Dar Baab-e-nazm Aur Kalaam-e-mauzoon

On Poetry and Rhythmic Speech

**AUTHOR:**

Muhammad Husain Azad

(By Request)

This speech by Maulvi Sahib is taken from the August 1868 issue of the *Risala Anjuman* journal. He later added the words By Request with his own pen. This essay has been illuminated through his revisions, as certain words were changed in various places. For example, the printed sentence originally read, Poetry is, in truth, a blossoming branch of eloquence. He crossed this out and wrote, Poetry is, in truth, a flower-filled branch of eloquence. Along with this, another sentence read, From the scent of flowers, various fragrances are perceived by the mind. He struck this out and wrote, From the scent of flowers, distinct fragrances are perceived by the mind. A little further on, it was written: Some scents are sharp, some intoxicating. Some scents possess refinement and subtlety, while others have a pleasantness. Through the miracle of revision, this sentence became: Some scents are sharp, some sweet, some intoxicating, some possess subtlety, and some have a pleasantness.

This essay has been published without any alterations in the collection *Majmua-e-Nazm-e-Azad*. By keeping the book in front of you while reading, you can easily gauge the many virtues introduced into this essay through revision. Furthermore, I consider it necessary to mention that the original journal was moth-eaten in certain places. To fill in the missing words, assistance was taken from *Majmua-e-Nazm-e-Azad*.

On this occasion, I cannot help but state that for a long time, some people have been trying to prove that Maulana Azad was not the inventor of Nature Poetry. After reading this essay, it becomes evident that this idea had been nurturing in the late Maulana's heart for a very long time. Some people claim that the foundation of Nature Poetry was laid at the instigation of Colonel Holroyd, the Director of Public Instruction. The reality of the matter is that the Colonel participated in this movement merely as a supporter, and the true initiator was solely the Maulana and his esteemed personage.

There is a saying among the Greek philosophers that two things in the world are incredibly strange and astonishing. The first is the human pulse, which, without the power of speech, reveals one's inner state. The second is poetry, where, from behind the words, rhythmic speech emerges, producing a wondrous effect upon the heart. In books, the definition of poetry is often written as rhythmic and rhyming speech; however, in truth, it must also be impactful speech—so much so that its subject matter leaves a mark on the listener's heart. If a piece of speech is versified but devoid of impact, it is like a meal that has no taste, neither sour nor sweet. As is the case with a couplet by a certain master poet:

*Dandan-e-to hubla dar dahan ast*

*Chashman-e-to zer-e-abru danast*

[Your teeth are enclosed within your mouth,

Your eyes are known to be beneath your eyebrows.]

When the power of speech and the fervor of a subject converge in the human heart, rhythmic speech naturally springs forth from one's disposition. It is evident that the greater this power and its passionate intensity, the more impactful the resulting speech will be. The very first grief on the face of the earth was the grief for Abel, which overcame the heart of the Prophet Adam because of Cain. It must be understood as the result of this surge of sorrow that, although the concept of poetry did not even exist at that time, whatever words escaped his tongue due to the overwhelming emotion of his disposition were rhythmic. Indeed, those words still exist in the Syriac language today. Since the origin of rhythmic speech began with the Prophet Adam, a worthy son is one who possesses a rhythmic disposition, thereby benefiting from his father's inheritance. There is no doubt that the distinction between human and animal lies in the power of speech. Therefore, human faculty should be considered most perfect in the one whose power of speech is most perfect.

Because poetry, compared to prose, emerges from a much greater force of one's inner disposition, it is consequently far more impactful than prose. Whenever a subject, a purpose, or a thought enters a person's heart, or when they wish to explain something to an audience, they use speech to bring the imprint of their intent into the colors of discourse so that it becomes manifest. Thus, a poet is akin to a painter—but not a painter who draws images of beasts, trees, and stones on paper. Rather, he is a painter who draws the image of meaning upon the canvas of the heart. And often, through the vibrant colors of his eloquence, he adorns the reflection even more beautifully than the original. Those things which a painter's brush cannot capture, he articulates with his tongue. Consequently, while thousands of pages of paper have been soaked and destroyed, the images painted by poets remain exactly as they were, even after hundreds of years. Sometimes, the poet draws the image of grief upon the canvas of the heart; at other times, he turns the human disposition into a blooming garden with themes of joy and delight. The ultimate pinnacle of his mastery is that he can make one laugh whenever he wishes, and make one weep whenever he desires.

The Arabs used to recite martial poetry (*rajaz*) on the battlefields. In the courts of the Sultans of India, brave warriors, knights, and bards would recite such fierce war poems and verses on the frontlines that men would willingly hurl their lives into the jaws of death. Even today, the condition is such that when these poems are heard, the hairs on one's body stand on end. Alexander the Great would read the book of Homer and would not part with it even while sleeping. If a poet so desires, he can present even the most ordinary matters as something entirely new. He can make stones speak. He can make trees, whose feet are bound in the mud, walk. He can turn the past into the present, and the present into the future. He can bring the distant near. He can turn the earth into the sky, dust into gold, and darkness into light. If you observe closely, the true elixir and the philosopher's stone (*paras*) is the poet himself, for whatever he touches turns to gold. The earth, the sky, and both worlds are contained within the two lines of a poetic couplet. Its scale remains in the hands of the poet; he may tip the balance whichever way he pleases.

Poetry is, in truth, a flower-filled branch of eloquence. Just as the colors and scents of flowers refresh the physical mind, poetry refreshes the soul. From the scent of flowers, distinct fragrances are perceived by the mind. Some scents are sharp, some sweet, some intoxicating, some possess subtlety, and some have a pleasantness. The exact same is true for the themes of poetry. Just as a flower offers different sensations—whether blooming in a garden, woven into a garland, distilled into a perfume, extracted into an essence, smelled from afar, or held close—similarly, poetic themes reveal a vibrant array of sensations across different states and through various expressions.

In the physical realm, food is the sustaining matter of life for a human being. In the same way, within the realm of meaning, the soul also requires nourishment. Because the soul attains the power of perfection and the strength for lofty flight through subtle verses and themes, poetry serves as its very nourishment. The subtlety and refinement of the soul are self-evident, for it is a direct reflection of the sun of power of the Holy Spirit (*Ruh-ul-Qudus*). From this, one can only imagine the jewel-like subtlety of poetry, and how exalted its rank of refinement must be. The poet possesses a special connection to the higher realm, establishing his link to the divine without any intermediaries or apparent worldly means. In truth, poetry is a reflection of the Holy Spirit and an outpouring of divine mercy that descends upon the dispositions of the people of the heart.

This is the reason why, outwardly, the poet may lie confined in his hut of sorrows, yet he rules over the entire world just as a master of the house roams freely within his own home. He becomes a fish in the water and a salamander in the fire. He takes off like a bird in the wind, or rather, like an angel in the heavens. He effortlessly grasps whatever themes he desires and employs them with the absolute authority of an owner. How immensely fortunate is the one who is blessed with the sovereignty of such a realm of meaning!

Poetry is the flower in the garden of eloquence and the fragrance of the blossoms of words. It is the reflection of the light of expression. It is the perfume of knowledge, the essence of spiritual faculties, and the very core of profound impact. It is the elixir of life for the soul; it washes the dust of sorrow from the heart and expands the spirit. It broadens the mind and elevates human thought. It grants the heart a sense of independence and detachment, gives the mind the power of flight, and keeps the hem of the heart lifted above the dust of worldly anxieties. It provides companionship in solitude. Multiplicity in unity and unity in multiplicity, journeying within oneself, and solitude within a gathering—these concepts find their true meaning in poetry. Although a poet remains perpetually immersed in thought and restless contemplation, the joy he experiences upon composing a single couplet surpasses the delight a king might feel upon conquering the seven realms of the world.

Poetry cultivates such passion and tenderness in the heart, and such a profound receptivity in the soul, that one begins to derive a unique pleasure and spiritual state from every little thing. This pleasure lies beyond the descriptive powers of both the pen and the tongue. Only a person with a sensitive, aching heart truly understands the state that poetry induces—a state that yields a joy far greater than a thousand ordinary worldly pleasures. The tragedy, however, is that this virtue cannot be acquired by choice. A poetic disposition is a God-given gift, a blessing that the Divine has kept exclusively in His own hands.

*Rubai*

Sarmad gham-e-ishq bul-hawas ra na-dehand

Soz-e-dil-e-parwana magas ra na-dehand

Umre bayad ke yaar aayad ba-kinar

In daulat-e-Sarmad hama kas ra na-dehand

[O Sarmad, the sorrow of love is not granted to the lustful;

The burning heart of the moth is not granted to the fly.

A lifetime is required for the Beloved to embrace you;

This wealth, O Sarmad, is not granted to just anyone.]

In a way, a touch of madness is also a prerequisite for poetry. Some scholars argue that the thoughts of the madman, the lover, and the poet converge at certain points. A poet must detach himself from all worldly distractions, sever ties with extraneous thoughts, and immerse himself entirely in his craft. Such absolute absorption is impossible for an ordinary person; it can only be achieved by a madman or a lover, who is essentially the poet's metaphorical brother. Just as a madman cares for nothing but his madness, and a lover cares for nothing but his beloved, the poet must be consumed by his art. May God bestow this blessing upon all.

There are many who have exhausted themselves through sheer physical toil to learn how to read and write, yet they remain entirely deprived of the joy of poetry. Even if they were to spend their entire lives trying, they could not utter a single, deeply felt line of verse. God willing, they too will be discussed later in this series. Then there are those who cannot even recite rhythmic verse properly; in fact, they cannot even distinguish between what is metrical and what is not. This is a divine affliction—may God protect us from it. Furthermore, there are some poets who conceive brilliant themes but lack the refined language necessary to express them eloquently. Conversely, there are those whose language is impeccably polished, yet they fail to grasp elevated themes. Each of these types will be addressed in due course.

It is also observed that certain seasons are particularly conducive to the surging of poetic themes and the blossoming of the creative spirit. During the spring and the monsoon season, naturally poetic minds flourish the most. In fact, even the unpoetic and the dead-hearted experience a faint, restless stirring within their souls during these times. It is equally evident that specific times and places are essential for a poet. The foremost requirement is solitude, a place where the mind is not distracted—whether it be a quiet sanctuary within the home, a garden, a wilderness, or a riverbank—so that the heart can immerse itself entirely in the craft. The ideal time is usually the night; when God’s creation, exhausted from the day's labor, goes to sleep, the poet's true work begins. When the entire world falls into a deep silence, a profound clamor awakens within his soul. As the night deepens, his imagination soars higher, diving deeper into the ocean of themes. This is especially true in the final hours of the night, just before dawn, when the world is utterly still, the mind is at peace, the spirit is clear, and the breeze is delicate. In these moments, the heart blossoms. The very struggle to capture a theme brings a unique delight to the soul. Elevated ideas naturally emanate from the mind, and profoundly meaningful words flow effortlessly from the tongue.

A poet must possess a highly capable, receptive, and impressionable nature. Whatever emotional state he wishes to depict must first overwhelm his own heart. He should be like flowing water: it adopts whatever color is poured into it, and in turn, imparts that very color to whatever it touches. If a poet wishes to soften the hearts of others, or if he intends to fill his audience with joy, he must first be overflowing with joy himself. If the words he speaks fail to move his own heart, how can they possibly move anyone else? A quatrain by the poet Ma'il comes to mind here, which I shall quote.

*Rubai*

Ka'aba mein bhi hum ne usay jatay dekha

Aur dair mein naqoos bajatay dekha

Shamil hai ba-haftad-o-do millat Ma'il

Har rang mein pani sa samatay dekha

[I have seen him going into the Kaaba,

And I have seen him ringing the bell in the temple.

Ma'il is mingled with the seventy-two sects;

I have seen him blend into every color like water.]

It is the depth of the poet's own emotional involvement that allows him to successfully compose themes of joy or sorrow, of the battlefield or the festive assembly. The extent to which his own soul is moved dictates the exact measure of impact his words will have on the listener's heart. There are some people in this world who, upon hearing poetry, find their hearts growing restless and their emotions slipping beyond their control. This is because their hearts are as clear as a mirror, and their souls as receptive as pure, crystalline water. Conversely, there are others who would remain completely oblivious even if you were to capture an entire ocean of magical meanings in a glass and place it before them. The reason for this apathy is the murkiness of their hearts, which prevents the light of meaning and poetic thought from penetrating. To the enlightened and the sensitive, the rising and setting of the sun, and the constant turning of morning into evening, cause thousands of fresh, spring gardens of Divine power to bloom before their eyes. But to the dark-hearted and the spiritually blind, the grand workshop of the universe is nothing more than a millstone or a waterwheel, mindlessly spinning in circles day and night.

The pleasure derived from the art of music and the vibrant beauty of a colorful garden are, quite obviously, beyond description. However, those who are blind or deaf cannot possibly partake in these delights. In the exact same way, those who lack a refined temperament and a pure heart remain utterly deprived of the spiritual ecstasy of poetry and the elegance of eloquent speech. What is worse is that some people harbor an active distaste for poetry, arguing that it yields no tangible results. If by benefit they mean a trade that merely earns a few pennies, then poetry is undoubtedly a useless endeavor. There is also no denying that the people of our age have reduced poetry to a rather pitiful state. Yet, despite this, if those blessed with a poetic disposition were to channel their creative energies into the sciences, history, or storytelling, they could easily achieve substantial worldly success and financial gain. Furthermore, many people generally view the art of poetry as a path to moral corruption. While it is true that poetry is often misused in this way, those who truly understand the deeper mysteries of meaning and the essence of literature know better. If an artisan, out of the malice of his own nature, misuses his craft, the craft itself cannot be blamed. Satan, despite being the teacher of the angels, chose the path of misguidance; yet, one would never condemn the pursuit of knowledge itself simply because of his fall.

Consider the principles of philosophy and wisdom: the rightly guided use them to prove the existence of the Almighty and to affirm the oneness of God, while the misguided use those very same principles to argue for atheism and heresy. Just as philosophy and wisdom cannot be blamed for the errors of the misguided, the art of poetry cannot be branded as profane or immoral simply because of the vulgar language or base thoughts of certain poets. In truth, such vulgar verse should not even be classified as poetry. True poetry is that which is born from the profound fervor of earnest, dignified thought, possessing a unique and direct connection to Divine, sacred power. As pure thoughts ascend higher and higher, they ultimately attain the exalted rank of true poetry.

In the beginning, composing poetry was considered one of the great accomplishments of philosophers and profoundly learned scholars, and the difference between their writings and the literature of today is as vast as the distance between heaven and earth. While there may be greater eloquence and rhetorical flourish today, the underlying ideas have largely become empty dreams. The cause of this lies in the vices of the kings and rulers of the age. People simply advanced in whatever these rulers chose to patronize. Otherwise, accomplished poets have written monumental books in this very medium of poetry and verse, founded entirely on wisdom and moral counsel, which offer both outward and inward guidance. The works of figures like Saadi, Maulvi Rumi, Hakim Sanai, and Nasir Khusraw belong precisely to this tradition.

Therefore, through the discourse of this society and the blessing of your gathering, it is hoped that just as attention will be given to promoting other virtues and reforming other vices, this flaw in the art of poetry will also be addressed. Even if it does not happen today, there is a strong hope that, God willing, it will eventually yield positive results. For a long time now, this noble art has fallen into a state of decay, and it continues to deteriorate day by day.

On Poetry and Rhythmic Speech

**AUTHOR:**

Muhammad Husain Azad

(By Request)

This speech by Maulvi Sahib is taken from the August 1868 issue of the *Risala Anjuman* journal. He later added the words By Request with his own pen. This essay has been illuminated through his revisions, as certain words were changed in various places. For example, the printed sentence originally read, Poetry is, in truth, a blossoming branch of eloquence. He crossed this out and wrote, Poetry is, in truth, a flower-filled branch of eloquence. Along with this, another sentence read, From the scent of flowers, various fragrances are perceived by the mind. He struck this out and wrote, From the scent of flowers, distinct fragrances are perceived by the mind. A little further on, it was written: Some scents are sharp, some intoxicating. Some scents possess refinement and subtlety, while others have a pleasantness. Through the miracle of revision, this sentence became: Some scents are sharp, some sweet, some intoxicating, some possess subtlety, and some have a pleasantness.

This essay has been published without any alterations in the collection *Majmua-e-Nazm-e-Azad*. By keeping the book in front of you while reading, you can easily gauge the many virtues introduced into this essay through revision. Furthermore, I consider it necessary to mention that the original journal was moth-eaten in certain places. To fill in the missing words, assistance was taken from *Majmua-e-Nazm-e-Azad*.

On this occasion, I cannot help but state that for a long time, some people have been trying to prove that Maulana Azad was not the inventor of Nature Poetry. After reading this essay, it becomes evident that this idea had been nurturing in the late Maulana's heart for a very long time. Some people claim that the foundation of Nature Poetry was laid at the instigation of Colonel Holroyd, the Director of Public Instruction. The reality of the matter is that the Colonel participated in this movement merely as a supporter, and the true initiator was solely the Maulana and his esteemed personage.

There is a saying among the Greek philosophers that two things in the world are incredibly strange and astonishing. The first is the human pulse, which, without the power of speech, reveals one's inner state. The second is poetry, where, from behind the words, rhythmic speech emerges, producing a wondrous effect upon the heart. In books, the definition of poetry is often written as rhythmic and rhyming speech; however, in truth, it must also be impactful speech—so much so that its subject matter leaves a mark on the listener's heart. If a piece of speech is versified but devoid of impact, it is like a meal that has no taste, neither sour nor sweet. As is the case with a couplet by a certain master poet:

*Dandan-e-to hubla dar dahan ast*

*Chashman-e-to zer-e-abru danast*

[Your teeth are enclosed within your mouth,

Your eyes are known to be beneath your eyebrows.]

When the power of speech and the fervor of a subject converge in the human heart, rhythmic speech naturally springs forth from one's disposition. It is evident that the greater this power and its passionate intensity, the more impactful the resulting speech will be. The very first grief on the face of the earth was the grief for Abel, which overcame the heart of the Prophet Adam because of Cain. It must be understood as the result of this surge of sorrow that, although the concept of poetry did not even exist at that time, whatever words escaped his tongue due to the overwhelming emotion of his disposition were rhythmic. Indeed, those words still exist in the Syriac language today. Since the origin of rhythmic speech began with the Prophet Adam, a worthy son is one who possesses a rhythmic disposition, thereby benefiting from his father's inheritance. There is no doubt that the distinction between human and animal lies in the power of speech. Therefore, human faculty should be considered most perfect in the one whose power of speech is most perfect.

Because poetry, compared to prose, emerges from a much greater force of one's inner disposition, it is consequently far more impactful than prose. Whenever a subject, a purpose, or a thought enters a person's heart, or when they wish to explain something to an audience, they use speech to bring the imprint of their intent into the colors of discourse so that it becomes manifest. Thus, a poet is akin to a painter—but not a painter who draws images of beasts, trees, and stones on paper. Rather, he is a painter who draws the image of meaning upon the canvas of the heart. And often, through the vibrant colors of his eloquence, he adorns the reflection even more beautifully than the original. Those things which a painter's brush cannot capture, he articulates with his tongue. Consequently, while thousands of pages of paper have been soaked and destroyed, the images painted by poets remain exactly as they were, even after hundreds of years. Sometimes, the poet draws the image of grief upon the canvas of the heart; at other times, he turns the human disposition into a blooming garden with themes of joy and delight. The ultimate pinnacle of his mastery is that he can make one laugh whenever he wishes, and make one weep whenever he desires.

The Arabs used to recite martial poetry (*rajaz*) on the battlefields. In the courts of the Sultans of India, brave warriors, knights, and bards would recite such fierce war poems and verses on the frontlines that men would willingly hurl their lives into the jaws of death. Even today, the condition is such that when these poems are heard, the hairs on one's body stand on end. Alexander the Great would read the book of Homer and would not part with it even while sleeping. If a poet so desires, he can present even the most ordinary matters as something entirely new. He can make stones speak. He can make trees, whose feet are bound in the mud, walk. He can turn the past into the present, and the present into the future. He can bring the distant near. He can turn the earth into the sky, dust into gold, and darkness into light. If you observe closely, the true elixir and the philosopher's stone (*paras*) is the poet himself, for whatever he touches turns to gold. The earth, the sky, and both worlds are contained within the two lines of a poetic couplet. Its scale remains in the hands of the poet; he may tip the balance whichever way he pleases.

Poetry is, in truth, a flower-filled branch of eloquence. Just as the colors and scents of flowers refresh the physical mind, poetry refreshes the soul. From the scent of flowers, distinct fragrances are perceived by the mind. Some scents are sharp, some sweet, some intoxicating, some possess subtlety, and some have a pleasantness. The exact same is true for the themes of poetry. Just as a flower offers different sensations—whether blooming in a garden, woven into a garland, distilled into a perfume, extracted into an essence, smelled from afar, or held close—similarly, poetic themes reveal a vibrant array of sensations across different states and through various expressions.

In the physical realm, food is the sustaining matter of life for a human being. In the same way, within the realm of meaning, the soul also requires nourishment. Because the soul attains the power of perfection and the strength for lofty flight through subtle verses and themes, poetry serves as its very nourishment. The subtlety and refinement of the soul are self-evident, for it is a direct reflection of the sun of power of the Holy Spirit (*Ruh-ul-Qudus*). From this, one can only imagine the jewel-like subtlety of poetry, and how exalted its rank of refinement must be. The poet possesses a special connection to the higher realm, establishing his link to the divine without any intermediaries or apparent worldly means. In truth, poetry is a reflection of the Holy Spirit and an outpouring of divine mercy that descends upon the dispositions of the people of the heart.

This is the reason why, outwardly, the poet may lie confined in his hut of sorrows, yet he rules over the entire world just as a master of the house roams freely within his own home. He becomes a fish in the water and a salamander in the fire. He takes off like a bird in the wind, or rather, like an angel in the heavens. He effortlessly grasps whatever themes he desires and employs them with the absolute authority of an owner. How immensely fortunate is the one who is blessed with the sovereignty of such a realm of meaning!

Poetry is the flower in the garden of eloquence and the fragrance of the blossoms of words. It is the reflection of the light of expression. It is the perfume of knowledge, the essence of spiritual faculties, and the very core of profound impact. It is the elixir of life for the soul; it washes the dust of sorrow from the heart and expands the spirit. It broadens the mind and elevates human thought. It grants the heart a sense of independence and detachment, gives the mind the power of flight, and keeps the hem of the heart lifted above the dust of worldly anxieties. It provides companionship in solitude. Multiplicity in unity and unity in multiplicity, journeying within oneself, and solitude within a gathering—these concepts find their true meaning in poetry. Although a poet remains perpetually immersed in thought and restless contemplation, the joy he experiences upon composing a single couplet surpasses the delight a king might feel upon conquering the seven realms of the world.

Poetry cultivates such passion and tenderness in the heart, and such a profound receptivity in the soul, that one begins to derive a unique pleasure and spiritual state from every little thing. This pleasure lies beyond the descriptive powers of both the pen and the tongue. Only a person with a sensitive, aching heart truly understands the state that poetry induces—a state that yields a joy far greater than a thousand ordinary worldly pleasures. The tragedy, however, is that this virtue cannot be acquired by choice. A poetic disposition is a God-given gift, a blessing that the Divine has kept exclusively in His own hands.

*Rubai*

Sarmad gham-e-ishq bul-hawas ra na-dehand

Soz-e-dil-e-parwana magas ra na-dehand

Umre bayad ke yaar aayad ba-kinar

In daulat-e-Sarmad hama kas ra na-dehand

[O Sarmad, the sorrow of love is not granted to the lustful;

The burning heart of the moth is not granted to the fly.

A lifetime is required for the Beloved to embrace you;

This wealth, O Sarmad, is not granted to just anyone.]

In a way, a touch of madness is also a prerequisite for poetry. Some scholars argue that the thoughts of the madman, the lover, and the poet converge at certain points. A poet must detach himself from all worldly distractions, sever ties with extraneous thoughts, and immerse himself entirely in his craft. Such absolute absorption is impossible for an ordinary person; it can only be achieved by a madman or a lover, who is essentially the poet's metaphorical brother. Just as a madman cares for nothing but his madness, and a lover cares for nothing but his beloved, the poet must be consumed by his art. May God bestow this blessing upon all.

There are many who have exhausted themselves through sheer physical toil to learn how to read and write, yet they remain entirely deprived of the joy of poetry. Even if they were to spend their entire lives trying, they could not utter a single, deeply felt line of verse. God willing, they too will be discussed later in this series. Then there are those who cannot even recite rhythmic verse properly; in fact, they cannot even distinguish between what is metrical and what is not. This is a divine affliction—may God protect us from it. Furthermore, there are some poets who conceive brilliant themes but lack the refined language necessary to express them eloquently. Conversely, there are those whose language is impeccably polished, yet they fail to grasp elevated themes. Each of these types will be addressed in due course.

It is also observed that certain seasons are particularly conducive to the surging of poetic themes and the blossoming of the creative spirit. During the spring and the monsoon season, naturally poetic minds flourish the most. In fact, even the unpoetic and the dead-hearted experience a faint, restless stirring within their souls during these times. It is equally evident that specific times and places are essential for a poet. The foremost requirement is solitude, a place where the mind is not distracted—whether it be a quiet sanctuary within the home, a garden, a wilderness, or a riverbank—so that the heart can immerse itself entirely in the craft. The ideal time is usually the night; when God’s creation, exhausted from the day's labor, goes to sleep, the poet's true work begins. When the entire world falls into a deep silence, a profound clamor awakens within his soul. As the night deepens, his imagination soars higher, diving deeper into the ocean of themes. This is especially true in the final hours of the night, just before dawn, when the world is utterly still, the mind is at peace, the spirit is clear, and the breeze is delicate. In these moments, the heart blossoms. The very struggle to capture a theme brings a unique delight to the soul. Elevated ideas naturally emanate from the mind, and profoundly meaningful words flow effortlessly from the tongue.

A poet must possess a highly capable, receptive, and impressionable nature. Whatever emotional state he wishes to depict must first overwhelm his own heart. He should be like flowing water: it adopts whatever color is poured into it, and in turn, imparts that very color to whatever it touches. If a poet wishes to soften the hearts of others, or if he intends to fill his audience with joy, he must first be overflowing with joy himself. If the words he speaks fail to move his own heart, how can they possibly move anyone else? A quatrain by the poet Ma'il comes to mind here, which I shall quote.

*Rubai*

Ka'aba mein bhi hum ne usay jatay dekha

Aur dair mein naqoos bajatay dekha

Shamil hai ba-haftad-o-do millat Ma'il

Har rang mein pani sa samatay dekha

[I have seen him going into the Kaaba,

And I have seen him ringing the bell in the temple.

Ma'il is mingled with the seventy-two sects;

I have seen him blend into every color like water.]

It is the depth of the poet's own emotional involvement that allows him to successfully compose themes of joy or sorrow, of the battlefield or the festive assembly. The extent to which his own soul is moved dictates the exact measure of impact his words will have on the listener's heart. There are some people in this world who, upon hearing poetry, find their hearts growing restless and their emotions slipping beyond their control. This is because their hearts are as clear as a mirror, and their souls as receptive as pure, crystalline water. Conversely, there are others who would remain completely oblivious even if you were to capture an entire ocean of magical meanings in a glass and place it before them. The reason for this apathy is the murkiness of their hearts, which prevents the light of meaning and poetic thought from penetrating. To the enlightened and the sensitive, the rising and setting of the sun, and the constant turning of morning into evening, cause thousands of fresh, spring gardens of Divine power to bloom before their eyes. But to the dark-hearted and the spiritually blind, the grand workshop of the universe is nothing more than a millstone or a waterwheel, mindlessly spinning in circles day and night.

The pleasure derived from the art of music and the vibrant beauty of a colorful garden are, quite obviously, beyond description. However, those who are blind or deaf cannot possibly partake in these delights. In the exact same way, those who lack a refined temperament and a pure heart remain utterly deprived of the spiritual ecstasy of poetry and the elegance of eloquent speech. What is worse is that some people harbor an active distaste for poetry, arguing that it yields no tangible results. If by benefit they mean a trade that merely earns a few pennies, then poetry is undoubtedly a useless endeavor. There is also no denying that the people of our age have reduced poetry to a rather pitiful state. Yet, despite this, if those blessed with a poetic disposition were to channel their creative energies into the sciences, history, or storytelling, they could easily achieve substantial worldly success and financial gain. Furthermore, many people generally view the art of poetry as a path to moral corruption. While it is true that poetry is often misused in this way, those who truly understand the deeper mysteries of meaning and the essence of literature know better. If an artisan, out of the malice of his own nature, misuses his craft, the craft itself cannot be blamed. Satan, despite being the teacher of the angels, chose the path of misguidance; yet, one would never condemn the pursuit of knowledge itself simply because of his fall.

Consider the principles of philosophy and wisdom: the rightly guided use them to prove the existence of the Almighty and to affirm the oneness of God, while the misguided use those very same principles to argue for atheism and heresy. Just as philosophy and wisdom cannot be blamed for the errors of the misguided, the art of poetry cannot be branded as profane or immoral simply because of the vulgar language or base thoughts of certain poets. In truth, such vulgar verse should not even be classified as poetry. True poetry is that which is born from the profound fervor of earnest, dignified thought, possessing a unique and direct connection to Divine, sacred power. As pure thoughts ascend higher and higher, they ultimately attain the exalted rank of true poetry.

In the beginning, composing poetry was considered one of the great accomplishments of philosophers and profoundly learned scholars, and the difference between their writings and the literature of today is as vast as the distance between heaven and earth. While there may be greater eloquence and rhetorical flourish today, the underlying ideas have largely become empty dreams. The cause of this lies in the vices of the kings and rulers of the age. People simply advanced in whatever these rulers chose to patronize. Otherwise, accomplished poets have written monumental books in this very medium of poetry and verse, founded entirely on wisdom and moral counsel, which offer both outward and inward guidance. The works of figures like Saadi, Maulvi Rumi, Hakim Sanai, and Nasir Khusraw belong precisely to this tradition.

Therefore, through the discourse of this society and the blessing of your gathering, it is hoped that just as attention will be given to promoting other virtues and reforming other vices, this flaw in the art of poetry will also be addressed. Even if it does not happen today, there is a strong hope that, God willing, it will eventually yield positive results. For a long time now, this noble art has fallen into a state of decay, and it continues to deteriorate day by day.