When the Cynical CEO Saw the Treasures Of Lahore

By Novid Shaid, 2011


For Data Saheb, Ali Al Hujwiri, Qaddus Allahu sirruhu


As he strode by blessed Bhatti gate,

The CEO’s pulse quickened with contractions of hate,

for what he deemed a place of superstition and ignorance.

But his mother told him to pass by Daata’s gate,

Weekly visits she instructed, to his growing distaste.

No longer just his mother’s son, but a man of wealth and weight.

Earning millions, with a flourishing global trade.

Founder of his brand, with growing conglomerates.

Still his old mother insisted he pass by Daata’s gate,

As he neared, he heard his mother’s words reverberate

Entreating her son, so loving and affectionate

With these lines she had sung since he was a weeping babe:


“Mera Piyaara, Sona, Beita Gee

Allah give you tawfeeq

Mera Piyaara, Sona, Beita Gee

Listen to your mother’s plea.

For success in your industry

Pray to Allah Paak with sincerity,

At the gate of our Daata Gee,

Allah will grant all that you seek,

Hidden treasure lies by Daata’s feet,

For Allah loves our Daata Gee

He is with those of true poverty

See the gleaming luminosity

At the gates of our Daata Gee,

But most us we just don’t see

This world has veiled us with its trickery,

The multitude’s iman is weak

So have mercy with humanity

Listen Mera Piyara, Sona, Beita gee.”


Mr CEO snarled at an urchin, eye-patched and thin

who approached, pleading for money, with an empty tin.

Cursing, confounding the dirtiness and scams

Beggars, drug pushers begging for money, what a sham!

What holiness could there by in such a place?

Full of mocking piety, blessings not a trace.

Frowning at a hag, bedizened with make-up and bells,

Next to Daata’s entrance, with items, set up to sell.

Regarding the rickshaw men grabbing passengers

Hailing, hustling, hankering, circling like a flock of vultures.

Penetrating Daata’s space, he glared with growing ire,

Instead of God, Daata was the people’s only desire,

They had promoted some old man in Allah’s place

All that talk of treasure and light by his mother was all fake,

Only darkness lingered for him, he had to disappear

Dismissing dua, he quickly escaped from there.

Later, remonstrating with callous colleagues from his firm,

Ridiculing Lahoris for the dead man for whom they yearned.

Shaking heads, while sipping on Mocas in their eatery

Feeling indignant of the excesses of their society.

When he reached his home, fuelled with determination

He kissed his old mum, then began his refutation:


“Meri Piyaree, Soni, Ammie Gee,

I’ve had enough of all this stupidity

For all this focus on your Daata Gee,

His gate has just become an absurdity

For people clutching onto backward tendencies

Your talk of treasure I just don’t see,

Allah Paak is not their deity,

Meri Piyare, Soni Ammie Gee

No need for superstition or spirituality

Your hands and head can only give you victory!”

His mother’s eyes glazed with sympathy,

And all she said with tears brimming inwardly:

“May Allah Paak show you what there is to see…”


The next morning Mr CEO rolled out with his shining Benz

Heeding hi s mother’s wish he did not intend.

Cruising through the streets, towards his head office

Purposely avoiding roads which passed by Daata’s presence

Suddenly, road blocks and accidents stood in the way,

Making him turn back, searching for routes, to his dismay.

But whichever way he chose the passage seemed closed

And the only alternative was to go by Daata’s stronghold

With a heavy sigh, he drove on by Bhatti Gate,

Careful not to glance at what he deemed disarray,

Traffic slammed to a halt, and he heard a growing hum,

First merely a hint and then growing, like a coming flood.

Irritated, he emerged from his Merc

Checking, searching, seeking the cause of this disturbance,

Without realising, he was creeping back towards Data’s space

Scanning the area he couldn’t make out the humming’s base,

Faltering, like the ground was shifting beneath his feet,

Perhaps he had caught some illness from the heat,

When suddenly, he backed into that old tramp on the road

Eye-patched, with money tin, on his back his life’s load.

Eye caught eye, and suddenly without warning, time seemed to stop,

Mr CEO’s curtains between the truth suddenly dropped

To his horror he witnessed a sight that pushed him back,

Angels swarmed, flowing through every nook and crack,

Tiny, glowing like jugni, with the light of Allah,

Showering blessings made of gold coins into Data’s Mazhar

Rubbing his eyes, shaken, the CEO questioned his head:

“Am I going mad?” He uttered, feeling growing dread.

Just then he noticed the eye-patched begging bum,

Now stood eight foot tall, magnificent, gazing down like a titan.

Cringing, Mr CEO gasped: “What the hell is going on!”

Around him, most people didn’t notice, and just carried on.

Then caught his eye the bawdy hag he sneered at before,

Allah’s light glistened freely from all the tacky jewels that she wore,

Something told him this woman gathered all the money she made,

Daily, distributing to the poor, while she fasted on most days.

Suddenly, the beeping horn of a rickshaw driver caught his ear,

Turning, he heard Allah Hu! Call out from the horn loud and clear,

This rickshaw driver smiling gave all his rides free of charge

To the poor and the destitute who came to join Daata’s entourage.

Still the angels poured their treasures, while people walked by,

Unaware of what was transpiring in front of the CEO’s eyes

He saw darkness exuding from people walking in and out

Of Daata’s space, but light encircled it, squeezing darkness out.

Some visitors and beggars’ eyes brimmed with selfish desire

While others shone with the light of unity’s loving fire.

Clutching his head, closing his eyes, hoping to clear,

From his brain, this crazy scene, this horrendous nightmare,

“What does this mean? Why don’t people see!

Or is this just a figment, or a strange fancy!”

Then the giant tapped his shoulder, beckoning

the CEO to come forward so that he could whisper something to him.

Stretching down, voice like a free wind, he said:

“The world has veiled us with its trickery, our hearts are dead.”


Then it was like the world slipped from under his feet,

He felt like he was poor man vulnerable and weak,

Collapsing on the pavement he began to weep,

The jugni angels swarmed around him like grazing sheep

Suddenly the resting place of Daata seemed to rouse from sleep

And he heard the voice of Daata Sahab, pure and sweet,

Singing, “Allahu Ahad, Allahu Daeem!

Allahu Ahad, Allahu Daeem

Allahu Ahad, Allahu Daeem!”

Every coin that they angels threw, priceless and pristine,

Showered down like a fountain, one fell on him to keep

Tears brimmed as he examined this unearthly money

Inscribed with the words, Allahu Ahad Allahu Daeem

On the other side sparkling and extraordinary

“Muhammadur rasulullah khaatamannabiyyeen”.

The CEO saw that Daata’s voice singing: Allahu Daeem!

Formed a shield of light above, like a dazzling screen,

Cushioning the judgement that rained down from the heavens

For many people who attended Daata’s screen

Were riddled with ignorance and insecurities

But there stood some who were bathed in light, humble and serene

For the sake of them and their Daata Gee,

Allah Paak held back the impact of His strong decrees

The judgments bounced off the light of Daata’s screen

Like bubbles bouncing off and bursting immediately.

While the people strolled by, taking no heed

To the miraculous visions that the CEO had just seen.

he sobbed and wept draining himself of his own prestige

Crying: “Why don’t they understand, why don’t they see?!”

Then his old mother hobbled onto the scene,

With the priceless coins hanging around her body

As if she was an old, tremendous queen.

Holding her son’s head close to her cheeks

Cradling and soothing him like he was a new-born baby

The CEO’s mother sang her lullaby:


“Mera Piyaara, Sona, Beita Gee

Allah give you tawfeeq

Meri Piyaara, Sona, Beita Gee

There’s no need to fear or weep,

You’re safe here by our Daata Gee

Here in Daata’s nagri

For most people they just don’t see

They think their cleverness and surety

Is the cause of their victory

The world has fooled them with its trickery

For the secret of Daata’s treasury

Is the purity of tawheed

And the Prophet’s resounding finality

Allah bless him and praise him infinitely

Mera Piyaara Sona Beita Gee

Allah Paak has made you free,

Now thank him with all your energy

And honour those for whom He had decreed

His endless love and special intimacy

Like Nabi Paak and His Sahabi

And those of love like our Daata Gee,

Ignore the excesses you’re bound to see

The people’s ignorance is a disease

But Allah Paak is near in places like these,

If you would just look closer, if only.

Daata Ganj Baksh has a copious treasury

Not of gold, but the secret of tawhid,

Of Allah’s Paak’s absolute divinity

And his teachings are pure Muhammadi

Listen my piyaara sona beita gee.


Smiling, drowning in the sea of light

The CEO’s mother held her weeping son, as the sun shone high

And Daata’s space shifted and reflected the Divine kaleidoscope

True people visited, joining Daata Gee, clutching on to Allah’s rope.



Daata Saheb Ali Hujwiri:  famous Sufi Saint and Patron Saint of Lahore in Pakistan

Daata Ganj Baksh:  The Master who bestows treasures

Bhatti gate: gate near Daata Darbar- Daata Saab’s tomb/mausoleum

“Mera Piyaara, Sona, Beita Gee”- My beloved, beautiful son (terms of endearment)

“Meri Piyaare Sone Ammie Gee”-  My beloved beautiful mother

Daata Ki Nagri: The city of Daata

Allah Paak: Allah Pure of Imperfections

This entry was posted in Poems, Sufi/Mystical and tagged , , , by Novid Shaid. Bookmark the permalink.

About Novid Shaid

I am a Muslim writer and English teacher. I have written poetry, short stories, a play, and I am currently working on a novella. My subject matter and themes are related to Islam, Sufism, politics and also my job as a secondary school teacher. My work is copyrighted and any works published here may not used or copied without my prior consent. You can contact me via the "Contact Me" page, if you wish to use any these writings. I am keen to gain the notice of publishers and if any are interested in my writings, please contact me via the "Contact Me" page. Was salaam, Peace

One thought on “When the Cynical CEO Saw the Treasures Of Lahore

  1. What a masterpiece! What a Jewel! God bless you dear!! I am so amazed at your brilliance! You seem to be one in a million!

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