Saturday 18 June 2011

The poetry from the needle of heart

The love of the heart is so different
The death stretches it
with every heart's beat
Your eyes melt down in remembrance

The days of smiling
The days of wisdom
The breath of a slave of Allah
The company of obedience

The days of oceanic eyes
Whose smile can drive the pain away
Whose hands smell like roses
He will be in the room of roses

Tuesday 7 June 2011

Poetry from the needle of heart

This world is a matter of dust
Where the heart finds rust
Heart is a piece of meat
It holds a high position

What is the state of this heart
Where lord made this heart
To such a high position
A piece of meat also has a destiny

Lord decides for anything
Then makes it superior over others
Can the other inferiors speak anything
None can do against the lord
No nothing No nothing

Lord decides for the desert to have roses
The dessert also obeys
Turns into roses
Air is by the command of lord

This air is very misty
Now I will disclose something
The secret of the mist of air
It is like a perfume

A perfume that can burn or give fragrance
That air which touches the slave
And the same that touches us
Perfumes us.

That air which touches the disobedience
And the same that touches us
Burns us

The beloved's perfume is full of fragrance.
The noses are all destined to smell it
The hearts are also destined to smell it
The eyes are also destined to smell it

Be lost in the fragrance of the beloved
And forget everything that you left behind
That fragrance which is the reason the heart is alive
And the world is waste without this fragrance of the beloved