Diary Of A Dervish

[email protected] (Arun M Sivakrishna)
December 18, 2014

victimpeshawar

15-12-2014
Dear Diary,
It was fun the whole evening
Though towards the end, I puked
As my head was reeling bad.
So much I swirled to get that twirl right
The way it was shown at school today.
Nana said, I look funny in Tennure,*
Ammi cut and sewn out of Abba's white tunic.
But Abba told, I look fine when he
Made his cap, to a Sikke** and gave.

16-12-2014
Dear Diary,
Aman was giggling when he saw my sikke, for
His uncle had given him one in Camel's hair
He brought from Lebanon.
Shaheedji, our master told us of
Darwish Mahmoud*** and it was one of his best
That master had picked to set it to a chant
It was pristine and made us a bit sad too
But once we started, we were lost in it.
Remember seeing Shaheedji smiling and
Aman's face had an ethereal glow.
Guess, he had tears in his eyes.
"Oh Father, my brother neither love nor
Want me in their midst" and I saw
Aman falling, swirling round and
Round and round, squirting
Bobs of reds all across.
Others too, Sama, Khalid, Masterji, Ruhan, Ishmeil.
My knees, suddenly gave away and
I too fell, like a Tennure falling in heaps.
I couldnt feel anything anymore,
But I know I can dance no more.

17-12-2014
132 and still to go
" Oh Father, my brother neither love nor
Want me in their midst"****

*Tennure: The wide white skirt, a Dervish wear, a symbol of Ego's shroud
** Sikke: A Camel's hair hat, represents tombstone of the ego.
***Darwish Mahmoud, a Palestinian poet, ( 13 March 1941- 9 Aug 2008) was regarded as the National Poet of Palestine.

arun

Arun M Sivakrishna is a Mangaluru-based management professional, and when he is not selling trucks, is a poet and travel photographer. A compilation of his poems "Songs of a Solitary Tree" has been published by Partridge India. With 'Diary of A Dervish, he wishes to pay his homage to the children killed by militants in the recent Peshawar attack.

Comments

Aaditya
 - 
Wednesday, 12 Dec 2018

Love the way it has been written. would like to read more such poems!

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Dr Parinitha
January 17,2020

We came on foot, we came on boats, shouting slogans of Azadi.

We stood on roof tops and sat on walls under the burning midday sun,

Listening to the words that we had longed to hear for so long.

Words that had been scripted through the lonely fears of our hearts.

Words that were spoken now with the clarity of courage.

Words that were spoken now with the suppressed strength of pent up anger.

Words that were spoken now with the certainty of belonging to the soil 

Which had become one with the dust of our ancestors.

We stood there in the waves of heat

Feeling the surge and press  of countless bodies around us.

Bodies meshed through the odour of sweat 

And the shared fear of a common persecution.

And hanging from the roof tops,

And tied to the poles,

And clutched in hands slippery with sweat,

And wrapped round the pillars,

And spreading into our blood,

Were three strips of colour with a wheel of spokes,

Sewn together into the shape of our being.

Woven into the folds of our future and the creases of our past. 

Stitched to the seams of the earth, the water, the air and the sky 

That belonged to us and to which we belonged. 

And we stood there from noon to evening,

We the people of India.

Raising our clenched fists like signposts to the future.

Chanting slogans like a new anthem.

Kin to each other through the ties of community.

Born to live and die 

In a nation that was ours to hold on to

And ours to belong to.

Dr Parinitha is a professor of English in Mangalore University. She penned the poem soon after participating in the historic protest against CAA, NPR and NRC at Shah Garden, Adyar, Mangaluru on 15th January, 2020.

Also Read: 

‘The more you try to divide us, the stronger and united we’ll be’: Record turnout in Mangaluru’s anti-NRC protest

Anti-NRC protest in Mangaluru brings ‘media bias’ to the fore

Comments

Abdullah
 - 
Wednesday, 29 Jan 2020

Salute to you siter for your meaningful poem.  This is reality.  However, the enmy is blind/deaf/dumb.   May God give right way of thinking to enmy and in case he is unlucky, let God finish him and let him beg for death.  

Indian
 - 
Thursday, 23 Jan 2020

Waav..What a Heart Touching poetry...

 

Hats off to you ma'am....

 

Love from all Indians...

 

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By Muhammad Ayaan Y K
March 18,2020

There was cat with a ball
He said “I got it when one boy fell”
Then the boy came and he told,
“I got it when I attained fame!”
Then the cat said, “it’s behind a wall!”
There was a cat who is fat,
He said, “it happened when 
I sat on a mat
Then his owner cried 
He said, “because his fish died 
So I like to be fat.”
There was a cat on a pan 
He was wearing a can
He said, “I want to die!”
Then another cat told,
“You are telling lie, right?”
So he told, “Alright but 
I want to sleep on the pan!”

Muhammad Ayaan Y K is a Class 6 student of Sudana Residential School, Puttur D K

Comments

Nandini
 - 
Tuesday, 7 Apr 2020

Very good Ayan, you are getting better and better. Keep them coming.

Shihab
 - 
Wednesday, 18 Mar 2020

Congrats Ayan!  Nice poem.. Masha Allah!

Keep writing.. All the best.

Sadananda Acharya
 - 
Wednesday, 18 Mar 2020

Excellent Ayaan. I read your previous poems too. You have special talent in poetics. keep up the good work..... 

Mohamed Rafiq
 - 
Wednesday, 18 Mar 2020

Awesome Ayaan.. way to go!

Antony Thimoth…
 - 
Wednesday, 18 Mar 2020

Amazing talents. Congratulations Ayaan baba. May be I feel  only few years are ahead to be known as a well renowned child poet. Your earlier poetries also I have read it which are freely flowing with poetic thoughts. May Allah Bless you always.

 

T V Abdulla
 - 
Wednesday, 18 Mar 2020

Well written, all the best

 

 

AbdulSamadKolnad
 - 
Wednesday, 18 Mar 2020

Masha Allah...verry well explained the justfication of cat to be fat....and to do what ever it wants,,,good one keep writing good luck...

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P A Hameed Padubidri
January 17,2020

Make a note!

I am an Indian

I own my name with a title

That’s embedded even before my birth and

Still rooted in my soil that always mixes with my flesh and blood

My father, his father and all my forefathers,

Got churned in this soil although their souls are in the purgatory

I grew... and the peepal plant I saw in my childhood also grew with me

Stones and grasses I walked on became a walkway

The sky and earth I used to play and sleep amid

The sea with sounding waves, and hills and mountains with echoes

Are the same

Watching the pigeons and other birds sitting over the roof of my home;

I feel no difference

Then why I need to show my blood is red

And that’s still flowing in my body?

I am still alive... but,

Oblivious why my passport is still feeling birth pangs of my title

At this point in time!

Comments

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