Warriors of Faith

Jin Prem Kio- 5 (Vichora)


I wished to hear again a word from those holiest of the holy lips of Guru Arjan Dev himself, as
did once my forefathers in the Punjab. I panted for it. I thirsted for it. I cried like a child. I
wished to see him, the sweetest minstrel of divine love who lived with us once, and spoke to us
with a sweetness that no one has since been capable of bestowing on us. Would he meet me?
Where is he gone? Where dwells he now?
Messengers robed in white flames came in and took me into a little bright, fragrant sweet retreat
in my own house. There was the Treasure of his Songs. I fell down speechless at the feet of the
Song, at the Feet of His Disciple, who had given me that Treasure and also the zest in my soul
for its pure light and feet of the Master. The white-robed Messengers lifted me up and these
angels made me sit by the Treasure of Song. I felt at that entranced, blessed time that I was
sitting by the side of the Master himself. The angels sat in me and opened the Book of Songs
and they read and I listened. I felt, Guru Arjan Dev came in response to me as He had blessed
my ancestors of the Punjab. So is He still with me. I felt deeply comforted

Naam- The Only Healer

A Sikh peasant was noticed continuously to utter the Name of God- “Glory, Glory”- and they people of
the earth asked him why he repeated the same word to no purpose.
“I am not quite well,” said he;
“my skin smarts, it burns; I feel sharp needles piercing me all over, it is very painful. The air
burns me; I perspire, I feel sick; I cry-no one can save me from this hell-fire. And brothers! the
only cure for me is this ‘useless repetition’ of this pebble-like name ‘Wahe Guru’, ‘Wahe Guru’.
The only cure for me is this repetition of ‘Glory’, ‘Glory’ that you think useless.
My religion is this licking of saltless rocks.”
With this utterance, I feel as if I am having a dip in Pool Of Nectar.

Sleep needs no velvet beds; love knows not caste.
True religious feeling causes wounds of love deep within;
the devotee has no escape from its poignant pangs of ecstasy.
Beauty divine kills man with its fatal flashes, and he lives fluttering like a bird pierced with the hunter’s arrow.
The pain of ecstasy is his prayer. He has seen that Beauty which is seen everywhere and yet is forever
beyond the reach of the senses.

ਸੁਪਨੇ ਵਿਚ ਤੁਸੀਂ ਮਿਲੇ ਅਸਾਨੂੰ , ਅਸਾਂ ਧਾ ਗਲਵਕੜੀ ਪਾਈ
ਨਿਰਾ ਨੂਰ ਤੁਸੀਂ ਹਥ ਨਾ ਆਏ , ਸਾਡੀ ਕੰਬਦੀ ਰਹੀ ਕਲਾਈ

ਧਾ ਚਰਨਾ ਤੇ ਸੀਸ ਨਿਵਾਯਾ ਸਾਡੇ ਮਥੇ ਛੋਹ ਨਾ ਪਾਈ
ਤੁਸੀਂ ਓੱਚੇ ਅੱਸੀ ਨੀਵੇਂ ਸਾਂ ਸਾਡੀ ਪੇਸ਼ ਨਾ ਗਈਆ ਕਾਈ

ਫਿਰ ਲੜ ਫੜਨੇ ਨੂ ਉਠ ਦੌੜੇ ਪਰ ਲੜ ਓ ਬਿਜਲੀ -ਲਿਹਰਾ ,
ਉਡਦਾ ਜਾਂਦਾ , ਪਰ ਓਹ ਆਪਣੀ ਛੋਹ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਗਿਆ ਲਾਈ ;

In a dream you met;and I rushed to clasp you.
I spread my arms in the empty air to embrace you, but my hands could not touch you;
my arms remained empty, trembling with an unfulfilled desire.
But there was only a flash, a glimpse, that eluded my grasp.
Only my arms were quivering in the air with a strange ecstasy!

Bhai Vir Singh

KamalJeet Singh ShaheedSar

Posted by Kamaljeet Singh Shaheedsar on Thursday, September 29. 2011

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