Grooves forge table and cushion in stern cut folds;
Nature's art or a pre-established pattern holds.
Grooves boast of the groundhog underground;
In grooves, the new sown fields are crowned.
Ethereal grooves flow in streams of mind;
Where thoughts are measured and weighed in kind.
But there is a danger, there is one trap;
Those stuck in a groove suffer an eternal nap.
Their needles of thought soon grow dull;
Minds once sharp fall into a lull.
If one seeks to twist or jerk them 'round;
The force of the groove holds them bound.
Grooves are worshiped, flaunted like shiny jewels;
Hardened mindsets morphed into gods for dupes.
Be it Priestly or Secular Groove;
Be it Tribal or Vernacular Groove;
Be it Intellectual or Emotional Groove;
Be it Status or Professional Groove;
Be it Mystical or Capitalistic Groove;
Be it Historical or Nationalistic Groove;
Becoming stuck in a groove;
Is a lifeless move.
Some worship land, some worship history;
Each in their groove, enchanted by the priest.
Yet should one seek to surmount the trap;
Search your mind; reexamine the map.
Do not copy, imitate nor fake;
Be inspired, create! Fear not mistake!
Brothers and sisters of the land of the pure;
Awaken, as souls akin to the enlightened of yore.
Make keen your minds as did Iqbal;
Who heeded the light of Quran's stellar Call!
Do not complain and do not brood;
Exalted above all shines the Quranic groove.
Here is the way where pure intent reigns free;
Here lies the road to Makkah, the road to Majesty.
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