THE LATE MASOOD
(SIR ROSS MASOOD)
This Moon and Sun the skies and stars lot.
Who know that this world would live or not.
The thought of Aim and Stays, my fiction’s same,
This life looks a journey sanz any aim.
Ah! the world kept not that monuments shine,
Of Mehmood and Ahmad’s miracles fine.
His death to knowledge a fall and decay,
A great wealth he was for caravan’s stay.
It moves me to weeping, the world’s cold ways,
At dawn to wail of birds, they think songs gay.
Say not, hid in patience, cure of friend’s grief,
Say not, patience solves the death’s crossword brief.
The beau is restive, but a stone is heart,
The love and patience thus are poles apart.
Ask me not what’s the fleeting life and age,
Who knows tricks and charms of life’s beauty cage.
Who came from this dust, hid in dust again,
Is this death a short void? who knows the arcane?
To dust of path destined His visions taste,
The wisdom can’t tell this purpose in haste.
The heart and eyes too wonders of this dust,
If not who knows then the height of man just.
No god save Allah is world’s moving soul,
In christ, the Cross and nail, what was the role?
For murder of longings who will compensate?
Who is the sinner and the ransom great?
If fastened in this tie no grief feels hence,
This heart is breaking the magics sense.
With self’s ‘live’ the death’ a place for rest
With death the love makes its permanence test.
If self is alive thy sea has no shore,
To meet the restive Nil-o-Euphrates roar.
With dead self the breeze is like a grass,
If selfs ‘live’ lie is king of whole mass.
If he takes from the eyes His Vision’s glance,
That void cant make up thousand Visions hence.
The place of Momin lies beyond the sky,
From Earth to seven stars ‘Lots’ only lie.
See her lasting home with God, in trance,
No dusk in grave and God’s lustres hence.
The self conscious hearts who crossed this dust,
They broke the magic of Sun and Moon just.