I hate falling asleep while on AIM; I always seem to miss something important. But I am happy; I am enshrouded in an ineffable happiness like a sufi wrapped in wool and beard. And the sufi analogy is apt; only by giving up purely selfish desires and acting and feeling out of love for another can we experience any happiness worthy of the name. Happiness is a slow process of dying; of dying fully expectant of immanent rebitrth. Ah.... words. I can only erect the merest scaffold surrounding what I feel; my heart can only express itself directly in that language which only it knows. And only another heart, opened to my own, it's inner eye scanning mine, can understand. All other words, all other language is meaningless. I feel; and you know what I feel. There is no need for words. And no one can rob you of memory; rely on it when someone comes as a thief in the night to steal your happiness. Let it warm you while walking in the cold, cold world.

I am imperfect but learning; I know to feel and not to speak (even if I do erect a mountain of words). And that the greatest joys are secret joys.

shaba kher, miri jaan.


Blogger, damn you.
You ate my poem.
Goodbye sweet poem,
you were beautiful.
I'll miss you.