7.
“why do you adore only this girl, layla”
the words were harsh and curt
like throwing ice water on a beggar
freezing in the cold of the desert night
but majnuun sat unaffected
“there are so many beautiful maidens among our clan
none who would deny you
some more alluring than the one you fancy
cease with this foolish youthful obsession!
let the nectar of one from your own clan
bedeckle you with a thousand flower petals
let go of the fire that tortures your soul!”
even an elder added to the father’s counsel
“young qays, take heart
not a single person has everything one wishes for
but even within life’s disappointments
the opportunity for happiness dwells
when unfulfilled passion is released
the invitation to learn to love another
becomes evident”
although their intentions sought to dissuade majnuun
from continuing his path of suffering
their words only fortified his conviction
the thorn bushes planted to deter his pursuit
became firebrand for his raging love for layla
not even a father’s loving advice
could penetrate the heat of these flames
the refuge of home was now lost
as his father joined the world’s betrayal
in opposing his love for layla
he who was already a stranger in the world
now became a stranger in what was supposed
to be his home
he envied a corpse
since it at least has a shroud as a companion
and the cold dirt of the grave as its home for now
but majnuun had neither
no companion, no home
not even his longing would remain
when the madness seized him
and as for companionship
the madness proved to be a very unreliable friend
the madness even ruined
his plot to commit suicide
as the vial of poison he obtained
he poured into the air
attempting to kill allaah first and then himself
of course, this misguided attempt failed
and deprived him of the means
to end his own life
so he fled from allaah
fled from his home
fled from his family
and his clan
greeting the cold desert night alone
maniacal shouts sprung out their own utterance
“there is no power but allaah,
there is no power but allaah...”
so it is allaah
that leaves me in this torture
he thought
but then thought ceased
movement and travel not bound to time and roads
locations insignificant
people became like background walls
good became evil and evil, good
every sound became the utterance of her name
“layla”
oh sweet layla
even stones spoke the name
the flapping wings of birds spoke the same
the drip of water in the dark of a cave
spoke that very same name
“layla”
everywhere “layla”
until somehow, some way
he found himself in the marketplace again
covered in the dust of many days
his perplexed stare fixated on a piece of fruit
without any conscience or consciousness
he grabbed it and bit into it
“layla, how you will pay for that, lalya,
it is not free, layla
you thief, layla...”
then a smack in the face, layla
blood in the mouth, layla
the sound of the fruit hitting the ground, layla
silence, layla
only then did he notice
as a blur
the crowd that had gathered around him
yet keeping a distance
they were completely insignificant
as the madness embraced his mouth’s pain
the hurt serving as a call to his love
a whisper only heard to him
“oh, layla...”
so he smacked himself again and again
viscous blows until the words poured
out consistently
the crowd looked at him
as an extremely troubled young man
yet when a verse spilled forth
their amazement all judgment dissipated
sating their hunger for his poetry
with a meal well served
“the wine glass upon a rock smashed
who is the one who bleeds
the victim is the servant who defers no obedience
say live and i live
say die and this becomes my last breath
say cry, my tears already flow
what my beloved commands, i perform
a majnuun needs to not be tamed
just grasp my madness, oh layla
i am beyond hope’s resurrection
culled empty, not even hope can live in me
kill me and spare this torture
no judge will convict a person who murders one
such as myself
even my family has disowned mine insanity
and will not seek revenge for such a mercy killing
“who, thou, layla
a hundred laylas i see before me
yet thou only watch my grief as a lover’s spectacle
if thou wilt not comfort me, move
to the desert will i go
and lay wait to die...”
although he moved his legs to sprint toward the horizon
his body only fell to the ground
days of sleepless exhaustion claimed their unpaid wages
yet he extended his hand across the solid ground
sifting the loose dirt in a hopeless search
for companions among the imagined grains
“oh layla,
for thee i have fallen again
the chipped penny of my living
is more valuable than the poverty of my death
come take me in thine hand
otherwise, i will die out here in the barren desert
my bones to decay into shifting grains
to become indiscernible
from the indistinct mounds of sand
“what justice perverts this world
that the beautiful in prison are locked away
but madmen are free to roam in lunacy
unchain me from my madness, my beloved
if thou shalt not deliver me,
i will remain undelivered
“oh serenity of my breath,
how can there be peace in this cruelty
when the only sin i commit
is to honor my love for thee
yet even my shadow departs me
too intense is this pain
come and stand by me
let me take refuge in thy shadow
perhaps then i can bear this mystery
which presents no solution
“i extend mine hand
to kiss thy sweet foot”
as he extended his hand
his face fell to the ground
unconscious
silence
the crowd remained mesmerized
standing over another fallen lover
yet they did nothing
to help his admired cause
who can decipher whether
it was as a coin tossed to a beggar
or a fee paid afterwards
for a performance enjoyed
but first a man,
then a woman,
then others
placed the price for the fruit
in the vendor’s hand
which,
as a greedy businessman,
he took it all for himself
as the crowd began to disperse
one of as-sayyid’s servants
who was audience to the entire incident
went to retrieve the body of his master’s son
and
with, help from a few other men of the clan
carried the fallen lover
to his father’s home
* * *
oh, nizami is right
love, if not genuine...
let me correct myself right there
for if it is not genuine,
it is not love
but all that unauthentic “stuff” we call “love”
it’s all worthless toys
on the playground of deluded senses
the scoff of children’s imaginings
which fade even before the setting of the sun
since dusk and the night
will offer its own stuff
to feed the charade of dreams
but what is love
is it the ego’s prance within whims of romance
and pleasure sought
or the oddities of hopes projected
upon a canvas of possibilities reached for
there is no “i” in love
yet for how many
is this the steeping water
for our tea bags of unauthentic musings
love goes deeper
stripping one’s being of all sense of i
leaving souls drawn toward one another
naked of all identity
to be blown around or stilled
like loose leaves by the wind
surrender
those who truly are lovers
yield the best of what they are or are not
to the sovereignty of surrender
even if such relinquishment
scars one with an incurable madness
which spews a beauty of eloquence
many will appreciate
even as they do not fully understand
majnuun’s love
although clothed in madness
is as the flower’s fragrant nectar
yielding testaments of this scent that survive
long after the flower has wilted and faded
to become grains of the soil again
yet still,
they are adored across the expanse of ages
by those who hear and tell this story
and even pervade the ether
to touch those who may never hear this tale
but still surrender to love
within the unseen presence of this aroma
i bow to nizami
and all who keep the fragrant gust of this story
blowing through the fields of time
❍ ● ❍