07. Homo Ludens.
The World knows the GAME -
don t cut yourself in.
Even swiftflying hawks
will fall in its snare.
I build a palace
the world pulls it down:
what do you call this
but Play?
What is it; Ludus?,
that from which nothing
is gained. But you
are mad for it.
In the claws of the worldhawk
your hair goes piebald grey;
now turn back
from this pointless Play.
Youth was a downward slope
- easy breathing, head held high -
now the upward climb of old age
and you hang your head.
Youth a descent
you rushed unchecked;
but now before the hill of age
you gape and yawn.
>When I was young
I did so-and-so
but now you ve grown old
why boast over nothing?
When you were so rich
why didn t you stash something
to tide you over now
you re down and out?
Yourstates are like
fish in the sea:
in the sea who owns them
mon brave?
World s face embroidered
with playfulness:
turn away and sew up
your own affairs.
Unless you turn body and soul
to gnosis and devotion
those two uncaring frauds
will cheat you blind.
Circling . . . circling -
close the circle - die.
If you do not start NOW
when will you start?
Screwing around, ballgames
injustice, backbiting, theft
lying, conning, putting it on,
pride, impudence and slander:
demongames
set-ups for the Fire -
get out of them
heave them overboard.
At school they force knowledge
down your throat;
ignorance sings harmonies with you
when you harmonise withNature@.
Why aren t you greedy
for knowledge? You re usually
voracious, a glutton for
whatever you don t have.
I heard you boasting of
your eloquent Arabic.
Idiot! Arabic - its only value
is to read the Qur an
the Treasury of Knowledge
for those who read it passionless -
and what enticed you to poetry
if not your passions?
Mine of Divine Mysteries
you scorn it
intimate playfellow
of lying devils.
If I m to be called
your fellow-religionist
you ll have to cut yourself
off from such friends.
O Nasir ! Cut yourself off indeed
O PROOF! From braggrats
and seekers of fame, for you
are a man of truth and piety.
It s enough of you can
escape from their clutches -
cut the story short and leave off
talking about the Persians.
For in your heart are
ambergris-scented rose-tinted
brocades with you
the perfumer, the draper
will offer to
the wise.
- Printer-friendly version
- 2741 reads