Nasir-i Khusraw did not give his poems titles, but we have decided to title them in order to clarifyy their main themes and make it easier to refer to them individually. In the notes, the title will be followed by MM and a number; this refers to the number of the poem in the edition of the Diwan edited by M. Mnovi and M. Mohaghegh, Tehran, 1353 A.H.S.
There are 6 notes, each one for a one poem section
I choose
the Quran
and the Faith of Muhammad
for those
where the choices
of Muhammad himself;
I know
if I practise the two
my Certainty
will become
as the Certitude
of the Prophet.
My key
to Paradise - my guide
to Felicity
the fortified Citadel:
what are they but
the Religion of Muhammad:
For us
he is the Messenger
of God - such
was the carving
on the seal-ring
of the Prophet.
Rooted in my heart:
the Faith
and the Book
as firmly
as in the heart
of Muhammad.
By God s Grace
my hope, my prayer
is to be
the least
of servants in the Community
of Muhammad.
My brother,
in the sea-depths
of religion
the Quran
is the pearl beyond price
of the Prophet;
every king
owns a treasure
of Mohammad.
Now look
to these riches,
this pearl:
who now
is custodian
of Muhammad s legacy?
You yourself
would bequeath your wealth
to your children;
just so are his children
the guardians
the heirs of the Prophet.
Ponder well:
you Muslims
will not fine
the jewels
but in keeping
of Muhammad s progeny.
Surely he handed
all down to him
who was
worthiest
of all Companions
of the Prophet.
Who was he,
the Companion?
his Wife
was the delight
of the eye
of Muhammad
and from this delight
and this Companion
were born
Hasan
and Husayn, the darlings
of Muhammad.
I have seen
in both worlds
the reality
of Husayn
and Hasan: the rose
and jasmine of the Prophet;
where
in heavcn and earth
could such blossoms spring
but in the garden
from the soil
of Muhammad?
I dare not
I tremble
lest I prefer
any creature
above these beloved ones
of God s Prophet.
The Book,
and the Sword
of the Lion of God:
these are bulwarks
beneath the firm Faith
of Muhammad.
Who stood
sword drawn
in every battle
who stood
at the right hand
of the Prophet?
The Sword of Ali
lent its aid
to the Quran
and Ali no doubt
was the Help
of Muhammad.
Ali:
in Islam
as Aaron to Mosses:
partner
companion
of the Prophet;
on the Last Day
Aaron and Moses
shall kiss
the Mantle of Ali,
the sleeve
of Muhammad.
Seek knowledge
he bid us
even in China :
Ah! What praise are mine
in the China
of Muhammad.
I heard
from the heir
of the Prophet
the honeysweet
words, the Sayings
of Muhammad;
my heart beheld
a mystery revealed
from the Origin
to Ali s heart
through the Prophecy
of Muhammad
and learned
from the babes of Fatimah
and her husband
the true
nature
of the Prophet.
Surely
I could have gained
no more than I gained
from that
illustrious child
of the Rank of Muhammad
surely
I could have gained
no more
had I lived
myself in the time
of Muhammad.
The Creator
of the Universe Himself
praise me
for my love
of Ali, my blessings
on the Prophet
and with the Blessing
of the Lord
of the Worlds
I dwell
in the Stronghold
of Muhammad.
my back - by the grace of God and in devotion of Him -
is strong enough perhaps that I might attain
tot he Messenger and his intercession; I ask for no other
to plead for me with God but His Prophet, and to plead
for me with the Prophet none but his blessed Family,
with whom I shall go to him; no fear of taint
or contagion from hypocrites. The Religion of Allah
is the Prophet s kingdom and today all creatures
are his subjects, his Community. Your slave
does not owe you even half the obedience
that the Prophet s Community owes him.
He has ordered you not to kill your slave for disobedience
nor will he slay you for your rebellion;
do not sever yourself from his all-encompassing protection,
for he is the Guide of all creation, his message
has reached from one end of the world to the other.
After him, his Family are the Guides - reverence him
and turn not from his Family. If you know him not
then you must know his children - how else
in your bewilderment can you hope for his mercy?
Have you not heard to whom the Prophet entrusted
his dominion on the day of his Sermon by the ditch?
the one to whom allusion is made in the Book?
the one before whose courage the boldness of the unbelievers
faded like a lantern his up to the sun?
Who gave his ring to a beggar? to whom
all the descendants of the Prophet trace their family tree?
who slept in the Prophet s bed, while the Messenger
fled from his enemies in the Migration? to whom
the Prophet gave the banner in the battle of Badr
when all others quailed? the lion, the warrior
whom God has made all heroes to love?
On the field of battle our Prophet had no miracle
more potent than that man s might. It is he
who will distribute paradise and hell to the faithful
and unfaithful. He is the Gate of the City of Knowledge
which is the Prophet; no one but him
is worthy of that trust. If you seek the City
go to its gate, that felicity s light may brighten your heart.
Yes, he was the Prophet s miracle in battle
and Zulfiqar, his two-tongued sword, was his own miracle.
The Prophet was God s treasure, but he -
his mind and heart - were the Prophet s treasure.
The enemies of God s lion are beset with the disease of ill omen
and cannot be accused of anything but stupidity,
or the horror of an ass when it sees a lion.
Turn away, flee those infected with such prestige,
but if they show you honour, do not (for the sake
of dignity of Islam) refuse their reverence.
In disputation with them do not expect more
than dullness, for they have no other tool to use
but the gelid intellects, nothing to talk
but nonesense. When the chain of stupidity rusts shut
there s no escape. All their proof is simply abuse -
but who will listen to it on Resurrection Day?
Satan is powerful, yes, but his power lies
only in falsehood and cunning. God values
one above another for his faith - if you expect
succour from Him, give succour to His True Religion.
Put no stock in the moment s good luck
for fortune always hides destruction within it.
I find the world a faithless bawd -
do not mourn her loss. The only positive thing
one can say about her is that she s living proof
of the ephemerality of material good.
Her boon is bane - for no one shall escape death
who has drunk fro her cup - and therefore
do not cover her flawed and sickly benediction.
I ought not strive to gain her company
while she strives for nothing but y discomfort.
She gave me robe after rich robe of honour
then stole them all back, one by one.
Now that I lean for support on God and Islam
I grow weary o the world and of men
and by God s Grace I am freed of need
of anyone who does not need me. The blessed Quran
reposes in my heart, which is filled with peace.
Praise the Lord, that nothing burdens my back
but His favour and Grace, that thanks to the generosity
of the true Imam I have come to know his truth,
his certainty and the justice of his cause -
that matchless king whose domain, of all the earth,
is free of deviltry; who has robed Jupiter
in its constellation of Fortune of all auspiciousness
and joy. Lord, help me to spend my days and nights
in devotion to him, to string together from time to time
a few pious verses based on his knowledge and wisdom.
The heartspring of Ali s lover reflects and is full
with the image of him - so is my heart his spring
and his knowledge my shield. O lovers, pluck his blossoms
but save the thorns for his enemies.
No one of the Community is worthy of greatness
but his lover, for the Shiite rests immune
from the wiles of Satan in his citadel.
He is the Prophet s kinsman, but no one
belongs to Ali s tribe but the lover of Truth.
A thousand years of praise will not exhaust
a thousandth of his qualities; I take pride
in his Four Virtues, his manliness, knowledge
piety and munificence, and my back is bent
with gratitude, the burden of Ali.
I imitate his way of dress, robed in faith and gnosis.
Nasibi, be silent - you have not learned
of his warp and weft, or you would
think more of him. Act not the snake with me
lest you think you can bear the sting
of the serpent of Ali. Why do you rank
every lowly weed with him?
He was a lion, the battlefield his veldt,
the unbelievers his prey, his sword,
his Zulfiqar like a dragon
in is claws, slayer of three armies,
his right hand, armour-piercer that
cast to the ground the severed heads
of great commanders. Gabriel called his spear
at the battle of Hunayn, and his heart
was steady as a mountain in the sin
of war. Lions shrink away like foxes
at the sight of his blade.
If you fear the devil will plunder you
hide yourself in his cavern
where no one enters but by the command
of his deputy, and which is made not of stone
but of knowledge (for how could the pride
of Ali descend to stone?), and where are stored
his house, his estate, his chattels.
On the trees and meadows of Ali the rain
falls as hermeneautic exegesis, for he
chose no silver and gold, but knowledge and faith.
How but by his sword-wielding hand
could the Divine Law find protection?
How should the unbelievers of Mecca
not feel him as an inward affliction?
Free from taint, his tongue, hands and loins -
where was the best woman of the world
but by his side? Hasan and Husayn, those
mirrors of the Prophet, were his mirrors.
Satan s hands and feet were amputated
in the uproar he caused, and no one
will be safe from fire but in his refuge.
His sword ruined the good name
of countless warriors in the battles
of Badr, Uhud and Khaybar, which were his work.
Send him my challenge, the boastful knight,
for I am the chevalier of Ali.
Even his enemies I shall convert
if they lend me their ears, and in spite
of all they do, I shall bind them fast
with the bridle of Ali; but if they
turn their heads away from this knowledge
sweet and boundless, they will come
on Resurrection Day, disgraced,
heads dragged in the dust before
ALI.
The philosophy section contains 3 poems.
Fifty years in Yamgan . . . why am I in jail?
Two sets of chains: Reason for my spirit,
and devil s shackles for my body. No wonder
the demons don t obey me: am I Solomon?
In fact I am more like Salman.
My words shine like the sun, even if
you haven t seen me in the flesh
for . . . how many years? Your heart:
a moon to the wisdom of my
pearl-scattering sun. Yamgan:
the gold-mine of knowledge and sagacity
(aren t I buried in Yamgan?)
I ve changed a lot since we met -
at least that part of that s
bound to the material realm. But
I have not turned away from the
Path of Faith. For unlike my flesh
my spirit soars. You write
Why don t you leave, come back?
Don t you realise -I m escaping
from demos? Don t blame me!
Don t aks me to make my home
amongst asses and cows - you know
I m not a herdsman. Comedians!
What do you have in common with
comics and their audiences? I m not
interested in laughing or cracking jokes.
Yesterday I laughed; today I weep.
Fools laugh; wisdom s got me by
the neck. Fools eat and enjoy themselves;
je regret, je regret . . . .all that.
The pink tulips of cheeks have
rotted like straw; if I thrash my wheat
with your breezes, I ll have nothing
tomorrow but a bag of wind.
Why has God made me this way?
Yesterday I was a rolling stone;
today I m a moss-grown ruin.
Yesterday tuxedo and tails
today rags. If I leave my hovel
whee should I go. I fear -
or rather I don t fear - I ll never
leave; I will stick to present evil.
I could try to hang on to the world
by the skin of my teeth - but
they d soon have my teeth out
by the roots. No, now that I
am aware of this secret I shall
rise and brush the mould
off my lapels. Before they come to
cart me away, I ll read over
the record once agin. Tomorrow
they ll strip me bare - why should I
bother to conceal anything today?
Repentance turns evil to good
- do God promise us in the Book -
I shall stick to good and stay away
from what doesn t concern me.
Do unto other . . . . that s what it means
to be a Muslim. If I am the servant
of the All-merciful, shouldn t I follow
His Messenger? At least I m
sensible enough to not to think that
two opposites can both be true.
Once again, off again . . .that s a
drunkard s act. I d never expect
you to summons me to join
the inebriates - and if anyone
does call me . . .sorry. No. I ll stay.
Pass by, food of his heart, sweet breeze of Khorasan
Here to a dim prison in the vale of Yamgan
Where he sits narrowed by poverty, comfortless, cold,
His fortune gone, possessions lost, landless and old.
Unjust Fate has stripped from his soul in its tyranny
All repose, and from his body all luxury;
He knows more sorrows than a pomergranate has seeds,
His limbs possess less power than the winter reeds;
That elegant frame, that once too-handsome face
Have decayed now to ugliness, distraction and disgrace -
That face, once luminous as Spring anemones,
Now withered like autumn leaves in exile s miseries.
His kinsmen turn their back on him and cut him dead;
No sustenance now but God s mercy, the Divine bread.
I committed no sin but somehow the Turk
the Arab, the Iraqi and the Khorasani all alike
have been my foes. Always looking for some pretext
to hate me, calling me unorthodox , an enemy
of the Companions. What can I say to this army
of demons? God has not given me Solomon s
magic spell. They come from far away
barking and howling like dogs in the barn.
A million like them still wouldn t bother me,
for on Judgement Day . . . Thou knowest, O Lord,
Thou knowest well! But still it s only reasonable
to take certain precautions against demons -
even the greatest and most eloquent sage,
attacked by desert ghouls, wouldn t be able
to talk his way out! The ignoramus
recognises no proof - there s no point reciting
the Quran to a calf. The wiseman wastes no words
on a horde of idiots - who would season
coarse barley bread with expensive spices?
They call me unorhodox - bah! - what do they know
of Islam except the name? O you who wear
upon your head the hat of false claims and hide
your soul beneath the garments of stupidity,
tell me: to whom should one pay allegiance
after Muhammad? - and how do you prove your claims?
After whose mule are you driving your crippled ass?
Whose silk brocades are you boasting about when you
yourself are still dressed in tatters and dirty rags?
After all, isn t it better to have a clean and simple
linen shirt for yourself, than for your uncle
to go about decked out in all the latest fashions?
The virtues of friends (if they exist) will
avail you naught on that morrow when the
HIDDEN POWER is revealed. Anyway, your patrons
seem not to have seen fit to bestow upon you
any of that virtue and excellence of theirs -
why, if they are such a renowned ascetics, do you
lead the life and display the character of an imp?
Yes, you look like a stick-up man or a mugger to me -
so where s your take? You know - the booty?
All day you fast and moan and twiddle your beads -
come nightfall you re down at the tavern,
jiving and enjoying a glass of sweet wine. Ah,
you ve memorised the Book of Con - that s why
(no doubt) you ve been appointed Grand Mufti
of Balkh, Nishapur and Herat. Your words
are heavy with fruit as a date palm, but
when it comes to action, your thorns appear.
I hate your master the devil, that s all
I have to say, I have turned my face away
to the door of the Prophet s Household, where
I expect the blessings of the Two Worlds.
I may be exiled, far away from the family and hearth,
but I ve gained the wisdom of Luqman.
I ve tattoo d the name of Mustansir on my
breast and forehead - that king whom Caesar
would humbly thank for a job as doorman.
The stone of his stoop is more precious
than Badakshan rubies, just as the sky
is higher than dusty earth. In is courtyard
the sons of Emirs and Vaziers from Tehran, and
people of all clans and tribes are waiting to serve
just as their ancestors came before them.
O Imam, in whose noble essence God s purpose
in making the world has been fulfilled,
know that to me, the slave of devotion,
the flinty stones of Yamgan valley are worth
more than the pearls of the Gulf.
When you have bestowed upon me all Eternity
why should I bother with this insipid world?
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.
You cannot - O wiseman -
on the Worldtree
see other fruit than
the man of Wisdom;
to a gnostic like you
the sage is a plum
and the ignorant
are thorns
- the good are hidden
among the bad
as a lonely datepalm
in a desert of brambles.
But you object: Nasir!
If you re such a noble spirit
why do you vegetate here in Yamgan
lowly and alone?
For me Yamgan
is God s refuge.
Look well! Don t imagine me
some sort of prisoner.
No one claims
that silver, diamonds, rubies
are base or held captive
in the mine;
Yamgan itself may be
base and worthless
but here I am held
in high esteem.
After all if the serpent
is abject and vile
the snakestone in its head
is treasured and praised
and a perfect pearl s worth
is none the less to the buyer
for having been born
in a scabby shell;
the fragrant bloom
is unstained
even if it roots itself
in furrows of dung.
And you, my visitor
- to return to my first simile -
are a sublime tree
whose fruit is speech.
It s up to you: choose
whether to be fruit without thorns
(choose now!)
Or thorns without fruit.
The apple of wisdom
can be yours -
otherwise you re are nothing but
a sterile poplar -
for the wiseman s branches
yield a produce
of precious gems
and leaves of gold dinars;
but knowledge and wisdom
are better than gold and gems
to him whose heart is illumined,
eyes open and awake.
Then come,
speak,
pour down your
yield of words
and as much as this fruit
is rich and sweet
so will your deeds be judged
as virtuous as your talk -
but if you re a man of
words without action
you re no better than
counterfeit coin.
Utter the right word
in the right place -
a fine stallion s at its best
in the battlefield
- and utter it only
to one who knows its worth,
for what use is turban
without a head to wear it?
Only the heat of battle
can tell
a coward deserter
from a fierce brave.
Know what you want to say
then say it:
fix the compass point
before drawing the line.
If your words are not free
of stain and rust
how will they polish
the hearts of others?
Keep silence
when you do not know:
don t be the type who flashes
his genitalia in the bazzar!
How dare you ride an ass
before noble arab steeds?
You re roped
in ignorance s bonds
led astray by demons -
you deny it?
Why then have you bulled
through the rosebed?
You? A doctor of souls???
Never!
How can one sick man
treat another?
Please - don t rasp my soul
like some wretched file
with words like
jagged bits of steel.
Are you not ashamed
of your ignorance?
Do you not blush
before true learning?
Bow your head,
submit - or else
on the Final Day you will not snatch
your soul from the bonfire.
Mortify your flesh
with pious deeds
that tomorrow your soul
may go un-singed.
You claim to be
free of guilt - what!
When your back s bent double
with burden of sin!
If future bliss
is what you want
cease now to work so hard
for the world -
for the world
couldn t care less.
Don t let it agonise you
with fleshly cares:
it s an evil-tempered leviathan;
beware!
Furious, merciless
greedy.
How often do you need
to try and taste again -
it s the same world you ve seen
a hundred times before.
Hold fast to Faith;
religion conquers the world
and sews up its maw
with spikes.
If you become
a prince in religion
the surely the world
must become your slave.
You! Look well
into your own affairs:
if you want justice
do justice.
If you want
to be upright
don t bow your neck to earthly kings
as the hoopoe to Solomon.
Shun the eagle of Greed
for its beak
and vicious claws drip
with venom
and if you d like
avoid a quarrelling with dogs
give up your taste
for carrion meat;
otherwise - admit it -
your aching face, weary hands:
the cause of suffering
is yourself.
Take this advice from the PROOF
for he is awake
to the habits of this tyrant,
the revolving sphere.
Of all the people in Khorasan
no one has battled
as much as he with the
vicissitudes of Fate
and was saved at last
from the claws through Faith,
the decree of God
the One, the Almighty.
If the world causes you pain
follow in his wake.
Other than this there is no
better Way.
Let us closely observe
what the devil s happening tot he world -
how Virtue and Rectitude seem
to have flown - not that the fleeting world
itself has changed its nature
but that people s temperaments have undergone
some transformation.
Your body
in the Child of Nature, babe of the Spheres,
its state forever shifting under Heaven -
one can only imagine therefore that you
- who were so subtle - have fallen
into such a carnal and inferior state
because the spheres themselves have somehow
gone awry.
Humanity (by way of simile)
was like an ALEEF
Arabic alphabet -ALEEF- placed here
Erect and straight -
how could the letter of humankind
have been itself to the hump
Arabic alphabet - NUN - placed here
Of a NUN?
Virtue and learning have become the slaves of Bread
the dough of knowledge cut with fraud and deceit.
Piety and justice are broken pots and pebbles,
ignorance and stupidity taken for gold and the precious Pearl.
You!
Chameleon World!
Woe to him
who falls for your seductive routines -
he who cannot see the way round you
with the candle of REASON
trips and falls. There s nothing left
for you here: humanity has absconded
from the last human being.
All deeds are but cruelty, con and cant
all words but fraud, perfidy and crime.
I swear one would scarcely know the difference
if the world had already fallen to the rule
of all the devils of the Inferno.
Stupidity has reared itself into the heavens,
humanity and nobility hidden themselves in some cave.
The sirocco of petty meanness blows hot across earth,
everything good wilts and decays.
As for the province of Khorasan, once
the Abode of Learning, it has become
a cavern of sordid and effeminate demons.
Balkh!
The House of Wisdom -
And now
fit for the axe, its fortune topsyturvy
turned upon its head. Khorasan
once the kingdom of Solomon - how
has it become the domain of Satan?
One might think the land had become a maw
which gobbled Religion, or that Religion
in Khorasan has become the companion of Qarun
(that miser whom earth swallowed
with all his wealth). Aye, Khorasan
serves a fit example for the house
of the sinister Qarun.
Tatars
were their slaves, but they have become
the Tartars valet - is not the star
of Khorasan afflicted by some evil conjunction?
The Kipchak lout has proclaimed himself
a nobleman, while the Duke has become
the Tartar s girlfriend s butler.
The talentless have made themselves the Emirs
virtue shrinks and mediocrity swells itself.
You
may mortgage your soul
But I
shall not pawn myself to the world;
you may trust the wolf, but the wise
will keep his distance.
Your miserable mind
has become a fetid slime in a corpse
of ignorance, tyranny and evil;
in your greed you prefer the wicked Zahhak
to Feraydun the Just. So much the slave
of desire: my hart chokes with bood
in pity of you who sold yourself
like 100,000 others for a taste of lust.
Try to reform yourself. Think of great men
like Aaron the Alexandrian. Aaron
was made Aaron by knowledge. Garments
are cleaned with soap; wisdom
is the best detergent for the Spirit.
He who makes wisdom his prop
is saved from the fire of ignorance.
Listen
my son
to a father s advice
for my own days have been made auspicious
because I heeded helpful words
and my subtle spirit soars above the spheres
through knowledge
even
If my body
lies chained
imprisoned
beneath the earth.
