Ruh Aatish

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Life

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The challenges of life- the only ounce of truth lurking behind a facade of pageantry.

Who is the lucky one, pray tell?

Who has been spared the chilly winds of hardship?

Money cannot buy joy.
Nor can it wipe away the blue canvas of tears.

We each face the darkness of night, alone.
Who accompanies us six feet under?

This life: cruel, unfair, unpredictable, fragile, inflammable, precious, magical and dear.

Let’s not forget this truth, lest we drown in the shallow ponds of indifference:

The challenges of life keep us real.

‘Life’

Wild Flowers

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They say thou art Wild,
How blind can mankind be.
Flowing gently with the breeze,
Your beauty never fades.

And in a dark and dismal hour,
You provide a sweet escape.

You give of yourself so selflessly,
Never asking for much, just there.
By the road sides, by the walkways,
In places where no one cares.

We ignore your subtle beauty,
We trample upon your grace,
We pull you apart and poison you,
Just because thou art untamed?

They say thou art Wild,
How blind can mankind be.
Flowing gently with the breeze,
Your beauty never fades.

And in a dark and dismal hour,
You provide a sweet escape.

‘Wild Flowers’

The House

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There is a house upon a hill.
Solitary does it stand and no bird sings.
No one knows the time and age of its darkened wood,
and the lane in which it stays forlorn has no name.
Aging vines of yesteryear climb with encroaching stealth,
and weeping willows shed tears upon the ashen grass.
The garden of neglect is quiet now and unkind weeds hiss.
The spirit of life in cobwebs is trapped,
and smiles in shadows of a past are seen.
Footsteps slight and voices frail,
are the dust that on the floor form,
a thin layer of antique thought.
The house throbs even though ages have gone by.
It still lives to see the light of joy.
It is alive with a soul and heart,
and carries the heavy burden of memories,
in those splintered dusty arms.
Houses starve and cry and slowly die.
They feel and pray and hurt and fall.
In every grain of damp old wood,
there is a foreboding tale or secret love, entrapped.
The creaking doors in pensive moods lie awake,
and musty words in corners wait,
as unwary wanderer in this forest dim,
raps on the door in uneasy state.
Whispers from all places within do call!
The dust in clouds of welcome move;
Come in dear wanderer on path unknown,
And I shall light a fire for thee,
Years have passed since I have lived,
And weary I have grown for speech.
The wanderer with pale white face,
trembling hands and unsteady gaze,
with wild flight the path does take,
never to return to the lane with no name.
And so the house forlorn retreats yet again,
to the realm of loneliness.
In dying breath it wishfully hopes,
that wanderer true with pure intent,
will sooth its waning hopes to rest.

Ansul Noor
Book- Sacred Hauntings – A Supernatural Book of Poetry

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Head – Heart

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http://visionsphotographybyjk.com/

http://visionsphotographybyjk.com/

There’s a yearning to dance
And thus create a whirlwind
Yet the beloved is not around
To partake of the ecstasy
Because the only time given is the present
I did and do dance in the head – heart
Albeit intermittently
When I pause for breath
There’s agitation of the head – heart
That time is limited
In the sea of timelessness
So I asked the beloved
What next
Where do we go from here?

Asad Mian
2015
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About the Author

Asad Mian MD, PhD is an Associate Professor of Emergency Medicine and Pediatrics at the Aga Khan University. He developed the Biloongra series of bilingual books for children, a venture that started in Houston in collaboration with Bookgroup. He is a regular contributor to the Houston Inner Looper and the Express Tribune newspapers. He is author of ‘An Itinerant Observer’, published in the US and available through Amazon and Liberty Books.

Asad tweets as @amian74 (twitter.com/amian74) and blogs at http://anitinerantobserver.blogspot.com/

Genesis

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Yesterday I wanted to ask
The beloved for some understanding
But I wasn’t quite sure how
So with a heavy heart and heavier eyes
I walked into my garden

It was raining outside

To seek refuge
I walked to the side of my house
I had the urge to run my hand
Against the wall of my house
It’s a rough brick veneer

It gave me the earthiest sensation

It grounded me
And it curbed the downpour
I looked up at the sky
And then I let my heart approach the beloved
Today I got the answer

Asad Mian
2015
Copyrights

A Spiritual Conspiracy

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Be the change you want to see in the world. …. It comes from the intelligence of the heart.

On the surface of the world right now there is
War and violence and things seem dark.
But calmly and quietly, at the same time,
Something else is happening underground.
An inner revolution is taking place
And certain individuals are being called to a higher light.
It is a silent revolution.
From the inside out. From the ground up.
This is a Global operation.
A Spiritual Conspiracy.
There are sleeper cells in every nation on the planet.
You won’t see us on the TV.
You won’t read about us in the newspaper.
You won’t hear about us on the radio.
We don’t seek any glory.
We don’t wear any uniform.
We come in all shapes and sizes, colors and styles.
Most of us work anonymously.
We are quietly working behind the scenes
In every country and culture of the world
Cities big and small, mountains and valleys,
In farms and villages, tribes and remote islands.
You could pass by one of us on the street
And not even notice.
We go undercover.
We remain behind the scenes.
It is of no concern to us who takes the final credit
But simply that the work gets done.
Occasionally we spot each other in the street.
We give a quiet nod and continue on our way.
During the day many of us pretend we have normal jobs
But behind the false storefront at night
Is where the real work takes place.
Some call us the Conscious Army.
We are slowly creating a new world
With the power of our minds and hearts.
We follow, with passion and joy
Our orders come from the Central Spiritual Intelligence.
We are dropping soft, secret love bombs when no one is looking
Poems ~ Hugs ~ Music ~ Photography ~ Movies ~ Kind words ~
Smiles ~ Meditation and prayer ~ Dance ~ Social activism ~ Websites
Blogs ~ Random acts of kindness…
We each express ourselves in our own unique ways
With our own unique gifts and talents.
Be the change you want to see in the world.
That is the motto that fills our hearts.
We know it is the only way real transformation takes place.
We know that quietly and humbly we have the
Power of all the oceans combined.
Our work is slow and meticulous
Like the formation of mountains.
It is not even visible at first glance.
And yet with it entire tectonic plates
Shall be moved in the centuries to come.
Love is the new religion of the 21st century.
You don’t have to be a highly educated person
Or have any exceptional knowledge to understand it.
It comes from the intelligence of the heart
Embedded in the timeless evolutionary pulse of all human beings.
Be the change you want to see in the world.
Nobody else can do it for you.
We are now recruiting.
Perhaps you will join us
Or already have.
All are welcome.
The door is open.

Author unknown

No Goodbyes By Ansul

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New Ice Arizona Sunset

New Ice- Arizona Sunset by Carl Weis
(Master Artist)

No goodbyes,
just fond memories,
softly clinging like cotton candy,
to these Red Rocks.
We met, fate rejoiced.
Now we part,
but only with prayers,
for your ‘Joyous Journey’
to continue,
graced by health, love and laughs.

In a sea where millions float,
Friendless, motionless.

We bumped by chance,
and the blithely motions,
of some unknown strange force,
sparked:

A rare cosmic moment,
where we were blessed by each other,
as if guided by ‘Poetica’,
a kindred spirit dwelling by the creek of thought.

So, no goodbyes,
just fond memories,
softly clinging like cotton candy,
to these Red Rocks.

A farewell poem dedicated to Carl Weis;
A kindred spirit we met on this path of life.
May your new journey bring you much warmth and happiness!
We will remain friends…always.

By Candle Light – Ansul

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By Candle Light ' Ansul

By Candle Light ‘ Ansul

I often dream in Candle Light.
I see her face, her love, her eyes.
As if by some impish cruel wind,
the invisible finger, blows it out.
Daylight hits me like acid rain,
those are tears of truth,
that burst from pain.
I wish, and hope for that Candle-Light,
When I see her face, her love, her eyes.

A Song for the Sinagua

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Montezuma Castle

Montezuma Castle

The Spring was cloudy, cold,
Perhaps like the dark sounds of human hearts,
Ticking yet coldly.

Often solace is scarce,
But the Landscapes are generous,
To share their glory, their love,
Never judging, just giving.
Oblivious of race, color and faith,
Nature ; is God.

I walk the creek, like the ancient one,
Look up in the sky and find home.
Castles of time, rock and gold,
Carved by ‘ the vanished ‘.

I remain completely still,
And listen to the echo of life,
I hear them chattering,
Happy in their ‘air castle’,
No lies, no politics, no crime,
Just the will to survive,
in harmony by the creek,
until time swallows them slowly,
and leave behind little bubbles,
of crystal clear wisdom.

If only we could understand,
What they did.