Translated poetry of my spiritual teacher, my Baba Jee:
1) The lines of soil are breathing actually
The property they have is only an estimate
Pieces of this estimate is nothing but fiction
We have named these pieces as our senses.
……….
2) There was a word which converted into a story
There was a city which converted into a graveyard
O Azeem! Time has spelled thousands of reflections
I was soil but converted into a wine-glass.
…………..
3) This soil tells too much stories to me
Many nights has been passed in this conversation
These grains of this soil were Humans once upon a time
Their races were Sheikh, Barahmin; Punjabi, Pathan.
..........
(to be continued...)
1) The lines of soil are breathing actually
The property they have is only an estimate
Pieces of this estimate is nothing but fiction
We have named these pieces as our senses.
……….
2) There was a word which converted into a story
There was a city which converted into a graveyard
O Azeem! Time has spelled thousands of reflections
I was soil but converted into a wine-glass.
…………..
3) This soil tells too much stories to me
Many nights has been passed in this conversation
These grains of this soil were Humans once upon a time
Their races were Sheikh, Barahmin; Punjabi, Pathan.
..........
(to be continued...)

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