Hikayat e Dil

By Suhail Malik

Hikayat e Dil is a poetry book writeen by Suhail  Malik.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Rose Publishers
• Release date: Nov 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890089250

Book preview

Devout

&

book of spirituality

Pray for me

This night doesn’t let me sleep,

I ask the stars, please pray for me.

A blue light once appeared in my chest,

When I last looked up to the sky and lost my balance.

I see a fire inside me, orange, yellow, and flame rays,

Why didn’t I wet my cheeks, you may ask the ways.

I found a world of joy for my dreams,

Now I am inept in the business of cure, remedy, and beams.

Should I ask for that prayer again?

Until I burn inside, get cooked, and attain the gains.

Secrets

Listen to the words of scent,

They will take you where,

No one meets another.

So, listen and be silent.

Garden of roses

I am in the garden of roses,

I pluck a red, pink, and skin one.

The scent transports me to another world,

A world of beauty.

There are no thorns,

No horns,

No sorrow.

Life is full of cotton clouds.

I suddenly feel a sharp pain,

My finger reminds me of the roses,

It tells me I have separated it from its family.

I see sorrow,

Hear noise,

And witness a dark world.

Morning call

Each morning calls a new life after a dreadful dark,

A bright light falls on the shadows of a large winter fall.

As the new bloom begins to toss their heads in the coming eye spring.

The musical autumn begins to clap with the falling leaves.

Each night calls a beloved after a hectic light.

After a tired day comes to an end embrace the snow

As the rain begins to kiss the earth’s surface meets at each winter time.

The chain of seasons begins to follow one another systematically.

Empty soul

I am quiet,

For so long.

I have secrets.

I keep all within,

Silence is for an empty soul,

If you want to know,

Ask Rumi,

He knows me; since,

We too mix with it,

Called it love.

Smell muddy

Raindrops fall into the mud,

Look it turns into dirt,

And smell muddy.

As pure love,

Fall the same scene,

It comes out the petals,

Of the red roses.

And surprised, asks,

Who brushes you the color,

How can it reply?

For the lover it is sure,

To scent its deep,

Around it’s over.

Again its silence keeps,

It’s all scents,

Ask Rumi for the same.

He knows how to be quiet at all in love.

Carpet weaver

I couldn’t sleep that night,

and this morning is full of essence.

I was looking for the reason behind

But I don’t know why couldn’t get any.

So I start weaving my carpet

Which was half done earlier

I tried to match that design

Flowers, leaves, geometric, and on

Where my concentration was,

Who I was with and thinking about

This time I didn’t get thirsty,

No hunger, no cold, no tiredness

All I smell is the scent of

Unknown feelings, a unique one

Where I, my mind is, I don’t

Something was calling inside

As it was a complete afternoon,

Azaan reminds me of the end

I detached from the work,

All I see is the face

The face on the carpet

That I weaved, who?

Do I laugh or what?

Now I understand I am a love weaver.

It was really beautiful,

What it was I don’t know.

Do I draw flowers and all,

Do I match that earlier?

The scent of that was

The altar spread on it

This is my beloved and

All I loved was my carpet.

Now I got to get to work,

To look and search for the face.

Where, how, and who I am

Now looking for where,

Now I am a carpet weaver.

Will I explain?

Do you allow me to say?

I am so sorry.

Will I explain?

Khawaja, I know your work,

You make it through hard,

Sure you get a gift,

Rewards.

But I didn’t find that love in you.

Also, Hamadan you care,

Through long, very long,

And changed whole,

Your will, your love,

You will be rewarded.

It’s all empty, I didn’t find that love.

They worked so strong,

Under the threat, in love,

For love,

But I found it all in, tell him,

Rumi.

Burning smell

Strangers as we met,

With each passing time,

We came closer.

Still, we don’t trust one another.

I do have your address,

You know me very well,

I always come to you,

You never initiate yourself,

It’s not inept of me.

I know the burning smell,

To imagine you I spend-

Spend till heaven.

The scented words are all I get,

And thoughts of how lucky I am.

I do try to write those for your silence.

Oh! Rumi-

I am waiting for your call,

How long do you take?

Now we are no more,

Like we’re strangers.

Souls aren’t apart,

How long.

Come for a