*
between Mount Palmer and Mount Judi exists a sky dome
and, like Columbus invading love’s berth,
slowly my ship anchors in the sea
no longer turbulent and full of rolling waves
towards the coast there looms a deserted horizon
golden carpet forms stockbroking buildings
skyscrapers, citizens drunk and busy
tackling traffic, hunting for the fighting cock
that strayed off the path of the historical village.
The building of life, though free, felt
imprisoned in restless wallowing, as though alienated
by various species of fishes
forced to share paths in the glass aquarium,
drowned while abusing the shell of souls smeared with air
and hardens the sculpture of the dream city.
Noah, like your ship anchored at the peak of
Mount Judi, now I am the friend of the messenger dove,
coming from a faraway land, seeking the empathy of enlightened souls
on the small piece of land at the edge of a hill that was almost
destroyed and ravaged by bulldozers of development
and isolated from the screams of a mirage-city.
I climbed the ladder to visit
the tomb site of asceticism and love. At the rest-place,
pinnacle of Mount Palmer, I hear the echo of eternal charm
from the verses of prayer and supplication
connecting the watch list of my love’s canticle
to the birds of Attar, come here for a while–
for a conference in the secluded hallway outside Beloved’s shrine
and together we commemorate the Day of Ashura. Noah,
do the fragments of real friendship still exist, like
your friends who would remain loyal to the Bai’ah
hailing from the ship of brotherhood
towards the debris of arid deserts
for the sake of uniting the valley of hope
after the floods destroy the world?
a green dome uncovers the cosmic overlay
for many centuries, this hill of the hidden garden of love
became a treasured monument that keeps
the sky’s secret, I tear open the doors of self-reflection,
I leap into the miraculous visionaries of peace.
It’s like being on top of the stunning Mount Sinai
expressing the longing for Moses while
approaching the draped light of your Face
when will mirrors reflect the heart of The One?
for what purpose is this old world veiled by
demure masks of revolution
if the real splendor of The Lover’s Face
will not be seen in the garden of the universe?
Greetings Habib Noh, greetings to you, oh pious one
at the door of the highest tomb filled with fragrance’s
musky nature, flapping wings of passion
the poet’s dove is still wandering
looking for God’s dimensions.
You are foremost among the sufi emirs
in the neglected city that is bereft of leaders,
you have slashed the arrogant self
you have built a mosque of nightly worship for love
you have captured the peak of this enduring hill
like Noah who immediately prepared his ship
after deciphering the sign in the waves
should this hill of Sufi heritage
and the other historical hills
be preserved from the tide of development
to become the fort that saves this country
say, when this world is overwhelmed by the great Tsunami?