the soul
Away from the soul,
The wall of body?
Futile is this intense effort,
Futile is this penance.
They curse the fence,
Those who dream of sweet fruits.
Mirage

Ya Allah!
Life was a scorching desert
For me,
From the very dawn of my childhood,
From the alpha of my memory,
Till today.
The sinking sun
Was my companion,
From the early dawn
To the dusk.
In the twilight,
The sun had vanished;
A Crescent moon was afar,
The cool sand.
The vagrant wind,
Which had blown over the sand
Lay motionless,
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Like a fallen headgear on the ground.

Blood pulsates
In my veins again.
I begin my journey,
Casting off the heavy knapsacks
My journey to the oasis,
An oasis of date palms,
And gushing waters.
Is it not the abode of Allah?
Is it not the kingdom of love?
Here all yearnings get quenched;
Passionate cravings get satiated;
Allah’s oasis,
The oasis that gave me shelter.

Armour

Ya Allah!
In a script less language,
I pray to thee, again and again,
You are my owner,
You are my master.
You alone my attire;
The only shield for
This naked soul.
They who once sneered at
Hearing my forlorn lamentation,
They who jeered at pointed to me,
Stand now thus
In solemn silence,
Seeing the twinkling
Glow in my eyes.
I grow in your radiance;
In your halo, I stand
Reaching out to the skies.
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Apology

Ya Allah,
Forgive me, My lord,
Even in the serene vicinity
Of mosque.,
My voice turns bitter,
As of a weary lover.
How long more, My lord,
Is the waiting,
For this Surayya, the hapless,
Who has fathomed
The profundity of love,
To reach you, the formless?
To learn the ecstasy
Of another embracing,
How long more,
Shall I wait,
Ignoring the incessant
Yearnings of my senses?
Senses still has the sway,
It is sure,
For forbidden fruits,
Haunt even my dreams.
Satanic persuasions
Fill my ears;
My heart trembles
With cataclysmic upsurges.
I am scared of sleep;
My journey,
With wide open eyes
Let me continue.
Though blind,
Let me thus,
Behold the silver streaks
Lining the horizons.
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Fill my dreamy eyes

With cataract;
And the lenient gloom of oblivion too.
Musk deer

Ya Allah!
Surayya, who flew,
From the dreams of others,
The hated,
The guest who came uninvited,
Accept me, My lord!!
In desolate desperation
I seek thee, everywhere
Left and right;
Front and back,
With eager longing
I run searching for you,
Bearing the simplicity
Of the musk deer.
What forbids you to
Fetter me?
Why this lassitude?
No place in me remains
Where you have not entered;
No colour remains in me,
That you have not seen.
Yet,
Why dost thou,
Hide in the pages of the Quran,
In silence?
On the cross

Ya Allah!
I need only you,
As my refuge.
They claim
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They are your slaves;

They stand around me,
Cheats, treacherous traitors,
Untrue in words,
Untrue in passions,
With deceitful eyes,
They dare not
Look at me in the face,
The crucifiers;
The beholders of cross;
And those who anticipate
For clemency
From the one who is in heaven,
Without being merciful
Towards those who are on the earth.
They measure mercy
With the scale of money;
Persecuters of woman
They are.
Dispassionately
They plunge her,
In tears of pain and agony.
The huge thorny trees
They are.
The sliver moonlight
They hide.
Keep me away from them,
Oh, lord;
Raise me up
To your realms,
My God.
Road to uphill

Ya Allah!
In slow paces,
I learn
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The elements of devotion.

Evermore I toil
In earnest worship
To love you, the formless.
To draw the water from the sea,
In my palms,
And thus to make it dry.
I try to pluck the stars
From the skies;
To fly up
With my fluttering wings;
To drink dry
The wild stirrings
Of the night;
To celebrate daylight
With heady festivity.
Pardon me, My lord,
Is life a stairway,
Reaching out
To the pinnacle
Of the mount?
An endless array
Of steps!
There is pain in my legs
And strange is the emotion!!
I am triumphant,
And you too.
Beloved grand daughter’s face

Ya Allah!
That auspicious day
In which I merge within you,
Is not afar.
You inspire me
To blow out the
Desires of my body
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One by one;
And to passionately
Crave the hug of death.
It seemed that,
The sky too going round
When I felt giddy,
And when my legs tremble,
The axis of the earth may wobble.
My fate, what has it
Granted me,
Is it this worthless body?
Midsummer holidays, in its onset;
My beloved granddaughter’s face
Stands shining as the golden moon
In the doorway;
What shall I do,
Sightless as I am?
Would I weep or laugh?
Tinkling of chandelier

Ya Allah!
Distresses and
Bewilderments,
Miserable darkness, they are.
Yet, now,
They do not pursue my foot steps.
My eyes are fishes,
Swimming in water,
And their sight is faint.
Life there is
Even in the depth of the seas;
There is the glitter of life
In my eyes, too.
No more malice
I need to bear,
No more barbed snicker
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Have I to hear.
All around me the angels dance,
Hand in hand.
The tinkling of their burst of laughter
Is like the soft swaying of the lanterns
In the palace of
Shaikh Hamid bin Mohammed
Of Abu Dhabhi,
Where he dwells
With his beloved, Roudha.
Sight of the blind woman

Ya Allah!
In ancient times,
In my dreams
Did you come
And knock at my door?
In my childhood
And my adolescence
Was I your playmate?
As I went along the drive way
Of the temple
With hymns in my mouth,
Did you not weaken my ardour?
When I was called
By my kinfolk from behind,
Didn’t you shield my ears?
From its place of shelter,
To newer shores
Did my ship move in haste.
I didn’t get wet,
In the rains that fell.
Yet, soaked I was
In the rain that never rained.
Blinded I was
By my streaming tears;
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Surayya, the wretched,

Yet, she glows
In your presence.
This sightless maid can envisage
The pond where the full moon is born,
Also, the countenance of the faceless.
The hallowed divinity of the formless
Has discerned this youthful lass.

Horse sacrifice

Ya Allah!
You placed me,
In a palanquin of faith;
Is it you who carry me,
Or me you?
Deeply obliged I am
For both the ambrosia and venom.
On the moonlit night
I fly with the angels.
There is the tinkling sound
Of my gold bracelets;
Awestruck and captivated,
Infants pause sucking,
Their tender ears attuned
In pleasant anticipation.
My feet are weary,
And powerless to dance;
Yet, using them as oars
I traverse the vast seas,
Reminiscences,
There are none,
Of the shores
I have crossed.
In the surging foams,
A grand spectacle
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Of supernatural radiance.
There is adornment in the skies,
Felicitating me; celebrating me.
Oh, what stately gateway
Has opened,
As if by thunderbolt,
Behind the veil of clouds?
Hospitality

Ya Allah!
You have veiled my sight,
The midnight mist
Permeates in my eyes.
My old flame, his fac,
Like a reflection
In the flurry waters,
Lies shattered in my memory.
His earnest eyes,
Are in oblivion;
Also, the strength of his arms.
Oh, You the handless,
My real master;
Clasp tightly,
This trembling soul,
And this timorous body.
I stand as a refugee
In thy shelter;
As your special invitee.
Do I need any other hospitality?

Between burning green trees

In the crowd of the city,
on the burning black road,
in the bar, in the concert,
in the funeral of martyr,
thus in many places
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I have seen him often.

He has given me his address
at all times,
and invited me home.
The address were changing
it was in the corridor of a
yellowish government hospital
that I met him last time.
Then also he gave me his address
and invited me home.
He had reminded me
that now his hut was
between burning green trees,
I promised him that
I will come surely.
Later,
I saw his blood scattered
on the pages of dailies and magazines,
once I heard on the radio
his warm request,
his heart's lamentation
to the time,
to dispense with the debt of dream
and to give back his pledged youth.
Life of Parvathi and children,
Marriage of Sushama,
long journeys along the
burning path,
amnesia, pangs of love, wound
children, life, hunger,
Victor Leanus, Guhan, and Girish *
hunting death of beloveds....
his name faded away from me.
Meanwhile,
I got his address from an old diary,
the address he gave me last time.
The corridor of that yellowish hospital
spread in me....
And my eyes filled with tears
of the days that I begged.
I felt that I want to see him,
thus, I landed on his village
and searched for him to many.
Yet, there was nobody at this address
nor a house
they never knew such a person.
Where is the burning green tree?
I turned in to the address again, carefully
suddenly,
My eyes filled with tears ,
Oh, my God,
It was the very address of mine.

* Young poets committed suicide