Be a good person, be a good person,
Let your face be smiling, be gentle and good-natured. Reach perfection, become full like the moon,
Poetry
Poems by Akrom Malik, newest first. Pick one for your mood.
The true companion does not hurt hearts,
He never forgets, not for a moment, to have regard for the heart. Indeed, if pain does not make the sufferer share another’s pain,
He was still a child — wading through the mud,
He would run about, riding a stick for a horse. Never having drunk the poison of regret,
A wayfarer suffered much cruelty from the people,
His heart and soul were torn to pieces by the blade. Never mind his body — his spirit cried out in woe,
Would I ever want you to grieve?
Do I need the pains of your heart? Would I press you to a task beyond your strength?!
However much I tried, however I struggled,
To be an absolute victor proved an ordeal. In matters of the heart my affairs did not go well,
If he has read half a book, so to speak,
It turns out he has read half a page of an article. Thinking himself a scholar, he holds forth,
If someone tells me that you are bad,
I will know that he himself is bad, my love. If someone brings ill news about you,
Whoever we befriended, we never turned away,
We kept our loyalty and faithfulness for good. We never waded through betrayal’s swampy mire,
Your being alive, your very soul and spirit —
It is the wellspring of torment and of wonder. You are made of it — it is your all, your everything,
If I were perfect, if I were pure myself,
Would I have any need of your instruction?! Whenever I was wounded, my breast torn open,
If your teacher is pleased, your rank is lofty,
Earth and heaven will bow to you and praise you. But if your teacher is grieved, happiness is forbidden you,
Each moment that goes by without you is so hard to bear,
At night, without you, the breaking of the dawn is hard to bear. Each minute long as an hour, the hours long as days,
The mind is stunned by the trickery of the ego,
Satan lies in wait, keeping watch in hidden corners. Unable to grasp the Truth, thought and reason are numbed,
Crying “Freedom of thought!”, crying “Freedom of speech!”
He demands that others tolerate his thoughts. This, too, is a trait peculiar to the crowd —
Betrayal comes from two kinds of people —
Either a bastard, or a slave of base descent. For it is those of pure descent who grasp the word of Truth,
Be drunk! Be drunk on the wine of love and passion,
Do not fear the dread-filled eyes of death at all. Be the last fiery breath upon a martyr’s lips,
There was a hot-tempered youth, his heart aflame,
He was filled with love, and he sought love. At times on journeys, at times secluded at home,
A youth, as he was growing up, back then,
Would dream of strength and might. Meeting an elder, he asked a question:
Between truth and lies there is a wall, but
This wall is silken, transparent and soft. If all your life you do not keep away from lies,
What is the fear of God? Weeping and sobbing?
Is it crying aloud, “I fear God”? Or making yourself look like an elder?
Poetry, surely, is the work of two people,
The shared work of the poet and the reader. If the poet is a master of his art,
If someone declares his hatred toward you,
Or hurls at you the stone of slander, Do not say “I am pure,” looking at the faultfinder,
When the Creator of the worlds created Adam,
The angels were utterly bewildered. “I know, beyond all doubt, what you know not,”