The Walled Garden of Enchantment - 1. The Walled Garden of Enchantment

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The Walled Garden of Enchantment

 

 

Spirits akin to mine, hearken to my fate,

For all my woes revolve around just one loss.

 

My heart now no longer bursts forth in parklands,

Nor finds interest in the towns I must wander. [1]

 

For no matter offered kingdoms to change my course –

Or the philosopher’s stone to make my wealth –

 

Without my man, head and core are reasonless,

And the gay world endless despondency finds:

 

He left each breath a spark within my sighing,

And each chess move a pawn in life’s strategy,

 

For this, dear friends, is how I face each new dawn

After night has spun her hours of bad dreams –

 

And yet I feed on the darkness as the light

Bleeds out my heart every waking beat of day.

 

So, souls akin to mine, hear this, my sad tale,

And know each loss is but a loss in the Lord.

 

Time was, with my rosy-cheeked lover, I felt

All of life was a divine revelation.

 

Hand in hand together we’d join drink to talk

The span of nights ever moonlit and wine-warmed,

 

For in love’s glow, each glance was an embracing

And every kiss, a ghazal’s recitation

 

Where neither word nor song need interfere on

Quiet acknowledgement of our perfection,

 

As such moments inevitably led us

To seek our pillows’ private intimacy

 

Where wills and bodies pure could do just what they

Wanted to do when out amongst the many.

 

The rat-a-tat of our connectedness still

Sounding upon eardrums, we’d after treasure

 

The holding in silence of one another

Closer, in life overflowing with great joy.

 

Belovèd beside me, I had no fear of

What the future could possibly send our way . . . .

 

But my happily-ever-after was doomed,

And fairy-tale endings seldom last through life,

 

Because there are many boys who will render

Would-be lovers dumbstruck, speechless and blinking.

 

And it was one such who astray led my mate,

Sowing false words across gullible beliefs.

 

For lads like these I would later encounter:

Boys blessed with allure, but marred by ambition;

 

The many others who with boundless beauty

Could display broad Nature’s perennial charms;

 

Young men whose frowns were like springtime bursts of trees;

Whose glints of eye and youthful strides of motion

 

Tempted admirers, tricking forth the right

Stream of words to return in soft enthrallment,

 

For although their outward visages might make

Bright mirrors dim and blush in comparison,

 

And a painter’s brush pull out every bristle

In the frustration of capturing their youth,

 

The songs of these boys were honey to the depths,

As the peach fuzz riding their upper lips made

 

Them enchanting as Yusef or Adonis

In their thousand faultless, God-granted features.

 

One like that lured away my belovèd’s gaze,

And later, on my own, such sought me out too,

 

For the sadness they saw in me enticed them

More than outspoken courting could ever do.

 

As an exile, their turbans of brocade silk

Would approach my desolance respectfully;

 

Their chests were wreathed in leis of marigold-bright,

As were their wrists and ankles in the bedroom;

 

While satin scarves swaddled their throats as neck bands,

Broader examples encircled slender waists;

 

Status was shown via dagger and cutlass,

But each was scabbar’d in gem-set velvet blocks.

 

Arrayed like this, these alluring gazelles would

Seduce well-read men with their wiles-couched chatter: [2]

 

To be loved by the famous was their desire –

Their way to an assured mention in History.

 

They knew me as Dervish, one of gentle depth;

A bittersweet poet singing of heartache;

 

One leanèd in the ways of Man, but still kind;

One easy of knowledge, but spare of advice.

 

And when those kempt boys-on-the-make discovered

I had students across the breadth of the land

 

And that my name was recognized far and wide,

Around me they gathered with competing charms.

 

Fawning regard they first applied to soften

The disinterest perceived in my returned glance.

 

And when my head failed to linger on them, oh –

They assumed my sadness an act of coyness.

 

This they took as goading, saying twix themselves:

“When we could make lovers of many thousands,

 

Why should frigid he seem to those who attempt

To soothe his hurt, to make his nights less lonely

 

And to give him a new lad to sing about

Throughout the towns, the farms, and the deserts too?”

 

Being wise in temptation’s Art, they changed tack;

Replaced student manners with frank seduction.

 

Regard’s distance melted into flirting bold

As physical separations diminished.

 

They’d sit themselves next to my reclining form,

Pausing their lips heart-beat close to mine, trembling.

 

They’d fenagle their hands to be holding mine

As a head fell lovingly on my shoulder,

 

Then use their fingers to run across the hair,

Or slip slyly between my clothing and skin –

 

But such poor boys had their digits discover

Nothing of stiff resolve, other than my pain.

 

These youth had hoped to rouse the hunter in me

And transform from tempter to the desired.

 

But, no. They sought a heart not mine to bestow,

For it belonged to my creator Mohan –

 

My personal love-lord Krishna far away,

Who through separation, I only loved more. [3]

 

Yet one, a colonel’s son amidst my young friends,

Shone bright from amongst the other jewel-tone boys.

 

A swain of wealth and poise, his sire led forces

Of battle flags and elephant battalions.

 

And oh, his lad – were I to describe his looks,

The appeal of his beauty would require

 

I say no more in life while my tongue spoke with

His praise through every breath my mind’s wish could draw.

 

When the dear was drowsy, or when a hand raised

To halt a nascent yawn, my heart would rise too

 

And yearn in me to take that hand and give him

What his lips claimed they wanted from my body.

 

In short, he was the cup-bearer of men’s wants –

Yielding, loving, and towards me, so gentle.

 

One day he said to me these words, speaking then

As if not to disturb the distance tween us:

 

“I know,” murmured he soft, “lovesick dervish have

No place to call their own, so come home with me.

 

If you trail me now and be mine, each footfall

Towards my house I’ll sweep with happy teardrops.”

 

Wearied body, and mind, and soul – I followed;

I moved into his rooms; into his life thus.

 

For he loved me and grew kinder as if he

Nursed a poor invalid back to the world’s fold.

 

He’d let no other than himself assist me;

Claimed he was mine to use as complete servant.

 

He would bathe me with his own hands at nighttime

When we soaked in the home’s private Turkish bath.

 

If afterwards, I refused to dine, he too

Would go hungry, though it pained his young person.

 

Through all my sleepless nights, he too stayed awake,

Holding silent vigil, wishing pain away.

 

To kill the waking hours of day, he would spin

Me adventures told in storytelling lilts.

 

Or he’d sing me his songs with poignant passion,

Inquiring which best suited my morose state.

 

But no solace would long remain, and fleeting

As the respite from hurt might have been, my grief

 

Would nights return stronger than when seen in day,

Till one moonlit morn, he took my hand, saying:

 

“Observe the clouds toying frailly in the gloam;

Let’s you and I stroll through the dark garden now.

 

Perhaps at night,” said he, “more clarity shows

Than all the mind’s physic can bring to the light.”

 

So he, my host, fairer than ever before,

Kept hold my hand tightly as he the way led.

 

Splendor was all around: peacocks slept ‘neath trees,

Preferring, like men, their own kind to females;

 

A light mist glazed intrigue upon dull objects,

Turning mundane into mystique everywhere.

 

It hung amongst the leaves, and fell from blossoms

Like scents that rise from sun-loving flowerbeds;

 

It carpeted walkways and sparkled dearly

Beneath the stars’ all-seeing eyes from above . . .

 

But these proved no match for the boy beside me

When we settled upon a marble bench then,

 

Letting the day’s early hours find us still

Clasping hands together as if lovers true.

 

Yet when I glanced at his expectant gaze – oh

– The more perfect he seemed, the less happy I.

 

His beauty was a sharp despair because it

Reminded me of my lost man far from here.

 

Madness, perhaps, to pine, and yet – of you those

Who’ve felt as I will understand the sorrow;

 

Here in fulfillment’s pall, I missed my beloved

Ever more acutely than even before.

 

Mused I, regarding the round orb overhead,

“In our workaday life, the Lord’s presence

 

Is like the moon gilding the night, for our faith

In God is like a moth stretching fragile wings

 

To soar to Luna’s height, and ultimately,

Life’s a deception to think we ever can.”

 

When I turned back to him, my sweet young man had

Allowed a look most skeptical to show through.

 

“And what of love?” the soldier’s son of me asked.

“It’s no bastion of fairytales, dear Dervish;

 

It is a gift God gives to grant remembrance

Of where we’ve sprung, and which we hope to return.”

 

I had to twist away – my fine lad was right,

And took on some of Luna’s greatest appeal.

 

Patience worn thin, my angel asked yet kinder,

“Is there nothing here to make you feel tender?

 

If not for me, then why not for God’s bounty –

Which cradles us softly upon His breezes.”

 

To my reply of You do not understand,

He said, “I might, but start from the beginning.”

 

“Lovely youth,” replied I, “I fell victim once

To one too quick to act upon deception.

 

“My tale is not unique; perhaps all heartache

Stems from but one universal estrangement.”

 

“But what,” asked he, “his name, place, and time you met?”

Told I: “The one whose feet the dust I envy

 

“Was a Brahman scholar, a boy of ten years

When first he came through my Muslim part of town.

 

Although a wisp a mere seven years of age,

His learnèd bearing spoke to my inmost soul,

 

For poetry I’d discovered already,

And my heart was prepared to receive Love’s will.

 

Alas, seven years were to pass before I

Could feel his presence near to me once again.

 

Seventeen years of age, he returned to speak

To crowds gathered upon the steps of our mosque.

 

And afterwards, I walked up to him shyly,

Aware how his beauty was praised by all tongues.

 

I asked his name, and he seemed taken by

The fourteen-year-old who stood coyly near him.

 

‘Why don’t you bring your sacred scriptures someday,’

I dared suggest, reaching out for both his palms,

 

‘And take them to my house for private study.

In exchange, I’ll share my books of Persian verse.’

 

Soon he appeared within my lonely chambers,

Where we both fell in love with one another.

 

Then all our time was spent in each other’s glow,

For he could hardly bear to spend a moment

 

Separated from me, for when he went home,

He found he could no longer sleep by himself,

 

And would return in the middle of the night

To our matrimonial bed ‘neath my roof,

 

As we one person had become – not two men –

And no two lovers have thus lived so fully.

 

We were engulfed in flame any eye could see,

And gossip, both heartless and kind, reached his folks.

 

Strict in their Hindu sect, they made threat to cast

Their boy out on the street as untouchable.

 

Yet when they saw us together, they could tell

Our union was commanded by the Lord’s will.

 

‘This Muslim lad and Brahman scholar,’ said they,

‘Are blessed to be bound by eternity’s grasp.’

 

All strife then set aside, a Shah I felt crowned

By a jewel more noble than a diamond sphere:

 

I had my Brahman’s love, and poetry flowed

More precious than the lifeblood sustaining two.

 

But like a snake in the garden citadel,

An evil one hissed into my lover’s thoughts.

 

And though we’d been content seven lengthy years,

A tortured lie turned his mind away from me.

 

A perfidious fool, envious of love,

Told my true mate I’d been unfaithful to him.

 

And shattered our life as one with jealousy –

My spouse left our home for his parents’ abode.

 

He abased me in public squares, saying I

Was the one who had lied, though I never had.

 

But knowing him better, I understood how

The deception could be lifted from his sight.

 

That’s why I’d wait for him before his gateway,

And throw myself into the ground at his feet.

 

He’d hear no truth the slurs he’d heard when all false,

Berating me freely once more in the street.

 

No attempt to remind him of our bond worked,

For his Mind had set his Heart against his beloved.

 

And now, another seven years afterwards,

He’s still only the one about whom I think.

 

Since then, a wandering exile I’ve traveled far,

Singing my verse for those able to hear me.”

 

As my own tones faded, the garden returned

To the forethought of boy and dervish alone.

 

The east was beginning to brim with colors,

Contrasting sadly with the soldier’s son’s face.

 

Wan with his sleeplessness, and for my sorrow,

I needlessly summed up my heartbroken tale.

 

“That, dear young man, is how I became quarry

To faithlessness, and of a broken promise.”

 

Piteous woes now fully relayed, I saw

My host become disposed more tenderly yet.

 

“Dervish”—the young man was choking back his tears—

“Forget that fool, for he’s not equal your love.

 

“Renounce the dupe, because I’m the one here now;

The one willing to do anything you ask.

 

Command me to think that night is day; or again,

That light is dark and we should seek but escape;

 

Or that the soil is but the sky seen wrongly,

And I will accept what you say is righteous,

 

For I love you, Dervish, and each man’s love is

To him like an eternity of longing.”

 

Now allowing his tears to flow, his head fell

On my shoulder in despondency’s languor.

 

How precious this boy was in his truthfulness,

And how lost as well to his belief in my worth.

 

“How can one,” replied I, “fix a broken heart

With another broken by a heartless one?

 

Can two damaged and flawed truly heal others?

For no, two wrongs well-meant can only increase

 

The acuteness the other feels throughout life,

And the suffering one must endure for him.”

 

He reached to embrace me, and we stayed locked thus

Until he fell asleep in my arms sweetly.

 

Carrying him to bed, I vowed to save him

Further torment caused by remaining here more.

 

That afternoon, while the beautiful boy slept –

With worry exhausted I’d caused him to feel –

 

I left his house. There was no reason he should

Suffer from pain my own as much as I do.

 

Alone once more, with none to care about me,

The weeks and months dragged on as I drifted lost.

 

Bodily conditions drained me: coldness crept

To watch hunger and thirst be my companions.

 

My thoughts grew blurred; my will, a thing to puzzle;

And yet, onward I limped, too earth-bound to fade.

 

The lack of sustenance nursed me on anguish,

Supping me on heartache’s bitter saltiness,

 

And exiled me to my ravings completely,

For every cypress tree I saw, I’d embrace,

 

Finding my belovèd’s features calling me

Like his limbs were the tree’s, and the tree’s, like his.

 

Wary soon of people, whose pity turned rank,

And spoke of locking me away, out of sight,

 

I kept alone and aloof from the roadways

Where travelers often stopped to talk to me.

 

Into the fields I went, feeble and starving –

Sunburnt by day, and shivering ‘neath the stars.

 

At last, the time came to seek out a bower

Where like an injured bird, I could hide myself.

 

Therefore, I sought to perish me on the wastes

Of the Thar Desert’s sands, to shrivel away.

 

My clothes turned to rags there; my songs stopped trickling;

The locusts pitied me and flew on their way,

 

Knowing no mouthful of meat I’d provide them

In my desiccated, once humanly form.

 

Forty days of torment I withstood before

I resolved to claw me up Mount Abu’s slopes.

 

I felt compelled to learn one thing ‘fore I died,

And though the way was hard, I continued on.

 

Over gravel, amid boulders, through gullies,

My bloodied fingers pulled me up to the heights.

 

With the last ounce of strength at my weak command,

I rose slow into a kneeling position.

 

“Why?” I cried unto Him from the summit’s peak –

So pale, so exhausted before my God’s works.

 

“Did you create me merely to feel sorrow?

Were all moments of joy prelude to dolor?

 

Help me, O Lord, to understand the reason

I’ve felt so close to all, yet more removed from

 

Everything that ordinary people use

As balm to soothe the setbacks of existence—”

 

My breath grew shorter then as I struggled hard

To lift my eyes to the heavyset vault of sky.

 

“So why, merciful One, make me suffer thus –

Alone, ever seeking meaning from my pain?”

 

And then, hazy waves of starlight murmured soft

In visual mirage around my being.

 

Peering towards the ground beneath my kneeling,

I watched the mountain dirt transform into stone –

 

Into the cobbles before my lover’s gate

With stillness all around and the light grown sweet.

 

My heart, near bursting in my chest, questioned not

This sudden return to where my partner lived.

 

Then through the gate’s radiant glow, he appeared:

My beloved in all his beauty, and smiling.

 

Although I felt the life exiting my frame,

No greater reward might I have dreamed about.

 

He came to my side and, gently as a thought,

Assisted me to rise to my feet once more.

 

Embraced, he then whispered into my sore ears,

“How long have I waited for you to come back.

 

All I’ve done was to show you, my belovèd,

How I suffer for those who truly love me.

 

Now come”—he took my hand—“and I will lead you

Into the walled garden that is my abode,

 

For I have set a place for you at supper,

And our ecstasy shall be for all of time.”

 

Though weak, and hobbled yet by life’s anxiousness,

I took faltering steps toward my new home,

 

For thus, I followed my Lord God, rejoicing

That this world’s love is prelude for what’s to come.

 

~