I asked myself how much of my life is left,
And found my mind could not even make a guess. I shook my body, “Wake up!” — if only it would open its eyes,
Poetry
Poems by Akrom Malik, newest first. Pick one for your mood.
For the world to go along its proper way
Every particle must stand in its own place. And for a person’s happiness to be complete
However deep in grief you fall, however sad, yet
When you reach your threshold, let your home light up. For the Messenger of Allah prayed:
The hands that throw the stone of slander will be cut off,
The tongues that speak the words of slander will be cut off. The slanderer will surely hang by his own tongue,
What can I do if suddenly I lose my senses,
What can I do if at times I turn into a child. Unable for a moment to be aware of myself,
O youth! O you who are carried off by the wind,
O you who have not yet tasted the bitter and the sweet! You who say, “I have wings upon my shoulders,”
I went astray. I went astray. I made mistakes.
I put my head into the noose of words. In the end, I came to You naked,
A youth in the prime of life went to a knower of God
And bowed his head before him in respect. He said: “O master of the garden of wisdom,
Know now, O beloved, I will not burn in your fire,
If they tell me, “Burn in the fire,” I will refuse, I will not agree. Even if you remember me each day, I will not write you letters,
When the Lord created the world,
He made the human heart its axis. That is, the earth was spread, the heavens raised on high,
Today once more I saw the darkness,
Once more a sun of mine has set. Alas, unable to hold on to high resolve,
My Lord, look on me with mercy, forgive me, my God,
Is there no corner left where I can fit?.. Have I fallen into a pit, where is my place?..
Many times I turned my face toward you,
Each moment by your side I kept my vigil. My spirit moaned like a wounded bird,
I accept. This is what dying while alive means —
Giving up the soul was full of torment, what can I do?.. My God, let Your servant die without suffering,
To all of you who left us, peace be upon you!
Having left us, may all your sorrows end! If we stood as an obstacle to your happiness,
Upon a helpless, weak and wretched soul
A vile man cast the stone of slander. The poor one, unable to bear the shame and disgrace,
Do not call my scribbles on the paper poetry,
There is no ornament in my words, no frills. I simply put into words
Let me die. Take all of life for yourself.
The tears are mine. For you — the smile. If you take up dust, may it turn to gold, and lawful too,
I kiss the hand that stabbed me with the blade, my friend,
Give me poison again, I will drink it without a doubt. So be it, I will die by this hand of yours, my friend,
Sometimes one must cut, and sometimes chop,
Let the patient scream with pain. Show no pity. To find the healing hidden in the pain —
Do not tell me, “Your friend has sold you out,”
Do not say, “Your own dear one spread slander.” Even if a blade is plunged into this weak body,
A man once praised himself so much,
Though no one could tell that it was praise. On hearing him, the crowd was struck with awe,
If the heart is not entirely filled with faithfulness,
If loyalty and sincerity have not conquered it, You will never bear the slightest cruelty,
In the heavy hour when the whole world has abandoned you and gone,
In the hour when the heart aches from the blades of slander. In the hour when those who ate your bread plunge a dagger into your soul,