16th Rabiul Akhar 1438H

​Mortality- a fact of life. Every living thing is subject to an end, this finality is termed for this world as death. However death has always been an intriguing phenomenon for mankind. Mankind in their research to attain immortality turned a page after another of research and development, yet-death remains to be an incontestable entity.
People come and go, the process however remains interminable. But it’s love which conquers all. Love never dies. The physical entity may erase but love shared doesn’t. It lingers on, passes on and it’s presence is felt in the beating hearts of those who shared it.
From moments of rejection and dejection, to mourning and acceptance, we have experienced a lifetime of longing and yearning for Maula RA. We have missed the physical presence, the sight of Him RA, the vision of Him RA, the voice that undoubtedly has an eternal resonance-yet we miss this wordly range.
But having said all that, it is love that’s eternal, the love that we feel beating inside our hearts. It breathes with every beat and breath. It multiplies, it flows, it nourishes and it flourishes within us. Such has been the love of Maula RA and our love for Him. Our beating hearts are a testimony to this supreme fact that Maula RA-lives.
Amate Syedna TUS,


Yet Again

​A countenance lovingly woven from moonbeams
Eyes to put diamonds to shame
A smile illuminating a thousand suns 
That was the Maula who gave us life, wealth and fame.

The world has lost all its delight
Dreams have forgotten to take flight 
Ambitions have lost sight
In thy absence.

In death I yearn to meet thee
And fall at your feet
Lay my heart which bleeds
And look up too see yet again
the moonbeams,
those diamonds and that unquenchable sun
In thy face.

And finally my withered heart will blossom yet again.

Amate Syedna TUS 

16th of Rabi ul Awwal 1438

In the deep folds of the heart; truth resides

Like the pearl in oyster’s shell; like the sheen of a diamond amongst a coal mine

Like the fresh break of dawn in the gloom of a dark night

No words to fancy, a fact none deny

Seek the truth, with the soul so pure 

Like the honey of the bees, the milk so white

Like the water from the sky, the soul of a child

No wonder on this kind, held by the divine

Truth and love, love and truth: the two might 

Like the invincible time, the oceans unconquerable 

Like life and death and the world we leave behind 

In all my truth, I have bled your love,

with the purity of soul, nothing held behind

True are these words, facts are they

Hope I must, I believe in that day

This wait my prayer, The longing my joy

In trance I lay, while your presence is real

Distance immaterial, I know as I say;

In the deep folds of the heart: truth resides…

Amate Syedna TUS,


A unique page in my diary…

“I have never, ever, in my life, been to or participated in a convocation, whether mine or anyone else’s…”,

… gripped, I hung on to each word, staring wide eyed to the lean, enigmatic figure before me, wearing the traditional striped green and golden susi robe of the IVS, showing off a white crisp kurta-shalwar gracefully beneath it. 

Two years back, I had stared skeptically at the gigantic book, hardly able to envision myself ever able to study it. Not much to my disappointment, ( as its natural for me to expect the unexpected from myself and that I don’t know whether benefits me or not) I had made the payment and brought home a challenge which actually was delusive.

“It seems like a telephone directory, the difference only that there are no spaces in between and hardly any relief in comprehension one could find.” My sister would retort with such disapproval that she would half convince me of my absurdity of a self imposed punishment due to a heinous crime! Neverthless her remarks gradually made me all the more adamant and  focus my attention to what the book read.

Much to everyone’s dismay who found me pathetic and suffering with it, I didn’t give in… and on the contrary got so gripped to it, that I read and re read many things, a number of times… (I wonder what expression my sister will give if I ever reveal that I had actually re read the book and many other parts a number of times!)

Issues in Pakistan’s Economy: A Political Perspective by S. Akbar Zaidi had become my life for at least three straight months. I had had the most scrumptious of the food, the most ordinary meals, a few nights of sleep, made it wet with the raindrops, put roses and daisies in it, highlighted with colours of yellow and orange and at times been emotional feeling helpless and at the same time hopeful of the affairs of my country. I practically honeymooned  with the book and even took it with me in my travel bag to Islamabad. Such was the affection I had developed out of the very ordinary motivation I had for passing my MA Exams in Economics this year.

Leaving the past solved papers aside and all the recommended quick fixtured syllabus prescribed to reach my destination, I found myself ironically in love with the journey itself, something which my challenging schedule would admonish me for! 

& then suddenly one day, much to my surprise, while studying, the name took all my attention: S. Akbar Zaidi. I Googled and found him an important man contributing lavishly to the political climate of the country. I would wonder of the kind of man he must be! Serious, painfully methodical and calculative… By the end of the third reading of the book, I could some how understand the pattern of his thoughts. I would understand where he would criticise something and at times even predict the current situation, for the base of my thoughts on Pakistan’s economy, only he had helped me develop through his writing. 

I remember while writing my thesis paper comparing the agricultural developments with industrial and chalking a future action plan, I had paused for a moment ( a moment is the understatement of the year) many times, to think … “What would Akbar saheb say to this?How would he have provide a carefully planned solution?” I in my own minor capacity would envision myself as the shrewd, only economist I had ever known. I somehow took much pride in being able to do that. Right or wrong is what I didn’t care about, but it helped me get a perspective and that mattered the most. I have much to thank him for.

It’s been four months I gave the exams, but the book never leaves my bedside drawers. I open it randomly and read a few excerpts from time to time. However time has its way; an artist it is, skillfully clouding deep emotions and interests leaving them as hazy images of the past. Working round the clock, busy with young minds, a teacher’s life is not something thats hard to imagine… my routine blurred my passion for economics and shackled me to the everyday compulsion of life.

I never looked back till today, when I saw The Political Economist at an art and architecture convocation ceremony!  It had to be fated.. My presence today wasn’t just a mere coincidence as I wide eyed stared at Professor Syed Akbar Zaidi live in front of me!

S Akbar Zaidi

‘Never been to a convocation ceremony’ is what he had said and I was the second person absolutely endorsing the fact… I didn’t attend any too… not even mine! ‘rebellious, a non conformist and even confrontational to tradition…’ all these words rang a definite bell! It seemed for a while as if the man spoke for me and to me in a gathering of the many. 

Recollecting moments from today I am swept away by the thought of how fortune and fate works… It comes in packages that leave us at times spellbound…

Thoroughly amused, 


No time, no matter 

One day far away where peace resides

where silence becomes the only voice, 

no wishes to colour, no desires unkind

love persists and the rhythm’s divine

where waves speak and the sun leads

the pace of the clouds outpaces time

A journey that I won’t  wish to conquer

has no destination lined any longer

where ambition is cold and the soul is free

as the burden of the body is devoid of me

where the limits the sky don’t define

where perfection- aimless and truth shines

Is it there where you I will find?

There it may … but none in sight

maybe far beyond those stars,

above the heavens and the seven skies

or there of where no knowledge holds,

Unheard to this world, undisclosed to time

To see you there, I long for my sign

This journey I undertake will take some time

ready I am not, unprepared and confined

Time my shackle, space is my bind

I await a glimpse, that glimpse divine

there where timelessness pervades

I pray , I deserve to reside.



16th of Safar ul Muzaffar 1438

​It’s already the 16th of Safar ul Muzaffar! People in usual circumstances refer to the end of month, or a week as an anchor to signify the fast pacing of the clock. However in the past few years, the definition and diction of events that symbolize the fast passage of time has evolved. It has almost become a reflex action to say, “It’s already the 16th of the month, how fast time passes” or “Half of the month has elapsed, it’s already the 16th”. Some even have their calendars marked and has made it a point to make sure they are absolutely free to get their selves rejuvenated from the barakaat showered on the 16thmi raat of all 12 months.

The subject of time has always taken precedence in all my writings, particularly because it’s invincible and the tides of it take away moments, people and events turning them into mere history. The ruthlessness of time is a futile discussion. Many came and went; none however could contest its supremacy. 

The passing away of Burhannudin Maula RA was one such event which reminded us of our helplessness against time. Come what may we could’t rewind those moments, those events or bring back Maula RA in any possible way. It became too hard to adjust to this fact, and all we felt we are left with, was regrets and repentance. 

With the passage of time- today, however I feel different about its undeniable powers. The passing away of Maula RA taught me that we are not in contest with time anyway. We need to make peace with it, value it, understand its universal nature and ultimately make use of it. It taught me that time was neither on anyone’s side nor against someone. It did what it was sent to do. The mere definition of time has wrongly been interpreted and that the sayings such as “Time never stops for someone” is all null and void as time never anchored itself to anything or anyone or even has any self adjustment powers to realize who it takes away, what it achieves or determines its loses meanwhile. I realized that time like the air we breathe, like the light in the sun is a powerless entity of the world, created for the world, a criterion set, a formality done, for us just to ensure its wise use and reach our desired destination which is actually bound-less, time-less.

Amate Syedna TUS,


​You-my sign of life, go on and on…

​You-my sign of life, go on and on…

Tirelessly, ceaselessly- never uttering  a word of complain, nor a sign of any pain,

You comfort my tired soul and oh my aching bones! 

Breathless, restless I remain if I stay away for long

Peace is what you are to me, a symbol so strong, 

None other shall take your place, natural is your song,

Be it summer, spring or the chilly winter of the year,

For you my dear trials come, yet all I gleefully bear

Blanket I may take, and may freeze in the cold

but us apart, never can anything  hold

Little wonder you are of mine: a secret love-unknown

What joy you bring to me: let the world beknown,

My fan, oh my dear fan

You inspire me all the more,

You-my sign of life, go on and on…



Hark! The breeze…


Hark, the breeze billowing

From that sacred sepulchre

Nestled within a barren heath

Fragrant like a lotus.

Bring to us from this treasured tomb

The winds to alter our destiny

The vapours to rub off all our pains

The fragrance to overpower all our strains.

Hark, the whispering wind

Carry then back to the tomb

Our reverent regards

Encircle the sepulchre’s pristine white walls

And bow at its blessed threshold

Chanting all the while:

Salamun Alaika a Fakhral Huda

Salamun Alaika a Bahran Nada…

Amate Syedna TUS


Father and Son

A young man of eighteen

Rides into the battlefield

His tongue parched since three days

His heart pounding, echoing determination

With each stride of his steed

He vanquishes one enemy after another

The heat of Karbala beats down upon his head.

But his heart is with his aged father

Who he knows is watching from the encampment beyond

His soul yearns to win for his noble ancestors’ cause

And he forges ahead, intent on his mission.

Until a spear pierces his young beating determined heart,

And as he falls from the horse he cries

For his father who races and stumbles a hundred times

Until he reaches his son and takes his head in his lap.

“Alatash!” cries the young soldier,

“Alatash!” cries the Imam’s son.

“Water!” cries the countenance which reflects the features of the Last Prophet.

As his wound bleeds like a river let loose.

As his eyes flutter close,

The last image he sees in this world

Are of his father in indescribable anguish,

His beard drenched with tears.

Then he smiles,

As he sees his great grandfather,  his grandfather, grandmother and uncle,

Beckon him to the gates of Heaven.

“Until I meet you, my son,

Until I meet them,”

His father whispers

And with those words

Echoing in his ears

His soul rises to the heavens above.

Amate Syedna TUS


Ya Hatim al Khairaat RA


A tear wrenched from the heart

A prayer wails from the soul

As a bedraggled man places his head

On the turbat of Ya Hatim AL Khairaat

Lifting his suffering head

burdened by a teeming multitude of worldly plagues

He fills a fistful of sand from the base

Of the sacred sepulchre

And ties it reverently in a musty cloth.

After a trek of several furlongs

He reaches his abode and rests his aching feet

When the cloth in his pocket seems to beckon

Unlacing the ties

Expecting to find the Holy sand

Hoping to kiss the particles for solace

He gasps to see within

The glimmer of gold coins

He raises his arms heavenward

His eyes stream with tears undamned

His heart soars to the skies

To thank Ya Syedna Hatim

Amate Syedna TUS