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Hakim Kahn

When first I found this forest place
More years ago than I can tell,
I met a man of alien race
And came to know and like him well;
A humble hawker, spare and tall,
Dark faced, a handsome, bearded man;
And often now bush folk recall
The kindly smile of Hakim Khan.

He plied his trade in ways remote,
Where bush-wives pawed his varied stock:
A working shirt, a winter coat,
Socks, handkerchiefs, a cheap print frock.
They chaffered with him till, at eve,
With well-fed horse and well-kept van,
Sim Jackson's block, by Jackson's leave,
Served as camp for Hakim Khan.

And many a talk and many a tale
We had together long ago.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Love becomes perfect only when it transcends itself --Becoming One with its object Producing Unity of Being.

quote by Hakim Jami
Added by Lucian Velea
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If the scissors are not used daily on the beard, it will not be long before the beard is, by its luxuriant growth, pretending to be the head.

quote by Hakim Jami
Added by Lucian Velea
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Alas for Youth

Much have I labored, much read o'er
Of Arabic and Persian lore,
Collecting tales unknown and known;
Now two and sixty years are flown.
Regret, and deeper woe of sin,
'Tis all that youth has ended in,
And I with mournful thoughts rehearse
Bu Táhir Khusrawáni's verse:
'I mind me of my youth and sigh,
Alas for youth, for youth gone by!'

poem by Hakim Abu'l-Qasim Ferdowsi Tusi Firdowsi
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The Month of Poush

Lo! Winter comes!
She comes across an ocean of sorrow and tears.
Beware! Beware!
She comes from behind the horizon enveloped
in thick mist.
With her advent, alas! in the Ieafy forest
A farewell dirge seems to go round
The parting Day (Ah me!) casts a sad look
Losing as she does-the Evening Star that
lights her path.
See! Winter sets in -
She represents the sadness of the year's
journey, a loss of Eternity,
The farewell season of ripe paddy,
the dread of new arrival-
Beware! Beware! She is come! -
Dry breath, and Oh! the choked voice
of a farewell deeply laden with tears -
Arise, wayfarer! Thou hast to cover
a long distance casting a sad look

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poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
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When The Sword Of Sixty Comes Nigh His Head

When the sword of sixty comes nigh his head
give a man no wine, for he is drunk with years.
Age claps a stick in my bridle-hand:
substance spent, health broken,
forgotten the skill to swerve aside from the joust
with the spearhead grazing my eyelashes.

The sentinel perched on the hill top
cannot see the countless army he used to see there:
the black summit's deep in snow
and its lord himself sinning against the army.
He was proud of his two swift couriers:
lo! sixty ruffians have put them in chains.

The singer is weary of his broken voice,
one drone for the bulbul alike and the lion's grousing.

Alas for flowery, musky sappy thirty
and the sharp Persian sword!
The pheasant strutting about the briar,

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poem by Hakim Abu'l-Qasim Ferdowsi Tusi Firdowsi
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How Púrándukht ascended the Throne and slew Pirúz

'Tis but crude policy when women rule,
But yet there was a lady-Púrándukht-
Surviving of the lineage of Sásán,
And well read in the royal volume: her
They seated on the throne of sovereignty,
The Great strewed jewels over her, and then
She spake upon this wise: 'I will not have
The people scattered, and I will enrich
The poor with treasure that they may not bide
In their distress. God grant that in the world
There may be none aggrieved because his pain
Is my calamity. I will expel
Foes from the realm and walk in royal ways.'

She made search for Pirúz, son of Khusrau,
Who was delated by an alien.
Whereat she chose some warriors from the host
Who brought Pirúz before her. She exclaimed:-
'Foul-purposed miscreant! thou shalt receive,
As infamous, the guerdon for thy deeds.'

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poem by Hakim Abu'l-Qasim Ferdowsi Tusi Firdowsi
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I Sing of Heroes

I sing of Heroes -
The youth, the revolutionary,
Who armed with a sharp Excalibur
Today go forth in all directions
With valiant steps and steady
Upon a campaign for the impossible,
The Egyptian Pyramids of Antiquity,
Stand as a chronicle of such campaign,
Heroes whose mere breath
doth drive away into oblivion
The dead leaves of moth-eaten scriptures
Who hew down the haunts and
temples of false gods. .
And the time-honoured ale-house
Of the grand hypocrite
In the person of a reputed Moralist;
Whose mighty streams of. ideal reform
Swept away the long-standing nuisance
The awful and heavy stocks and stones of customs,
The old fossils of dead scriptures.

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poem by Kazi Nazrul Islam
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The Valiant Maharana Pratap Singh (Rajasthan)

Never he was a vassal to the Moghul,
Who led a Turkish mob to plunder
And annexe the Princely States of Bharat.
'God alone is my suzerain and not a Turk',
He thundered and kept his word till his end.
His gallant steed Chetak matched his prowess
And vied for glory with his master Rana.
When the subdued kings lost their queens
or wedded to the Sultan their daughters,
Rana Pratap, Mewar's Rajput Chief
Proved a lion to show the pride of his race,
By bowing not his head to Delhi.
Those who bent their knees at the Court of Moghuls
Couldn't sit, chat and dine with him.
This insult rankled in the mind of Man Singh
Who led the army of Akbar, The Great,
And he hinted for a war with Delhi.
Missions sent to bend Rana's heart
Failed to make any dent, and crumbled.

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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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How Bárbad lamented Khusrau Parwiz

Now list the lamentation of Bárbod,
And grow forgetful of the world at large.
On hearing that the Sháh, not by advice
And 'gainst his will, no longer filled the throne,
That 'men are seeking how to murder him;
The soldiers are renouncing fealty,'
Bárbad came from Chahram to Taisafún
With tearful eyes and heart o'ercharged; he came
To that abode and saw the Sháh whereat
His tulip-cheeks became like fenugreek.
He bode awhile in presence of the Sháh,
Then went with wailing to the audience-hall.
His love flamed in his heart, his heart and soul
Burned in his anguish for Khusrau Parwiz;
His eyes rained like a cloud in Spring and made
His bosom as the margent of the sea.
He fashioned him a dirge upon the harp,
And to that dirge he sang a mournful plaint.
With visage wan and heart fulfilled with grief
He thus lamented in the olden tongue:-

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poem by Hakim Abu'l-Qasim Ferdowsi Tusi Firdowsi
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