On his Dervish

Gone are the days when music made him realise the way of tune. It is now the food for his Dervish. His feet might not move, but the slow and ethereal strains, mesmerizes his soul. The Dervish he knows will come and transmit the joy eternal, yet he knows that he has to wait. The highs and the lows they go hand in hand, with the way his life goes, the way his breath goes. Yet, he knows the Dervish is beyond all those.

What calms his soul? Is his soul troubled? Is that the question that he asks? What makes his soul, swim in the pool of fire? Or is the pool the real nature of his soul? He yearns for the touch divine, yet he knows without the right he can't go to the shores? What prevents him from going to the shore? What prevents his music from reaching his soul?

Has he reached? Has he gone astray? Who knows? Who shall ever know? For his dervish is what he looks for