Rooh Afza

Night long I twisted from ghazals and visions— then rising from intense intrusions, captured amidst nocturnal excursions. Too weighted to keep, somehow, can I for a moment believe that releasing it will grant me autonomy from its grip? Still, to what do I owe your rapturous return into a world that has found some sound sense and reparation? Yes, it has burned secretly, quietly, unexpectedly many times before, but oft diminutively so I chose to ignore. Lest I close the door any tighter on lessons learned, allow me delivery of this last anomaly-- that most times, I forget, but this night the soul churned harder than the rest. It wakened me from deep slumber, leaving me exhaling as heavily as a tempestuous thunder—perspirations on temples and lips bitten in wonder. And within the night trance were things I can’t explain, and things I knew plain from reality:

In this strangest place, a monastery by the ocean side, stood the last one to pass through the garden gate--- and knowing the way, permeated the chambers through the narrow corridor laden with blossomed jasmine scent. As he thrust upon the floor, panting, staggering, in a daze, she pulled in scrutinizing the one who entered the forbidden maze. Her daggers struck havoc on him as closer she came, body spread over prey like a valiant hunter-- but then slowly retreated as light revealed the intruder: Unchanged were a pair of raven eyes, which mirrored mercy at one moment and exhilaration at second glance. But different all the same— sans spectacles stood an exiled heir, beautiful but beyond repair-- hair now allowed sovereignty from sacrificial rituals, a dark glory, and a structure strong with cerebrum titillated by pages and stages and words and brusque scrolls of science and torrent philosophy rolled in the palm. He leaned in, wearing night on his back, pensive and wise, but all the while beaming bright with covert naivety. Then she sudden asked him, almost presumptuously, “Did you want to taste again? Do you wish to be fed?” Being one of self-appointed lineage, and though had often spread across tongue a myriad of flavors sweet and delirious, oft tainted by an appetite for the finest feasts--- he did surprise when his eyes reflected the gaze of the ravenous instead, as he fell thirsty by her side. Without impediment, she offered to feed him with her hands, forcing his head back, mouth open-- her hair spilling across his chest swaying from his emergent impetus , intentions penetrating and lips at unrest. His hands tied behind with tight scarlet sashes of silk--- she poured the sherbet into him, one ruthless droplet at a time--- the rose sweetened Rooh Afza milk cascading between her henna painted fingers and down his throat. The swords of her piercing eyes fixed on his, unrelenting, an unforgiving potency that left him rapt --- that is--- until he recited the words that broke the trance, and she dropped the chalice from within her hands: “Zolf bar bad madeh ta nadahi bar badam. Naz bonyad makon ta nakani bonyadam. Rahm kon bar mane meskino be faryadam ras.” *

Then abrupt I awoke from this scene, my body pushing in an upwards motion, swooning. Intoxicated I felt—as if the potion were poured into my ear, and so the dizziness of an addict appeared as I tried to gain equilibrium on my standing feet. And perhaps, they were only words I once read while on a sage’s quest that unwittingly clung to my mind like a spider on a web, unnoticed at the corner of my head—that exorcised when body fell to the bed. Or maybe, it was something that I was not yet meant to understand, which stretched its arms out from clandestine origins. Still somehow, even as the sun rays through curtains did sneak, and the sobriety of the mind did slowly peak, those words spoken did not swiftly leave-- the prurience of his voice gushed out from a dream.

*Do not spread your restless tresses in the breeze, or you would make me feverish, restless. Do not build your fortress of coquettishness and beauty, or you would ruin me. I am longing for your love, take pity in me, help me. [Hafez-e-Shirazi, 1319-1389 CE]