Winter flees, Spring returns new youth

to this aged world, the Azure pool

is filled with sparkling wine, the silver desert

set with emeralds, and the wind,

whipping the flags of February, now

in march takes on a hint of incense.

The poor naked willow now is clothed

in fine gray silk and ear-rings. The meadow

has washed its face, the flowers eyes

have opened, earth has regained awareness,

for the Morning Breeze has breathed upon it

the Messiah s revivifying incantations.

The garden grows fresh as the sky;

the narcissus sparks like the Pleiades.

The clouds - are they not Joseph s miracle?

For the desert has grown fair as the face

of Potiphar s wife. Tulips blush

like so many young girls, the narcissus

stares about like a frenzied lover.

Violets, released from the persecution

of winter snow, have donned the robes

of Christians. Crystal spools are shady,

the air clear, the raven slinks away,

the nightingale begins to practise his scales,

the garden is paradise, the tulip s cheeks

grow luminous as the skin of black-eyed

houris. The crow, like a conquered blackamoor

enslaves himself to the rose and nightingale -

a trellis of white rose-vines punctuates the air

like the silver mosaic of the heavens.

Winter bows to Spring like the enemies of Faith

before Ali; the raven cowers in fear

like the foes of the Imams - hypocrisy

is woven in its black robe, like the gowns

of the Abbasids. The Sun shines forth

like a Fatimid as it ascends the slope

from its winter exile, its rays as bright

as Zulfiqar, giving vigour to the rose

as to the pearl-white steed of Ali.

Reaching the battlefield of the Equinox, the Sun

declares war on the cold season - Day

increases like Faith, like the People of Friendship;

Night shrinks like unbelief and grows dark

with melancholy as the People of Hypocrisy.

The world like a heart which remembers

now swells with light, beneficence and virtue.

It was till now as gloomy as a forgetful soul,

but has grown bright as a wiseman,

now that the Lord of the Planets in the sign of the Ram

has grown powerful in justice, the principle

of all goodness (was not Chosroes known

throughout the world for his justice?)

Behold what marvels rise with the Sun

in the Vernal Equinox: how this rotten mire

has been transformed to rubies and ambergris.

He is saved who waxes eloquent of knowledge

and justice, wherein are all blessings; who fulfils

the intellect s desire (for the world was made

only for wisdom and equity). True beauty

is knowledge, not the world s false tinsel.

Be not deceived by noise: seek truth,

and not the world. Do not swell with pride

to hear you ve been appointed Judge

in Balkh or Bukhara - know that true knowledge

of religion is eclipsed when the affairs of Faith

are entrusted to the rabble. Close your ears

to the words of an ignoramus, even if

he s famous; seek the Why and How of things

lest the world constrict about you like

a shrinking ring. Try to convey your ideas

to your opponents, for unless it is tried

in the fire of debate, science cannot

be purified. (He who goes to a court

without judge, jury or counsel for the prosecution

will naturally bring back a verdict

pleasing to himself - but perhaps wrong!)

Imitate the truly great, and be humble

before those who have risen through knowledge:

look how the black earth, by obeying

the palmtree, is turned, bit by bit

into sweet dates. The truly rich have

gained their wealth through knowledge and patience -

imitate the noble, for a noble mind

is the alpha and omega of a lofty spirit.

He will not spend the coin of his days on sleep and food

who knows the secrets of the Turquoise Wheel

- only the fool who s crushed beneath the disgrace of ignorance

will trust himself to the gourmandise of a drunken dragon.

Seduced by sweet repose and tasty victuals

you cannot feel the world gnawing away at your side;

eater of Dust, know in the end dust shall devour you.

The fruit of earth is mixed (by Nature s powers)

with salt, with fat or sugar to your taste -

without those herbs and spices do you think

the taste of dirt would please you half so well?

The earth is poison. Your enemy lurks in your stomach

and is fed up with your soul, no matter what

you feed him on - but if you neglect to pour

his ration of dirt down his throat, then how

he will howl and complain down there in your gut.

What magic furnace lies hid within a grain of wheat

that lets it alchemise dung and dirt into itself?

How does that headless toothless intestineless grain

devour dust, moistened by Spring rain?

He who does not marvel at such craftsmanship

must ne counted blind by those with wisdom.

Inside the grain the portions of the seed

have each their separate work and avocation

to carry on their labours for mankind -

but the sage, when he sees in each bit of corn

a creator, will not take it for his god,

and tiring of his scientific search among

these hidden artisans of Nature, will not raise

his sight in vain to higher things than intellect.

Let him sow seeds of gratitude in his eyes

who is lucky enough to receive from his Lord

such blessings as these, for if he should pay

for happiness with hurt, must he not be

hurt in return? The sage who s done a favour

will return it, for nothing flows from a jug

of vinegar but vinegar. Think and imagine

meditate and write of nothing but Good;

seek counsel from the wise, for they will pour

for you a beverage much to your liking,

pressing the heart s cluster with the hand

of the intellect. Are you sorrowful my brother

and find that religion brings you only grief?

Then read the poems of the PROOF, for they will scour

and polish this sorrow from your soul. But you

who are slain by ignorance, must come to him

if you desire the resurrection he provides

for your ignorance, he dare not come to you!

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.

O World, you may not have lasted more than

the usual fourscore and ten for anyone, but still

you are necessary. You may be as wretched as

a thorn on the eye, but essentially you are

as necessary as sight itself. You may have

broken, but you have mended as well.

Like a chameleon you take on the colour

of corruption from the corrupt, but to the pure

you are pure. To those who despise you

sayYou have not known me.

If you are modest and sedate you ll find me

modest and sedate as well. I gave you

righteousness but you sought from me

only ill. If you are wise you will be

saved from me. Why hate that from which

you ve been saved? God has given me

to you as a thoroughfare - why do you

loiter along the way? You are a branch

of the tree God planted for your sake -

if you grow up crooked, you will end up

in the fireplace - grow straight

and you will be saved. Yes, crookedness

will land you in the flames, and no one

will ask if you were almond or pistachio.

You are the arrow of God to His enemies -

why have cut yourself on your own point?

You yourself have gone astray from deliverance -

why complain to me that you have lost

and cannot find the way again?

That s its custom, the World: to vex and disturb us -

but whatever you do don t try to hit back!

It ll never leave off its swordplay, but the best

you can do is to make a shield of your intellect.

I see you wear the amulet of loyalty

to the world around your neck - take it off

quick, or your master will surely strangle you.

The generous man, accustomed to doing good

to people of faith and virtue, shins the mob

as if they were dogs, as if they were briny desert

where no wise farmer would think to sow a crop

or hope to fertilise it with irrigation.

Companionship with fools is but a thorn

to prick out the eye of faith and manliness -

don t give your heart to the world; no free

or noble man would sell himself to a tramp.

Never feel secure from the vicissitudes of Time

that serpent which devours even the elements;

if one day you manage to escape her tricks

tomorrow she ll back with something worse.

Mankind sees little mercy from this world

however much he begs and weeps and laments.

Look how she paints her face, the whore,

the husband-murderer, the witch who hides

away in her closet mixing poison with

his glass of wine - but worse, her lover, who takes

a cup of arsenic from this drab and thinks

it honey - how can he be reckoned a man

who falls in a woman s deceitful snare? Wisdom

is a magic potency bought with piety

and faith, which pours down its rain from the cloud

of language on the field of the intelligence.

He who makes Wisdom his master will see as clear

as day the banal machinations of

his foe, the World which mixes honey with gall -

he who has Wisdom in his head will never

dare to bed down with a demon of Hell !

Night: shoreless shadowed stormwracked sea;

the sphere of Night: a desert of roses smeared with indigo.

Slopes, hillocks, high places stand still and silent

as terminal giants hunched in cureless melancholy.

Heaven has washed its face in tar and rests unmoving

as if God the Singular had never created it.

Wilderness, bewildered with sadness, grows no lighter

with the bilious dawn. Rays of light

cannot move from eyes to touch faces,

echoes cannot find their way to any ear

as if Earth the Sorcerer had taken existence away

from all things and left the whirling sky a lunatic.

The Empyrean grinds to a halt - one might think

in all the world no creature stirs or breathes.

Under the narrow ebon canopy of night I open my eye

- nothing. I close my eye upon no dream.

My physical eye looks upon night, the eye of my heart

looks upon the void, like a lonely sentinel

in the midst of the sleeping army. My physical eye

sees the stars as vigilant guards. The heart s eye

sees no one awake, no wiseman, no sage.

The stars: a paradise of black-eyed girls;

the clouds part and reveal their smiling eyes

like a bit of luck amidst the general bane -

Go, have a look: the Pleiades, cluster of white roses

shining in dark grass like lost gems of ancient kings;

Capella s bloodshot eye in the West, like a bersker

staring down in foe; Jupiter like Joseph

in the inky well, Venus pale and perplexed as Zulaikha;

the sky, Mary s jewel-encrusted tabernacle;

stars like monks, the Hyades a crucifix.

My eye, ear, heart, breathlessly wake, hoping

for a streak of dawn, a sound in that terrible stillness,

for if my soul forgets, my learned intellect recalls

that in all the Universe, nothing begins but comes to an end.

Night s raven crosses the boundary from Jabulsa to Jabulkqa,

dawn rises at last, a griffon from a ruby s heart,

legions of darkness flea before the ranks of morning

as error dissipated before Truth s face;

the stars blush like maidens in purdah

caught by their mothers without their veils,

and fall, fall headlong into the Sun, as in the end

all parts rejoin the Whole at last.

Ah, Nasir, you speak too much of stars and night;

look in your wisdom on the world s affairs;

the universe, a sea of eloquent pearls,

the Ocean of Time, men its frail ships.

Praise God, Who makes His ablutions and shakes

the water from His hands, which falls

into the heavens, each drop a star.

The constellations of good fortune are nothing

without the light of His face; the skies

have no breadth but in His Kingdom s expanse.

Such ranks He bestows on me in His generosity

no sage before me is wise, no prince sublime.

From this world I seek but fellowship in Faith,

companions such as never Heaven not earth have known.

I praise the peerless Lord, the Almighty Friend

from Whom all power flows. I have woven

a silk brocade and sewn it with Wisdom

such as never left the looms of Byzantium;

I have raised a tree, fresh and tall as the Ash of Paradise,

every leaf a gold word, every line sweet as a date.

Look with inward eye

at earth s hiddenness

for the outer eye

cannot see it.

Was it?

you noble folk

do not know the esoteric

but only the exterior.

It is the world

and you must bind it

in chains of iron

shackles of wisdom;

even if this globe

seems too wide, too loose

to be bound, two things

will do: knowledge and obedience.

Your body s a mine

your spirit the buried jewel

of these two treasured qualities

so exert yourself, body and soul.

The days of youth

were fleeting as dreams

whims and fantasies which

never abide.

Do you expect stability

from the heavens

when the sky itself

is rootless?

This world s a ladder

towards that world

so climb

to the top rung.

In the whirling dome

and unmoving earth

behold the craft and wisdom

of Him Who made the Invisible;

see how He has made

(undriven by Necessity)

the luminous soul a mate

in corpulent flesh.

Who has suspended magically

beneath the green cupola

of heaven this colossal globe

of uncertain grey?

How can you say this twirling sphere

will run down

when countless centuries

have passed?

He has not made

earth to die

nor the flow of water

nor the blowing winds to cease.

He is wise and made all

in wisdom and art

so do not whisper these words

but to the People of Truth

for it is not meet

to reveal the secrets

to every astray

and unbridled scoundrel.

Time and Space are the play

of the Divine Artisan

and thus know

no limits or bounds.

If you protest There s nothing

of this in the Qur an

I reply that you have not

read it very well;

the Qur an s a treasure

guarded by one to whom

God has given the rule

of all men and jinn.

The Prophet appointed him

under divine command

shepherd to the endless

flock of believers -

but you!

against that Chosen One of God

and Muhammad have referred

who s-it, What s-his-name & So-and-so.

You do not know

the meaning of the Qur an

because you have disobeyed

the spirit of the Qur an.

The Book is a table laid

with a spiritual feast -

tell me, reciter of the Book:

who is the host?

for only he who knows

the kind giver of the feast

can eat at this good table

and be blessed.

If you re truly human

that food will be made human flesh;

haven t you noticed that dogs

turn bread and water to dogmeat?

The greatest of Man, the Prophet

for that reason has banished

from his table the enemies

of his Household;

like fallen angels

these foes must stand

drylipped before the Euphrates

for their evil thoughts.

If you would be

a lover of the Family

you must (like Nasir) abondon

to the enemy your wealth;

do not regret

your riches

for they will not remain

in any case with Sultan or Khan.

What you lose of this world

you gain in religion

as much as you scorn your worldly loss

for the sake of the Hereafter.

You are a guest in another s house;

behave yourself

and do not act as if

it belongs to you.

The sword is in your hand

but do not slay

for God will recompense you

on that day;

the blade was no more forged

for the unjust

than grapes for outlawed wine

are pressed to must.

The Prophet Jesus, strolling

on a day,

found at his feet a man

slain on the way;

and in amazement, spoke thus

to the corpse;

Whom did you murder, that now

with such remorse,

yourself lie slaughtered in

the dusty lane?

By whom in turn shall he

who killed, be slain?

Don t spoil your knuckles knocking

at the gate

of strangers; and be spared

the blows of Fate.

Wisdom, gazing on my flesh and on my soul

wept sincerely for that pair of wretches.

Your soul s an alien stranger here it told me

Do it a favour, pay it some care, for after all

your body s quite at home and can fend for itself.

To help a stranger - that s the flower of virtue,

the root of noble disposition. It takes

an idol-worshipper to decorate an idol -

ignore your body lest you fall into idolatry.

Watch where you re going, take care not to stray.

Can you imagine a troll and a fairy embracing?

Wee, your body s is a demon, your soul an angel;

brother, why is your angel naked and cold

when your demon parades around in mink?

In philosophic terms the body s garb

is accidental but the soul s is essential ;

cleanse your soul with fine bleach, the soap of religion

then robe it in the robe of knowledge

(for ignorance is the cause of unbelief).

In religion - science and sciences, fruit of the garden

of Prophecy - avoid that asininity

which is synonymous with irreligion.

The wiseman - he is far from ignorance

as from a disease for which the knowledge is the cure.

Surely Reason is better than sugar

for it cures the pain of baseness. Reason

in the path of faith guides to felicity

with far more accuracy than the Zodiac.

Will a flower stay fresh without water?

Only the Rose of Intellect! Speak and act

in that virtue which for you is the root

of all good fortune. The purpose of creation

is Man - all the rest is but trash -Man

who holds dominion over heaven and earth,

lord of discernment and noble intellect,

deliberation and eloquence. Do not turn your head

O Man! From Him Who gave you

all this greatness and sovereignty, or

from His Command. Pay Him by the coin

of obedience in gratitude for His gifts.

Gratitude is an angel, blessings a fine

plump partridge - only gratitude

wins the reward of blessing.

Give thanks to Him alone who buys

your words in the bazar of Paradise.

Work here below to gain a kingdom far beyond

which will not vanish nor pass away with time.

If God created you to be a king

why do you debase yourself with slaves?

Beneath the dome of creation all things

are subject to generation and corruption.

Seek you for Eternity. But do not scorn

this world like an ignorant fool, for she

has over you the rights of motherhood;

contemplate Him in His works, give praise

to Him Whose handiwork is glorious.

The wise dispute: what is to be found

beyond the realm of the revolving spheres?

A vast and verdant world wherein our realm

is smaller than a finger-ring. To him

tomorrow belongs that world who today

has patience in obedience. There no one

will hunger or thirst (a foolish notion, worthy

of the exoterists!) So what will they need

with wine, however with celestially delicious?

Beware the chatter of the rabble

if you incline to the way of Ali

but listen instead to the proofs of the PROOF

whose words are not idle nor vain

The philosophy section contains 12 poems.