Happily destroyed

Happily destroyed

My eyes dry with doormat

Out at the corridor.

Shriveling  in the sun

Of longanimity.

They were slowly slumbering

At the doorstep of impatient pause.

Finally the most awaited gurus

Of Tasawwuf arrived.

Mehfil made sama with kutchi sufiyana. 

Followed by Sindhi, Punjabi and then Arabic.

I was enthralled.

Irrespective of knowing the denotation

Of the word Marifa, Ihsan, Wahdat, Shuhud

Or the devine discipline of the genre,

I just overlooked these aspects 

And groove to their performances

One after one.

I need not be a philosopher

Or a linguist to fathom or elaborate

On language of music.

Although I did feel the essence of Fana.

An abolishment of sin

That purified this bemired soul.

In this Sufi, I happily destroyed myself.