In the light of dawn's soft embrace,
A young Sufi seeks the divine grace.
With his sarod, in Lucknawi wear,
He strums the strings in the morning air.
His guru's words, a guiding light,
'Music bridges the mortal and divine sight.'
Each note, a prayer, a sacred plea,
A dhikr, for the soul to see.
The audience, a blend of earth and sky,
Watches on as the notes fly high.
Among them, a pir, with a blissful stare,
In his gaze, a silent prayer.
The musician, with each strum and beat,
Connects the worlds at the divine's feet.
A tribute to the powers unseen,
In his music, a spiritual sheen.
This is the power of art so true,
A path to the divine, for me and you.
Through the sarod's heartfelt cry,
He touches the souls of those nearby.
In this story, a lesson so profound,
Where spirituality and art are bound.
A Sufi's tribute, in the morning's glow,
A reminder of the divine flow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem