10. Anti-Ode to Spring
How long have you praised the spring,when the dry stems
shall blossom and the almond bear fruit; when
the garden, like my beloved, shall blush
and its meadows grow fresh as her skin;
when dew shall polish the waxy petals
of the pomegranate, and the nightingale leave
his rose to fly and salute them. The songster
burns with love and haunts the garden
till the mournful raven comes to chase him away.
The rose rides upon its steed of ruby,
the tulip marches before, bearing its banner.
The garden was scattered with Winters white camphor
but now is strewn with Spring s pearls.
The moonfaced children of the rose,
with its uncles and cousins now join it for a picnic.
The willow signs a peace-treaty
with the boisterous wind, the tulip
embraces and kisses the narcissus. The garden
is a constellation from which Venus,
in the early dawn, peeps down upon earth . . .
Bah! Enough of such futile nonsense! Such blather
merely embarrasses me! Spring has returned
as my guest now sixty times - it will be the same
if I live to be six hundred. Those whom Fate
has stripped of all adornment can take no joy
in the garden s decorations; to me its loveliness,
this Spring of your, is but a daydream
concealing pain beneath its charming robes,
poison in its sugar, thorns in its roses.
The cheerful day will come after the sorrows
of stygian night - but when mad Winter
cannot drive away your bile, what use
are Spring and its blossoming meadows?
The changing seasons are but ravenous lions
which steal forth each night to stalk us -
whoever raises his head will have it
bitten off. These beasts are not filled even
with the blood of thousands of victims.
Yes, the world is a sweet place to fools
but to me disagreeable and hateful. Whatever
character of a man, the world offers him
the same portion. Everything s proper
in its proper place - wetness from water,
corrosion fro acid - and even the tasteless thorn
seem moist and toothsome to the mouth of
an ass. We must learn to compromise
with the habitual injustice of the world,
when evil always follows after good,
and (I suppose) good after evil - for they make
a pulpit and a gallows from the same tree.
Sometimes you need defences, a strong castle
with a dungeon and chains - but then again
you are blamed for being toosensitive !
One day the shrewd spheres raise an army
against you, the next they smile and pat you
on the back . .
Ah, now I have shocked you.
Go away you shout,you irreligious maniac
and just wait till Judgement Day!
But to me, my forelocks are blades of sweet basil
even if to you, coiled black rattlesnakes.
To the children of Fatimah I am a branch
laden with fruit, even if to you I seem
a sterile weeping willow. How can I take pride
in religion when you too claim to be a Muslim?
I choose the friendship of Ali, whose sword
brings dark night to his foes, bright day
to his Partisans. Light is far superior
to smoke, even if both come from fire.
A neighbour can never take the place
of a brother, even if he comes with you
to the mountains and caverns. Test gold and flint
with the same touchstone, they cannot posses
the same value. Islam is a palace built for all
to take rest therein, by the Prophet himself.
Ali and his children are its gates. Welcome, O you
who enter here, and hail to him who has rolled out
the red carpet of knowledge and action.
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