Ismaili.NET - Heritage F.I.E.L.D.

Have I changed? Or is it the world that s changed?

I think it must be me; the world seems the same as ever.

It would bound away when I used to chase after it

but now things are different - it s me who turns away;

or perhaps we ve both changed: I have become

more like the world and the world more like me.

I used to be precious ore in its mine, but now

I myself am a mine of golden speech in the rational soul.

What could have happened to everyone, that they seem

so severely frightened just at the mention of my name?

I never spilled the cup of anyone s reputation

or snatched bread from a hand by force;

I never worried any young men into greybeards

so why am I so hated by young men and old alike?

I never asked for sermons to be read in my name

neither in Kashgar nor in Baghdad - so why

do the Ruler and the Emir now revile and abuse me?

I feel no greed for blood or carrion. I wonder

why so many dogs have become my enemies?

I won t write any eulogies for you, Emir,

so don t send me any dinner invitations;

if you do invite me, I won t call you Emir

and if I do praise you, please don t call me

a human being! The Creator of heart and soul

has set the Book of Freedom in a secret place

in my breast; slavery s chains has been struck

from my ankles - that s why I never bow down my head.

Before I received this boon, I was a slave to anyone

and suffered a great deal of pain in this world,

much as I kicked against it. You who know it not

can run after it - I who know it,

know too much. Unless you toss him out with a

sound beating, the born rascal will never

become obedient - that s why I drive away from my door

the rapscallion world. O seeker of that world

don t bother to seek me out as if I were (like you)

lost on the way. As hastily as you dash

after the world I run horrorstruck from its gates.

Your autumn winds do not agree with my sighs of sorrow -

unlike you I do not praise the sad season s beauties.

The world s kiss moistens your lips but

dries my mouth with terror. By day Repentance

is my bosom companion, by night the Quran

my confidante. O you who reel in hilarity

around the wine-jug, I do not circumambulate

the amphora nor stagger upon a drunk s pilgrimage;

I am intoxicated with pain and sorrow by the blood of Husayn -

how can the vine s blood make me gleeful again?

My hand and tongue do not imitate your deeds;

my subtle soul is saved even though dense

and heavy under the burden of Time. Sages see

my angelic essence, even if to your eyes I am still

merely human. My body s the banner of angels

even if hidden in Yamgan from devil s spite.

If the whole kingdom of Solomon couldn t wipe out

a single demon, what can I do against a horde?

I am a shepherd hired by the Moses of Time,

to a flock which grazes on knowledge in the dark night

of the world. No shepherd is without crook or bowl -

my bowl is the Book, my staff my tongue.

Come to me and eat the bread of Divine Law

softened in the milk of my eloquence. O you

who think me ugly, I am ugly; if you are beautiful

then beautiful too is my face. Learn wisdom

and you will find me wise; become a jewelled sword

and I will be your whetstone. The hand of the Lord,

the Imam of the Time, has sown the seed of humanity

in my speech. Come, climb my tree, and I will seat you

on humanity s branch. I am flowing water

to freshen the tillage of Wisdom in religion s fields

by my speech, to wash away demon dust

with counsel precious as pearl; I am vigilant,

tempered spearhead pointed always towards

the devil, who can never disgrace me. Speech

is my arrow head, my pen is the arrow, my fingers the bow.

If my enemy comes from the East I will easily

slay him with my speeding shafts.