The mystical verse of Darshan Singh (1921-1989), born 90 years ago today, is perhaps the closest we have in our modern age to the ghazals of Rumi, Hafiz and Kabir. It has the same spirit of longing, of letting everything go in pursuit of the highest love. The poems are dizzy whirls between self and world where the difference blurs, and all dogma must be dropped like a husk to get at the truth of what’s inside:
Do I hear some sound? Is it the footsteps of the Beloved?Sant Darshan Singh Ji, a Sikh who lived by all accounts the exemplary life of a saint, was that rarest combination of mystic and poet, and as such continued the lineage of the great Persian seer-poets. He lived, however, fully aware of the frailty of our spiritual life in the face of vast and unsatisfying scientific advancement, and found suitable ways to ground the divine in contemporary life, to bring the Friend closer:
Or am I being tricked by the beating of my heart?...
I follow no guide, no creed -- just an inkling of the way:
A tug at my heart leads me forward…
Your glance of abundant grace did not satisfy;
We with the seeing eye know a glance from a glance…
We have learned to commune with the moon and the stars,I can’t pretend I can do anything about his shocking obscurity, at least in the West, but at least I can share my version of one of his last poems. I’ve relied on the translations of Barry Lerner and Harbans Singh Bedi (who translated the passages above), as Urdu is too rich for my blood. Namaste, Darshan.
But we have failed to reach the heart of our neighbor…
O men of lust, beware of entering this land of love,
Here you will find only the cross and the gallows...
Seeker banished from the beatific vision, look through the eyes of your heart!
How can you see the Beloved's light with eyes of flesh and blood?
Invitation to Madness (#65)
My heart is immune now to sorrows,
I’m cured by the torment of love.
How do I bow my head now? What’s the way to your door?
The temples are strewn on the floor.
Everyone knows of a destination,
None have a clue how to get there.
That’s no spring breeze that plays in my garden,
It’s an invitation to madness with my name on it.
The spell of this life is all-too-familiar,
I’ve dreamed this dream many times before.
Who knows when the moment is right?
Go bow at the crossroads now – why wait?
O grief of love, be a balm for my heart,
Wounded by the beauty of a temptress world.
What flowers bloom in my heart and soul:
How blissful the wind lets them go.
Even now, drops don’t know their own immensity:
How concealed in each drop is the sea.
The desert came alive when I looked with eyes of love:
It shimmered in the heart of every granule of sand.
How could I deny your existence
When your beauty reflects all I am?
How can I blame my life’s sweet enemies
When my blood’s bent on drinking itself?
Darshan, why dread the spread of darkness
When your heart is on fire with endless light?
