On a crisp autumn day

My soul yearns for a divine dance: a dance that lets it break shackles of earthly existence.

Sameera Rashid October 24, 2012
Lifted by crisp autumn wind,

Whirl and eddy,

And dance up on the ground.


They revel in their flight,

To the trees that once beheld them.

Some dry leaves,

Move upwards,

And the rest fall to the earth,

Like broken dreams.


Their fall is subsumed,

In the lament,

Of the autumn wind.


“What makes them vibrate with pleasure?

Who gives life to the broken leaves?

A benign force in the world,

Or a malevolent spirit,”

Wonders my soul.


Seeing their joyous flight,

My soul yearns,

For a divine dance:

A dance that lets it,

Break shackles,

Of earthly existence.


The soul longs passionately,

Like a white-robed whirling dervish,

Who with closed eyes,

And extended arms,

Seeks divine union.


The soul desires,

To soar in the air:

Light and weightless.



This yearning,

And this longing,

Grows out of a wish,

To get rid of the bubbles of emptiness,

And to forget the notion,

Of time and space.


But hearing crushing sounds,

Of crusty, brown leaves,

Which gather in small heaps,

To mourn their fall,

On the barren earth;


My soul quivers with fear,

And sinks and shrivels,

In the physical body.


An angel sitting on the bench laughs,

When it sees the dead mound of leaves,

And hears the contractions of my soul.


“Union lies not in meeting,” murmurs the toothless angel.

“A whirling dervish and a leaf,

Go back to their origin,

By longing wistfully,

By yearning intensely,

And by enacting a dance play.”


“The stirring of the human soul,

And the flight of the leaves,

Reflect divine light:

A radiance that illuminates,

The source of being,

And the original path,”

Says the toothless angel.


The tremulous fluttering,

Of my soul,

Is stilled by the wise,

Words of the angel,

As does the sea,

After the stormy, windy night.


Read more by Sameera here.
Sameera Rashid A research analyst, blogger and a graduate of King's College, London, in public policy.
The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necassarily reflect the views and policies of the Express Tribune.


Shubh | 11 years ago | Reply a young Renaissance woman in the making..."Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting." The best words in the best order...Great going...Keep up the good WORDS.
Ali Salman Abbasi | 11 years ago | Reply They say poetry is the light and flame of that eternal, and often unsuccessful, quest of the fire that rages internally in a soul's journey to know one's real self.
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