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.

Somewhere above the seven heavens two jewels lie

by whose light Adam and the world are lit;

both formed and not formed, the foetus of nothingness

by the sperm of being - not sensible, nor

do we sense them, do not see them, for

they are neither dark nor luminous -

suckled by nurses of the holy land forever -

no - not jewels, though gemlike in quality:

on one side of creation, on the other side

of all things that exist, both inside and outside Time

they are settles; not in the world

- but they are the world; not in us

but in our bodies the nourishment of Spirit.

They say these two are the TWO WORLDS

both found and not found in all the seven Climes.

One the Holy Spirit, one the essence of Gabriel,

angels flying without wings, without wings

they spread their pinions over this lowly house,

without plumage they soar above their high nests.

With universal Hot and Cold, with the worlds Wet and Dry

like Earth and Wind they keep company with Water and Fire.

They are not - but are called - the Substances

of Eternitys treasure-house and the store of Permanenece.

Both Adam and the world, both Hell and Paradise

present and absent, poison and sugar,

stretching from light to darkness, from

apogee to perigee, from East to West, land to sea,

they are and are not, both hidden and revealed

far from you yet found int he same house.

In that Second World which is heir laboratory

they both destroy and build all things;

food of the five senses, nurses of the four natures,

stewards and cooks of the nine spheres and seven planets.

Ten spies stand around their house, five inside

and five by the gate. Heavens shopkeepers

wait to see what they will sell, and buy -

a ten-headed, six-faced, seven-eyed king

with his four sworn enemies lives in their house.

They are not substances, their substance is accident:

they both are and are not the axis of all accidents.

Illiterate, they read you the letter of the mysteries

and know your deeds without spying on you.

They are lost - and thus become manifest;

headless, bodiless - because they reside

in head and body. In attributes they are not contained

in the world, though hidden in our body and head.

They come from a place which is not a place;

there, they are angles; here, divine messengers.

In attribute they rank above the spiritual world,

neither elements not substances,

like the essence of God Himself.

Though they rule the two worlds they can if you like

conquer your soul as well. They speak

and act, bringing down revelations from on high.

Look at the vegabonds of the sky, an army

for the King of the Holy Throne: even if fools

deride them, they are the movers of the spheres.

Why so many thousand ears and eyes? No,

do not say so - they are blind and deaf.

Windowless revolving turquoise dome: why

is it sometimes a garden, sometimes a wilderness?

First house Ive ever heard of half-desert

half-rosebed, blossoming when you turn your back

on the wasteland. And a black globe

hangs suspended in the middle of the livingroom -

look: no wires. Whos the magician?

A better trick than King Solomons Throne?

Earth - a great tablecloth spread with delicacies

out there on the veranda. When they ask you

to join the feast, think for a moment:

do you deserve it? What about it?

O you whose back is bent like an umbrella.

Look: that eye-in-the-sky, staring,

staring at the earth, looking for the

secret mine-full of jewels, reaching out

with four hands ( Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall).

The jewel is dug out and planted

in another mine: mans body. A pale germ.

Give it colour then - dont be a weakling.

A rubys valued by its >water, man

by his speech. Your body is precious

only because its the shell for this pearl,

this Wisdom, this divine Spirit.

Give spirit to your jewel, for the spiritless

have no mercy from God when the

shell is split open. Wake up! beware

lest you leave this world as you entered it,

hungry, thirsty, naked. Dont buy

before you look at the label. The Divine Law

is Gods grain-garden. His plantation of trees,

some tended by His hand - but others

by Satan. Traveller, if you hunger for

these rare fruits, ask the gardeners permission

(a great and virtuous man) before you come in:

choose the apple, the quince; avoid

the brambles, dont be deceived by tall trees

which bear no fruit. The parrot and owl

are both birds, but one graces the courts

of kings, the other perches in ruins.

Black smokes may rise high as clouds

but gives no rain, not every child

whose father calls him Noah owns an ark

to ride out the Flood. The Messenger

is Lord and master of this house,

commander of humankind, herald of God.

The Messengers child is the gardener,

who protects you from oppressors as the harden

is protected from noxious insects. Just because

apples have worms doesnt mean the farmer

turns the orchards over to pests, any more

than youd surrender your new house

to the mice. A mouse stays in its hole

and travels the wainscotting - what does it know

of the parlour and the porch? No more

than the fool knows of religion. The fool

can mount the pulpit but that doesnt

make him equal to the Sage: the crow

can kick the nightingale out of the garden

but that doesnt mean that it can sing.

Wisdom comes from man, not from a pulpit;

light comes from the sun, not from some

distant star. The Quran is Gods battlefield -

come you knights, ride forth to the lists;

its easy enough to read the Book -

the hard thing is its hermeneutic sense;

if youre not a cow, dont eat chaff with grain

(so said Salman); dont eat the shell with the nut.

It would be libel to say the Prophet didnt know

the meaning of Gods Word - and no one

but the Prophets Family has power

over it now. The rod turned into a snake

in the hands of Moses and Moses alone.

A parrot can talk, but not understand

what it says - so with your reading

of the Quran! Parrots gabble, profitless

absurd, unproven. . . noise. They say

the Prophet died without appointing

a successor. Fools! Prophethood is the

dominion of God, not Rome or China;

what king would turn his empire

over to a stranger? Go, read the

Book of Kings and see for yourself!

Would any Muslim leave his wealth

to a stranger when his daughter,

his son-in-law and his grandchildren were all

still alive? Do you think the Messenger

would act contrary to the Word of the Lord,

the Judge, the Glorious? What crudities!

What are you saying, you around whose brows

the fumes of rebellion smoulder|?

Youll realise its all babble on that Day

when you have to chew stones and weep.

Regret is no use tomorrow if you have not

repented today. Sorrow will not help

the old man who fled from school

as a child. He who spends the summer

drowsing in the shade will not sleep

from hunger through winters nights.

Grief is useless if the patient falls ill

in Iraq, when the remedy is in Badakhshan!

Do you think the Sultan will accept

>Im sorry from the convicted thief?

The Prophets descendant sits in the place

of his ancestor, and the tip of his crown

brushes against Saturns sphere

He is the Chosen one of God - why

do you rave on? There, there where

the Prohet sat at the Divine command

he sits today. Your choice is not

Gods choice - do you know better

than the Creator, the Judge Himself?

Old man, God will not accept

your sacrifice of a dog - even a fat one!

The Prophets son is a sacrifice for you -

find your way by his wisdom to the Garden.

He is the Solomon of the Age; flee

to his gate, escape from your demons.

O Lord of Adams children, your kingdom

like Solomons. Your wisdom like Luqmans,

in the Garden of the Divine Law, March

appears from your justice, April

from your generosity. Religion is

adorned by you, the world made beautiful,

wisdom refreshed, heresy defeated.

When I proclaim your name from

the pulpit on Friday, roses spring up

from your blessing. When your servant

speaks your name - MUSTANSIR BILLAH -

the vale of Yamgan fills with dancing stars.

Your enemies are consumed like foam

in the moonlight. O you title of the Book

of Happiness. Your humble servant

is hounded by enemies only because

he is a guest at your gate. O PROOF

of Yamgan, let your words pierce the hearts

and souls of these villains. If Khorasnas soil

rejected you, be of good cheer - Gods pleasure

is richer than the soil of Khorasan.

Compose your odes on praise of the Wisdom

of the Family, as did the eulogists of old.

Heres something for you to mull over:

He who made the world, what did He want of it?

The earth turns, day and night, sometimes more

sometimes less, sometimes even. Water

runs downhill, clouds scuttle across the sky

trees remain stuck in the mud, the beasts

move freely this way and that. And think of men:

how their works are boundless and uncountable.

Ewe, goat, cow, ass, elephant and lion

all suffer for this one beast alone;

seed, fruit, leaves of every plant

are either medicine for us, or food

(if it tastes good its food - the bitter

is perhaps some herbal remedy). Deer and game,

the browsing stag, all creatures that graze

are busy creating your steaks and kebabs

out of useless thorns and desert weeds -

the cows you feed on brambles and hay

you exploit for butter, cheese, yoghurt and milk.

Good, bad, right, wrong: the result of our actions.

The lion in his mountain, the bird in his sky

are not safe from our hands. Fire drudges

for us between the ovens stones, water

slaves for us in the mill, the wind

obeys us at sea, a good worker who keeps his place.

And what is all this to you? Look:

every human being is suffering because of some

other human being. This one says

I own the Roman Empire! Another one

China is mine! One raises a golden throne

over his treasures, another crouches starving in a corner.

X lies in a bed lid with silk and fine linen

Y wishes he had a tattered reed mat.

One stinks, armpits unwashed, never prays

another pure of heart, godfearing, pious.

How did one become bad, the other good?

Well? Whose fault is this mess?

And He Who made the world like this -

what can he fish out of such a kettle?

Good and bad, I repeat, more and less - wheres

the justice in such a set-up? If man

is good then obviously scorpions are bad.

No, really, tell me. This is no

rhetorical question. I really want to know.

I fear your opinions about Gods Justice

are not really sincere. Youre simply

trying to avoid being accused of heresy.

Ill tell you: to really understand Gods Justice

is the job of sages and prophets. Go

your lustful way - this is no business

for one infected with carnal passion.

Speech and action are attributes of man

- far removed is He from such human qualities.

Know God - perfectly - or all your panegyric

is nothing but satire. Do not speculate

about God as King of you and me - even though

the world and everything in it are fit to be

nothing but His slaves. What?

This tasteless and fleeting realm, how

could it be considered his domain?

The Kingdom of God (so you confess) knows

neither increase or decrease; but if the world

is His Kingdom - and the world is subject

at every moment to annihilation - then

His kingdom knows decrease! A contradiction!

In fact you do not know Him nd your words

bear witness to your ignorance. For me

what you profess is not religion but a cause

of wretched disbelief.

Now:

knowledge of Gods agents is the very foundation

of the Islamic Religion. The universe

is such an agent, without intelligence, knowledge or will.

And that Power which has dominion over the universe

is itself and agent - the beginning of all agents.

Agents everywhere: for example: the agent in plants

is sluggish, intractable. That by which the soil

makes raiment for your limbs, food for your stomach

that which produces wheat from dust -

that is not God, but thevegetative soul.

You object@God is pure of all this!

We will prove our point. According to your reasoning

the Lord of the Universe is without doubt inside

every grain of barley and every bean.

Surely you see how ugly, unjust and erroneous

such a belief must be!

Only when you know

the agents in all their reality is your soul

worthy of applause. You are an agent too.

Do your duty! and be rewarded with eternal bliss.

The duty of the tree is to bear leaves and fruit

and yours is glorifying God with prayer and invocation.

Follow the footsteps of that excellent guide

Muhammad the Chosen One of God.

Dont loll about in idleness. All this work

going on in the universe is all aimed at YOU -

the rest is dust. Follow the way of religion,

cure for the sickness of ignorance. You soul

in ignorance has grown thin as an old mule -

knowledge is its water, its pasture Divine Law.

Without knowledge your soul is lead - religion

is the alchemy to make it gold. Abstain

from dragonlike and sensual desires. Buy

true glory and eternal life, luminous

and beautiful as the light of Divine Law.

Intellect the gift of God has made religion

incumbent upon you, and he who refuses

to enter this path is an ass even if

(like you, to be sure) hes descended from Adam himself.

No - worse than and ass is man

satisfied with bestiality. Wisdom shows the way:

follow the track of faith, the blessed staff,

wearing the cloak of obedience, loveliest of mantles.

Devotion is the head of the body of blessings,

the seal of the epistle of good deeds -

but obedience without knowledge is not obedience,

only a puff of morning breeze. Know then:

obedience means two different things according

to whether we discuss the body or soul - for you

are two: body and soul. On the Day of Fire

man is saved by knowledge and action. Devote yourself

to these two, and prefer above all words the words

of the PROOF. Wisdom knows his sermons by heart.

Theyre the very head on the body of Wisdom

and his phrases are soothing balm for its eyes.

Reveille! Time to get up! from the couch of sloth! my son!

And gaze upon the globe with the orb of sagesse!

Eating and sleeping is the work of a creature with whom

you my ignoramus cannot hope to compare: the ASS.

Why do you suppose God gave you a brain?

foe eating and snoring contests with donkeys?

Tie round your fat head the turban of Wisdom

then one night raise your eyes to the lapis lazuli vault

or heaven like an emerald seas surging waves

which cast bright pearls from stygian trenches:

dark night crawling with stars like the armour

of Alexanders legions glinting through tenebrous shades.

See the Pleiades like seven sisters sitting side by side

Venus palefaced as terrified girl and Mars

with the baleful eye of a he-lion. Ponder:

Did the Dogstar grow silvery grey or Capella

begin to glow like a scarlet carnelian by themselves?

Each might the spheres spin their cerulean twine

about the throats of thousands upon thousands

of blossoming narcissus and lay their distant fires

around the harvest of the water lilies. But -

if these lights are really fires, how has this harvest

never been sent to increase or diminish?

Without, wick or wood fire never gives

light and radiance. If fire is that which needs fuel

that which needs no fuel cannot be fire.

The Sun is the maker of fire, distinguish, my boy,

between the maker and the fire itself.

Or if that which you see is an army, who

is its general? Socrates spoke of seven

commanders of these troops, prudent and energetic.

The Moon (said he) is green and from it grows

salt and bowels of the earth, silver in stone.

Mars breeds ill-tempered iron and from the womb

of the Sun (so he maintained) all gold is born.

>Jupiter he claimed >is the father of tin

and all copper has Venus for its dam.

Quicksilver is the daughter of Mercury

and Saturn the mother of gloomy lead.

Thus did the Greek associate with seven worlds

these seven melting metals; are the words

of this great sage true? Reason! come

and arbitrate my argument with him. I say

these planets are mere agents, helpless

with no will of their own. Each is charged

as guardian of a certain function - but

a true leader could never be an agent,

a slave or servant - no - he must be the king

who brought into being the very stars themselves

and the greensward on which they play.

It must be his command that alone has raised

without a scaffold the foundations of sea and land,

his decree that harmonises dry earth

with humid water, his power that revolves

the swift and gateless millwheel of the heavens;

and through him the dusty world adorns itself

with countless beauties. Four fecund sisters

and their innumerable spawn praise and glorify

HIM without end beneath this finespun azure

pavilion - but - who has ever heard such praise

of the seven planets? Unless by some hallucinatory

tintinnabulation on the broken eardrum of the heart?

Seize the hand of God or youll regret it! Find

a new-minted ear, a fresh eye to gaze upon

this great sovereign - for he will not grant you

audience unless you cut off your ears and pluck

your eyes from the webs of this world.

Your lord summons you to the heights why

have you cast yourself in the Pit? Climb

to highest heaven on feet of knowledge

and wings of devotion.

Oh you who tread the wilderness

of Insolence, your body lard, your soul starved thin

your arms coiled like snakes around the neck

of this deceitful world (imagining shes some

gorgeous slut) and clasp to your bosom something

more venomous than a king cobra -

seclude yourself from the world or not,

it makes no difference, shell have her

vengeance, her stiletto-satisfaction in the end.

To expect fidelity from this infidel is

to blow on sifted ashes hoping for fire and warmth.

This ghoul, this vampire has kicked a million

like you off the wharf and drowned them

in the shoreless passageless sea.

The world is a scab: it hurts

but it feels so nice to scratch it.

You think its pleasant and cozy as hot milk and sugar

but when it means you ill, watch out:

neither Caesar nor the Emperor of China

can do a thing to save you.

Sometimes it appears to you as a young bride

dripping with earings, bracelets and a diadem

who with sinuously erotic gestures, blushing

like a virgin, removes from her face

first the dust of humility and then - the veil . . .

suddenly, just as you anticipate . . . well

we wont go into that - suddenly like a lunatic

she whips out a dagger and stabs you in the throat.

In doing battle with this psychopath forge yourself

a sword of patience, a helmet of faith;

pluck gnostic buds from the branch of religion

and gaze upon devotional hyacinths in the

in the pasture of knowledge. The here-and-now

is no mansion for the wise but merely

a thoroughfare to be passed and left behind;

it is a twig whose yield is forbidden us to enjoy

- no matter then it bears fruit of not.

Compared to God, the partnerless judge, this world

cannot be counted even as an atom.

If He cared a whit for the worlds worth

do you suppose Hed allow an unbeliever

to take from it even a sip of water?

This is but a store where you can buy

road-provision for your trip to the Hereafter,

only a book wherein you must read

the mysterious calligraphy of your Lord.

Do not deny these hints from the PROOF

(truth can never be denied); you may learn

most readily to decipher the divine script

if you enter the Prophets house - then

in your footsteps tulips and lilies will spring up

and water-mint grow. But God will not permit

you to enter this house except behind ALI

the hero whose glory in the conquest of Khaybar

ha spread from Qayrawan to China,

whose sword has dumbfounded the lions;

Ocean before his great heart has shrunk

into a single drop; his words are a restingplace

a lamp of enlightenment for the heart

his sword a pit of fear and confusion to the foe -

Gods gift to Muhammad - his name Ali

his nickname Kawthar. If you yearn to see

to glaze upon that blessed countenance, that holy face

then hurry to the threshold of the IMAM MUSTANSIR

and do him the honour to approach, face in the dust,

towards that Kaaba of this world and the hereafter

that sacred temple of glory and majesty.

The sun dims before his shining face and the universe

before his doorstep appears but a heap of dirt.

By your sword, by your words, the battlefield

and pulpit have at last attained to grandeur;

without your blessed face the world itself

remains unknown, naked and unadorned.

Only by your knowledge has religion been known:

religion is the frankincense, your heart the pyx.

Hail, PROOF of the land of Khorasan, well done!

This propaganda, this eulogy of the Prophet and his House.

The point of your eloquent pen is a lancet

stuck in the eye of the enemies of true faith.

Such astonishing brocades you spin - tell me

are the famous looms of Shustar hid in your heart?

Spend your remaining years in weaving

these poems of piety, and in devotion.

Whatever EXISTS, shall be worn away and die;

that which IS TO BE, then - whence does it spring?

He has not come into being, but is eternal;

that which BECOMES cannot be everlasting.

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Which does not increase, how can it die?

The world forever wears away and disappears

for if it did not die it could not grow.

No one can undo the knot tied by Gods hand.

Four wives and seven husbands procreate

without cease and all things of the world but God

are like these women. Decrepit filthy earth,

how does it manage to seize and enchant our hearts?

What do you think, my sage? When does the wheel

of this watermill ever cease to turn? Tell me how

that which is not can ever be, or that which is

can cease to be? Dont waste your time in chat

(fashionable as it may be with So-and-So);

how did you develop a taste for food

that gives indigestion? Rather ask:

if the world goes on forever, what can it do

for you? or if it dies, what can you do?

He who wants to know more of what I teach

ought first to purify his soul, for hone

cannot stick to a hand thats purified.

Wisdom asks no one but the wise

to busy himself with such matters.

Furs and silks are still lovely even on hag

but they cannot improve an ugly womans face.

He who cleanses his soul of error and sin

in the fire of intellect, deserves to dole out

measure by measure the contents of my sack,

but if you lack the wherewithal, refrain

from spattering heavens cupola with mire.

He whom love of the world has inflamed will never

be able to comprehend the truths I speak;

O confidence-man, O trickster, what can you gain

from poetry such as mine? You cannot trust

yourself - how then shall anyone trust you?

Prepare your heart, as I instruct and hope,

for the work at hand, so that this axe of mine

can trim the branches from your ignorance-tree

(but mildly and without pain); and turn your face

from those who deal in superstitious slander.

Good counsel scratches out the eye of ignorance

as sure as a fool in public will lose his pants!