Stephen
Gill's Sufi Sonnets
Stephen Gill’s Sufi Sonnets are his swan songs. He has
been publishing these sonnets one after another through his Face Book when the
Almighty called him back. In his website www.stephengill.ca he had listed it as a book entitled “Seventy Seven
Sufi Sonnets of Stephen Gill” but unfortunately it is not downloaded now and
shows that the page doesn’t exist. As a close friend and fan of Stephen Gill I
have been going through his Face Book posts, particularly these Sufi Sonnets,
and commenting on them. I have copied some 19 sonnets from the Face Book pages
and they are posted below: (K V Dominic, editor)
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 58
I
had planted blessings when I seeded the maple of our love. Someone appeared to
confirm its syrup is unprocessed nectar from the mother if you would handle the
plant with care closing the door of selfhood that brings skies to earth
cementing the link of friendship. Also it is the sun that gives light to walk
your talk and embrace strengths. As a heroic diet its sap nourishes to remain
cheerful. The psalms in the leaves of its tree hide the secrets of the peace to
share that lets life thrive. Its taste keeps dreams sweeter and more alive.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 57
The
grapevine with unleavened bread of new Passover spurs me to chariot the golden
bough of the first gleam of freedom from our acutest pain. Yawns after the
peaceful yawns I lay in intense passion in the lawn lined with the oldest olive
trees. You are my love for the garden that buzzes with apostolic bees and my
esteem that is the softness of sweating and supremacy of the seas. Secured
within cloistered walls away from prosaic ploys I sip from the cup that
restores our fellowship. Under the covenant of my dining hall now crafty
reptiles shall never crawl.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 56
I
garden to offer fresh roses to you. As I rightfully water their fragrant spell
radiates me and the obvious appearance of their unrivalled beauty brightens me.
I grab sticking thorns becoming their fallen petals living and dying for you.
The dignity of their soothing hue is my mastering mania and their sunny sight
lighten when I write. They make me sing and cry. To humble my pride their
energizing gaze enters into animated dialogue as a saint or a sage. In the
pagoda of truth and faith you are the bounty of the bride at best, blessed and
benign.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 55
Crazed
creatures of dark delights have chased our dove to a distant land where they
choke her songs by the strings of paralyzing fear in the wilderness of their
illusive sphere. On their sand the blind brutes write macabre laws whose
spectre stalks here. Its teeth mangles the serene sparrow of my higher self.
Let us pass this evening listening to a nocturnal crescendo from the bird not
afar. In the silken cocoon of your touch my innate flair shall easily thrive.
Our love shall become the pulse of my new rhythm in the night as the time idly
flies.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 54
No
bird or butterfly. Flowers lack fortitude to fragrance the grass. Dry willows
remain tied to their roots fearing what nature safely plies to finish her
function. The forces of rain have absolutely failed to abate the memories of
our ambles. Brutal gusts are shaking trees but our bond is the unshakable lea
where the pelican wings rest in peace. In the album of days my lyrics on your
unfailing solace shall survive. I wait for your mighty return with the tears of
anticipation that make me utterly alive. To suffuse fully in you I stay for
that mighty sight.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 53
The
night’s yard, where a nerve-wrecking fog has weakened my vision, stabs my
tingling calves. Raising head I often clash with walls. Broken and bruised I
blink at the half barren branches where the silence of the solemnity reigns.
The light on the road asks who owns this house muddied with madness? I notice
eerie emptiness above the front door of my failing love. I turn slowly to
sundry rooms, drifting dreamily thinking of your triumphant return. I carry
hurts mostly from the dirt of lies. I cannot borrow your breeding, even buy,
though hope ascends for despair to die.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 52
My
passion in my literary bents batters winter’s blind brutes to cherish fidelity
for you. It stems invisible tears, not because daffodils die but is the sun that
shakes the pieces of familiar mist to easily see you. My passion is the wind
that burbles as my non-delusive peace that is the diamond under compression to
foster perfection. It structures the tower of trust in our meaty toughest tie.
Out of the musty rooms of the fables it watches how the leaves brush ripples as
people walk by. My strongest ultimate ally it is born to live, not to lie.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 51
The
arms of the Ambika and the paradise of my euphony you respire properly on
pearls and pure milk of my art. Your motherhood encourages me to relax in the
invincible summer of the seaside resort within me. My love grows boundless when
you are with children in the swings and the birds trilling along the calm river
that waters the plant of my pervasive energy. I salute when I sight you. Your
culture of action taps my sources for rejuvenation to let my stress go. In the
unclouded zone of Canada geese you reign as elevated soul of peace.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 50
Out
of the cage of dark drudgery I wander along the bank starving for your
presence. Waves play the rhythm of every rainbow of my persistent prophecies
and the perennial memory of the portraits of our perfect ecstasies. I remember
the relic in the cellar of the time where our love lives with deserving honor
and thrill. The river’s closely embracing whispers sincerely stage our story.
The sound of Shankha from the shore asks me to fill the emblem of rituals with
the sandle-paste of your smiles. In the longest thick weary night you are my
untamed desire of delight.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 49
You
enliven the larks on the sloppy lawn where they run making lisping notes. I see
you jogging slow and fast on the narrow windy path along St. Lawrence where
your dignity moulds the Maple leaves. You appear behind the bridge as adornment
of majesty in orange and yellow images. Also in the air that casts off the
weariness of the aged sages. You are the honk of the geese and the goal of the
balm I spread through my psalms. With the stunning sepals of the tulips I exalt
you in the luster of stars doing my daily task.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 48
I
see our love flowing effortlessly as a waft with the drifts of freedom, fusing
with the effulgence of the vastness. In the night of my ceaseless voyage you
shall remain my ultimate aim. It is pleasing to add and know you are my abiding
flame. The Laurentian vista is your glimmer in the waves. I celebrate heaven on
earth in a richer way my gem to show there is nothing we cannot together grow.
For my longing to receive energy I rely on the roots of your liturgy. You
accompany my sacred sail to provide through the wandering gale.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 47
Night
knocks noisily at the door when I hear the rattle of volcanic fury from the
traders of terror. They shape with inhuman creeds strangely structured maniac
beings while our seraphs securely sleep on the roofs of snobbish breed.
Sweetest is the bread that tastes the days of the comforting peace. With the
hunger that nourishes sincerity in love I wait for your return on a stallion to
address my concerns. Because of the frightening beast I swap the days of my
ease singing sagacious psalms for you. For me, a nomad in fields, you own all
what I need.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 46
As
the daybreak drinks the wild air caressing delicate flowers with care I espouse
my thoughts for you. In my innovative simple songs they meander as streams with
the waves of no pains which merge travelling by meadows. I gyrate within to
marry your true lime-laden name thirsting for its inner calling that flows the
inspirational symphony of diamond painted waterfalls. In the haven of our
mystical love fresh buds abundantly blossom into deathless tunes of the blessed
dove. I see you elating in ravishing aroma. While you frisk in woods and plains
I hear your whispers here in rains.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 45
I
relax with no special thoughts along Saint Lawrence River where I hear stunning
coos which remind mystically of you. I sleep peacefully on the moon with my
sight on stars. They are not vague though afar. When they go I will see them
once more like you, I know. They are camps in the hive that give reasons to be
alive as I do for you. You stay in the nest of my safest hope that I keep in
the cave of my passion and trust. It energizes my open approach to see you even
with my eyes closed.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 44
The
hermitage where I blandly burn to radiate your light is coming to a fuller
life. The bird on its roof sings to celebrate my faith in euphony, while with a
harp in hands the wind softens the rudeness of my personal melancholies. At the
Autumn’s cozy cottage that can be passed unnoticed, I stand with a tornado in
my pot to run miles before the candle fazes out. You are the wailing of the
mother who is gifted with unshed tears to give hope. The upper pivot of my
pride; you prime me to win my unceasing sacred fight.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 43
Meet
me often when the moon is guiding birds with silver light in the dark night and
flowing waters confide with the infinity of wonders. The bathing pebbles shall
narrate our undying courtship and town flippant laughs. Authenticity shall not
drift even if the coldest draft hits. Shame is just a name and falter ferocious
foe. It is neither I nor the ink this poet needs to paint his unclouded
creative vision fears the gust and dew. The stunning lily of our oneness shall
always grow joyful and new. Our bond is the unspoken ocean between coasts to
share unfrozen.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 42
Your
concerns like that of the mother untangles my irrational knots when I host the
saddest thoughts walking along St. Lawrence bank. I see the sun rotating
blissfully on the tourist boats. My fascination begins to glow when I see you
whirling like planets in these merging ripples. I ask to tell me how in peace
they flow. It is your lyrical face in their rhythm which I am committed to
show. You are the lure of their pebbled shore that for me grow before their
spell plans to go. My loving tide, you’re the veil of a blessed bride.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 41
You
are the galaxy of the sober sky that has planted its presence in the rapturous
Saint Lawrence River. Canada geese sing of their extended ties in the arms of
its unruffled waters chatting as free tides whose culture of the Beaver vivify
the energy we solidify. When I look at the trees I think of your radiant warmth
that asks me to dance. The pattern of their shadows so revived, comforting and
alive, are the pristine purity of your undiluted regimes where beauty burst
through seams. Every leaf of the Maple talks of the pleasing tapestry of our
walks.
Stephen
Gill’s Sufi Sonnet 40
When
I am filled with futilities you fix up festive feasts to feed me with spices to
spark the creativity of my inner sanctuary. For my compelling hunger you
genially grow cabalistically the microbes of the ravishing radiance with musty
flavour. What is the best in your bewilderment becomes the brightness of my
bloom. I give you my sweetest tribute through the senses of the grasp as you
sharpen my artistic skills to bring out the god within me. With glee and
without fear you bring order that is fair and honest. The unhackneyed cadence
you are my supernal sonnet.
Poems about Stephen Gill
A Prophet Comes to Texas
(The prophet referred to is Stephen Gill, who made a
Literary Tour to Texas (USA) in 1990 to share his poems and philosophy of
peace.)
He came among us, wearing a red maple leaf,
whispering,
"Peace."
His
feet stepped gently on Texas soil, disturbing weeds of
complacency.
His eyes probed hearts.
His lips spoke softly,
"Become disciples,
Children of Peace."
Some
closed their minds,
their ears.
Fanatic!
An Idealist, they called him.
Others
opened their eyes and received a
vision of what was, what is, and what could be.
With the vision came a warning
of what
might be.
We
cringed before signs of annihilation and cried out to
silver wing
that lifted him
above the clouds,
"Peace."
---Bobbie Alice Drake
Bobbie Alice
Drake from the United States writes mostly anti-war poems. She is a columnist for newspapers, and has
authored two collections of poems.
Angel
I wish I could
send you an angel
to give strength to bring hope, confidence,
tranquillity an
angel no one will notice
but you –
faster than sound brighter than
light
softer than touch
but touching you with warmth you feel is real deep
down inside.
--Frank Joussen
Frank Joussen has authored three collections of poems. He is a teacher
of English literature in Germany, where he was born and brought up.
Peace
When Stephen Gill holds
a
candle of hope
providing a blueprint for life in
his psalms
a dove
begins to fly.
When he implores in his
poems
to hold hands together
against restless,
wayward minds
of fanatics and nations
and rolling tanks misfire,
the sage in him stands up
with unshakable confidence to
announce
Shanti,
shanty, shanty Om.
---Jaydeep
Sarangi
Prof. Dr. Jaydeep Sarangi
is a bilingual poet and critic. He is a professor of English and principal at
New Alipore College, Kolkata. He is also the President of Guild of Indian
English Writers, Editors and Critics (GIEWEC).
Ravnas of Today
(On Stephen Gill’s modern epic The Flame )
When I read
Children disappearing inside the
blackness
Limbs scattered
And mothers crying
Every
speck of me
Falls apart.
Maniac messiahs
Play diatribe songs
On an
impaired piano
Of their design.
The abrupt harshness
Of
their discordant sounds
Come from the notes of reason.
These Ravanas and Kamsas
Pollute the air of serenity.
The
arrows of their insanity End
in the emptiness
Of the nadir of frustration.
The
flame keeps giving warmth
From
its spring of purity.
Where is the daybreak
of the source
that ends the melodrama
of the dark force
I simply ask.
-- Anuradha Sharma
Anuradha Madan Sharma is Associate
Professor of English at Navjivan Arts and Commerce College, Dahod, Gujarat,
India.
The
Sun
This sun is
no other than Stephen Gill
A prime Poet Laureate—
A learned navigator
For budding poets and
writers.
They will be thankful to
Divinity
For
awarding them
A friendly, humble guide.
The
radiance of this sun
Dwindles away their fears.
They emanate now boldly
Like
the radiant stars in the sky---
A new vista is taking shape.
-- A.
S. Bannore
A. S. Bannore
from Vadodara, Gujarat, India, has authored
collections of poems. She is a teacher by profession.
Catharsis
Bang, bang—
a devil at the door drops
the
beads of my brooding on the floor.
Alone to stare and ponder
with uneasy thoughts I notice no being and no stars in the sky
in the space of the gloomy night.
The dim
comforting light whispers gently:
Fear.... yes
it’s the fear that your poet Stephen Gill holds, hugs closely and drones--
it is a jolt that he owns.
He has
lost his land
but not the sky.
He
shall continue purging emotions
with his primal expressions.
His words weep in solitude
on the mount of
artists.
It is brutal, a painful process
to
produce pity
and reposing Catharsis.
-- K. Satyamurty
K. Satyamurty, a
translator, has post graduate degrees in Ancient Indian History, Culture and Archaeology; and also in English
Literature--both from different universities of India. He has doctorate on Stephen Gill.
A
Universalist
The Creator of the
universe
has given great and generous men
to
serve with compassion and diligence.
Stephen Gill is among them.
An Indian by birth,
Ethiopian
next, English later,
a
Canadian now
breathes in the panorama of the ambition
of his literary creeds.
A
cosmopolitan poet of vision
for which he has toiled to provide a blueprint to live. Voracious
reader, skilled writer,
teacher tenacious intellectual, weighty, a
profound thinker
whose
poetry and prose
reveal veritably of his beliefs.
Stephen
is not a Trishanku.
Peace is the child of
freedom and for all justice
this
poet often repeats them
using as his living rosary.
Stephen Gill, a cherished son of the universe,
is
today’s conscious.
Global
harmony and social concerns
form the pillars of his poetry.
-- N V Subbaraman
N V Subbaraman writes in English and Tamil and edits YOUNG POET-- an English poetry
e-journal and a monthly journal IMPACT. He has authored more than 30 books and has a number of awards to his credit.
Stephen Gill:
The Bard
Like a meteor he rose
Across the blue sky
To rekindle faith in humanity
That’s now grown wild
The Partition tore his soul
The massacres his spirit
The symphony of life
Blew out his candle
Yet, following the path of Ahimsa
An apostle of peace he becomes
Turning over the pages of history
He pleads for nations to be one
A simple bard he rose unnoticed
Armed with his dove of peace
An olive branch he holds with ease
For all to heal and repose
The terrorist mania
Stretches wild
As do the war clouds loom
He pleads to halt the envious race
To loot and destroy the roots
A righteous man
God fearing to the core
He seeks to unite divided nations
On creeds of love and peace
He warns the erring nations
Politicians shrewd and crude
Who burn both ends of candle tips
To rule and divide the ‘brood’
Nations divided cannot subsist
On ideals corrupt and hide
The pain that tortures one and all
And so the Apostle strides
Onward, onward he marches along
The path of Live and Let Live
Undaunted he kindles the spirit of love
Though the world listens to him not
He dreads the decay of conscience
In men who hunger for blood
Maniac Messiahs he calls them
Craving like vampires for human blood
God grant him a peaceful life
For the peaceful pledges he instils
In every human heart he plants
The wish to Live and Let Live
-- Shobha Diwakar
For the Apostle of Peace
You struggled alone
Walking on the path of righteousness
Un deterred,
The path was rough and pebbled
Under the star studded sky
The sky that once bloomed
Tucking myriads of planets
By its side
This war torn world
Has stolen its glory
Shrouding it with dirty fumes
To loot and consume
Hitlers’ everywhere do hunger
To covet and destroy
To conquer and ruin the world
Their might crosses the tide
Amidst the rage to rule and divide
Terrorists claim the feat
Morals lost, conscience dead
No time to heal and reprieve
A ray of sunshine
A ray of hope
Shines through the cracks insight
As a prophet rises steadily
To light the path bright
A humble humanitarian he
Rises above the raging tide
Perceiving disasters all around
Prays for this tide to subside
--
Shobha Diwakar
Stephen
Gill’s Agony
Fire ignited
his soul
while inhumanity crushed him
tearing him entirely.
He
rushed place to place
when hideous sights followed him. Oceans
could not quench his thirst
as flames kept enveloping his life
like the ever flowing tide.
This
India-born visionary
self-proclaimed world citizen
settled in
Canada.
A renowned poet of love
agonised by the heinous criminals was
robbed of innocent childhood
in his motherland, the symbol of dreams.
His struggle to promote co-existence
to end religious strife went
unnoticed.
He inks
the dove
with
the maple of his pen.
The
whispers of the Muse could not help him
to rescue humanity
from
the grasp of chaos.
His
philosophical eyes see beyond the
clouded horizon.
Finds
animosities diverting economy
to the factories of armaments
to defend imaginary boundaries.
He urges to stop bombing cities
that leaves mutilated bodies.
He implores to bathe in harmony.
His watchword is for the flowers of peace
to fill the landscape with beauties.
-- Shobha Diwakar
A
prominent poet and literary critic Dr. Shobha Diwakar is a Retired
Head, Dept. of English, C P Mahila Mahavidhyalaya, Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh,
India.
A Song for Stephen Gill
Stephen lives
and loves
Serenity
and peace
Live
and let live in his genes.
For
humanity and humankind
His
heart cries for compassion
To
unite the world is his passion.
The smile
of love and peace
His
heart wishes on every face
Carrying
a burden with wonder of grace.
He
contemplates and writes
His pen
always glorifies
The
religion that teaches not to fight.
His
writings bear a meaningful mark
O the
people of nations
Read
Gill to heal the vision dark.
--Aksa Rao
Dr. Aksa Rao works as head of the department of English at
Bishnah College, Jammu, India.
Dear
Mr. Gill
Dear Mr. Gill
You came from heaven
To pour melodies
Mellowed with mellifluous message
Brewed with manna
That strikes a note
That drowns dissension
And the world will be dank with
Love and compassion
Deepest regards to you
--Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya, M A (Triple),
M Phil, PhD, is a retired college teacher from Belur Math, Howrah, West Bengal.
A Bilingual writer (English and Bengali), he has been writing on different
subjects for the last thirty years.
In Memory of Stephen Gill
God
sent a white dove with long feathers on head
Flew
over the world cooing mantras of peace
Reminded
human beings futility of war
How
millions of innocent children, women
farmers,
labourers, animals and plants
lose
their lives through devastating bombings
It flew to war torn areas
where
‘maniac messiahs’ danced in
ecstasy
over corpses of innocent masses.
Having failed in His mission
God called it back on 4th
April 2022
--K. V. Dominic, Editor IJML
