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BOOK ONE
PROLOGUE & FIRST STORY
From RUMI’S MASNAVI

Translated by Paul Smith & Omid Honari into correct
meaning and rhyme-structure. Paul Smith is Author of
English Version of Divan of Hafiz and other books.
Omid Honari is an Iranian Poet and Film-maker


© Paul Smith & Omid Honari 2002.


.

Listen to the reed of the flute, how it a long complaint makes:
it, explanation of the tale of separation, loud and faint makes...

“Ever since the time that I was torn away from the reed’s bed
my cries have caused men and women... many a sigh to shed.
I want a chest that has been ripped wide apart by separation
so that of the deepest of longings… I can give an explanation.
Anyone who is staying far from where he came, his real Self:
is always yearning to be returning to the same… his real Self.
That one that utters wailing notes in every crowd, I became:
the teller to the joyful and those weeping out loud, I became.
Each one of them had their own reasons for befriending me...
but none asking my heart my secret tried comprehending me.
My secret... distant from these complaints that I cry, is not,
but still the illumination of the ear and also of the eye is not.
The body veiled from soul... neither soul from the body isn’t,
and yet a single person, the soul to be allowed to see, isn’t.”


That sound, it is of fire that the reed is making... is not wind:
anybody who lacks such fire... is as if nothing… is not wind.
That sound… that is the fire of Love that into the reed fell…
and it’s only to Love… the ferment that the wine freed… fell.
The reed is the confidant of all who are cut off from a friend...
its wail of longing has torn away our veil… from end to end.
Who has ever seen an antidote and a poisoner... like the reed?
Who has seen a sympathetic, a longing lover… like the reed?
The reed, tell of the Path that’s full of the bloody stain does;
it, recount the story of Majnun’s passion and his pain, does.
This, only that one who has lost all of his senses can sense:
it’s only the ear, whatever the tongue dispenses… can sense.
Because of sorrow our days laboured and long have become,
our days where burning grief seems to belong, have become.
If our days have gone as such, say: “Go!” Matter? Doesn’t.
You stay: for exist… one, who in holiness is better, doesn’t.
Whoever is not a fish, tired of water it is said, will become:
the day long, for whoever’s without daily bread will become.
Those who are raw that condition of the ripe do not know…
because of this I must make my speech short... and now go!
O son, listen, get up, burst through your bonds and be free!
A slave to the silver and the gold for how long will you be?
Even if you could pour into a pitcher all the ocean, what for?
How much can it hold? One day’s worth is all it can store!
Pitcher, that those whose eyes covert, never becomes full…
content, full of pearls, is when oyster-shell ever becomes full.
Only that one whose garment by Love ripped apart becomes,
coverts nothing and free of faults with a pure heart becomes.
Hail! O Hail that Love that brings such a great gain to us!
For all of our sickness… You, are the great Physician to us!
O yes… the remedy for pride and cure for conceit... You are!
O our real Plato You are and also our Galen to meet You are.
The earthly body has soared up to heaven because of Love…
joyful and dancing became the mountain… because of Love.
O lover, it was only Love that brought life to Mount Sinai,
when “Moses fell into swoon” from a drunken Mount Sinai.
If the lip of mine touched the lip of the One who loves me…
I too would tell what is possible to tell… like reed’s melody.
But that one who is parted from one who speaks his tongue,
even if he has a hundred songs he will always still be dumb.
When rose has disappeared and the garden withers away,
the story the nightingale sings… no longer comes our way.
The Beloved is All in all: the lover a veil, only a covering…
the Beloved’s all that’s living, the lover’s only a dead thing.
When that quickening power of Love by the lover is lost...
like a bird without wings that one becomes. Ah, the cost!
How can I become conscious of what is here and there…
when Beloved of Light I cannot be seeing here and there?
It is the desire of Love that this secret should now be told,
for what is the use of a mirror that becomes rusty and old?
Do you know why a mirror the power of reflecting hasn’t?
Because rust from its face, vanished, from scouring, hasn’t.

THE TALE OF THE KING
AND THE SERVANT GIRL

Oh now my friends, listen closely to this story that I tell…
for in truth it states the absolute essence of our case so well.
Once upon a long time ago there lived a king… a king who
power over the physical world and the higher world knew.
One day it happened that upon his horse this king he rode
out for the chase with his courtiers… carrying a heavy load.
And as he rode his highway a servant-girl he suddenly saw:
instantly this king’s soul became servant to the girl he saw.
His soul, a bird in its cage, began wildly beating, fluttering;
he gave some of his wealth and that one he was purchasing.
After buying her and a reality, what he desired… became,
by Divine Destiny that servant-girl sick and tired became.

There was a man who had an ass, but didn’t have a saddle:
a wolf took his ass when he finally got a saddle to straddle.
He had a jug for the water but the water he couldn’t obtain:
when he found water the jug broke... full jug he did not gain.
Gathering physicians from left and right he gave commands:
“Both of our lives... have now been given over to your hands.
My life means nothing to me: but everything to me... she is!
I am stricken and I’m in agony and my only remedy... she is.
Whoever heals her, that one who is the life and soul of mine,
will carry away all the treasure, the pearls and coral of mine.
They then promised him: “Our lives on the line we will put;
with our heads together… our knowledge so fine we will put.
Each, all, everyone of us has the healing ways of the Messiah
on the world: our palms hold balms to quell every pain’s fire.”
And because of their pride they did not say... “God Willing:”
and so the weakness of man to them God was then revealing.
I mean... to make such an exception like this is truly cruelty;
not to merely say that… a mere shape has then... no reality:

Ah, how many of these words out loud have never been said
but still…. his soul and his actions with these words are wed!
No matter how may cures and drugs that those doctors tried
the worse the illness became… no matter what they applied.
That servant-girl from that sickness thin as a hair became…
and from the king’s eyes tears... like a bleeding river became.
Divine Destiny saw that the bile was produced from oxymel
and the oil of almonds caused more dryness to her outer shell.
Myrobalan was the cause of still a much further constipation
and like naphtha… water fed the fire, and stopped relaxation.
When finally the king saw that the physicians had no power,
without shoes on feet he ran to the mosque… to offer prayer.
On entering that mosque he hurried up to the altar to pray…
and soon his tears bathed the prayer carpet on which he lay.
He became flooded in ecstasy but finally his eyelids he raised
and when this happened his lips opened and he then praised:
“O You, You Who hold the whole world as Your least gift,
What can I say to You, each small secret You know and sift.
O, every time we have a need we always take refuge in You;
because one more time we have lost the way to see through.
Still, you have said this… “Although all the secrets I know,
it’s necessary you say them, go through the outward show.”
And then from the very depth of his soul he started to cry out
and then the great Sea of Mercy and Bounty began to spout.
And while he was weeping... he finally fell into deep-sleeping
and in a dreaming trance an old man was suddenly appearing
Who said: “O king, good news, your prayers granted will be,
and if a stranger should visit you tomorrow, he is sent by me.
This man is a skilled physician, so greet him when he comes:
understand he is honest, trustworthy… one of the true ones.
In his remedy is the supreme magic for any sight to behold...
and in his temperament... is God’s Great Might to behold.”
When the promised hour had came and the dawn had broken,
from the east the stars were burnt out by sun that had risen,
The king was awake at the window, waiting in expectation:
he was awaiting that which in the dream was a premonition.
He suddenly saw a human being… majestic and wonderful,
worthy of worship… among all of the shadows a sun so full.
He seemed like a bright new moon though he was far away:
although he did not seem real, he did… some fantastic way.
Although an imaginary image in this reality does not exist,
see how the world turns by a fantasy that still does persist.
Mankind’s peace and war because of a fantasy are turning...
Mankind’s pride and shame from a fantasy are springing…
But even the saints are transfixed... fascinated by the sight
reflected from the Almighty’s Garden... faces of moonlight.
The face of this strange guest who had suddenly appeared
was the same as last night’s vision that king had dreamed.
The Pure Light of the Truth in that Saint was manifested…
one sees purity if that one... only by that one’s heart is led.
That Saint of the Truth who from far off came into his sight,
from his head down to his toe shone forth the Purest Light.
Instead of that king’s servant going forward, the king went:
to his guest from the Invisible the king to that meeting went.
As the king went forth to greet this guest from the Invisible
it was exactly like that when sugar with flour does mingle.
They had learned to swim… both were Seamen in the Sea:
being knit together without stitch or sewing... in the Unity.
One like a one who is thirsty and the other one like water...
that one a drowsy one and a one like the wine is the other.
The king said… “You were really the One I loved, not her:
but in this world one action always causes another to occur.
You are like Mohammed to me… and I am like Omar who
is fastening his belt and getting ready to do service for you.
Let us pray to God, to help us to have more self-discipline:
on one unable to control himself God’s Grace doesn’t shine.
One without this, not only is he in such a horrible condition,
but he is helping to set many fires burning on every horizon.
Bounty eventually came down from the sky… nevertheless:
it came without work, barter or trying to buy... nevertheless.
From heaven the bread and the dishes of food then ceased…
work of sowing, mattock and scythe came… then increased.
Among Moses’ people came forth shouts from some place:
“Where’s the garlic, lentils?” They cried from lack of grace.
Some time later on, once again it was Jesus who interceded:
God sent food and bounty upon trays, all that was needed.
But once again… those ones with no grace stepped forward
and like a bunch of beggars took everything that they could,
Even though it was Jesus who had given it to them, saying:
“Never again on earth will food disappear, it’s now lasting!”
Those ones had doubled and wanted still more to store away,
not believing that Majestic table would feed them each day.
Those ones with faces like beggars that greed had blinded...
they found that the Gate of Mercy all of them no longer fed.
That bread and all that food from the heavens were cut off...
after that no one became the beneficiary of that table-cloth.
If the poor people are not helped then the rain does not fall;
if sexual intercourse is rife… then a plague comes to us all.
Whatever of grief and sorrow that happens to fall upon you,
it’s the result of the irreverence and bad manners that you do.
One who is offensive and irreverent in the Path of the Friend
is not man but a robber and steals from his friends in the end.
Heaven is full of light and it is because of this Divine grace;
from this grace angels are holy and of sin have not one trace.
The sun… it suffers eclipse because of irreverence and pride
and the door was shut on Satan for the talking back he tried.

The king opened his arms and that one to his chest he held:
in his heart and in his soul, him like love most blest, he held.
He kissed that one’s hand, then he kissed that brow he held;
conversation of home and journey, of where and how he held.
As he questioned him he led him inside and up onto the dais
saying... “Finally, by being patient, a treasure’s come to us.”
Then... “You are a gift of God, causing problems to depart...
you’re the meaning of ‘Patience is the key to joy in the heart’.
Meeting you face to face all my questions are now answered,
you undo my problem knots yet not one word have you said.
You understand the depth of our hearts, knowing what it is;
you grab hold the hand of whoever’s feet in the muddy pit is.

Welcome, O chosen one... the approved of. If you disappear
our fate will be… that this room will be filled with our fear.
You protect and you care for all people and if an individual
doesn’t ask your help he’s doomed… ‘ If he doesn’t call...’ ”
After that coming together… feeding of soul was completed
that king took his hand and him into his quarters he then led.
He told that one the story of the girl, of her strange sickness:
then he sat him next to her... so he could diagnose her illness.
That one… he felt her pulse and looked at her face and urine;
he heard the symptoms and causes that the others did define.
He said: “So far all the remedies which to her... give they did
are destructive… nothing to her to help her to live... they did.
They didn’t know the patient’s inner condition. From God I
seek protection from their false diagnosis: a patent lie, say I!”
He knew her painful problem, to him her illness was no secret
but he kept quiet and that secret before the king he didn’t set.
Her suffering did not come because of black or yellow bile…
some smoke must be rising to be smelling a burning woodpile.
He saw she suffered a grief… coming from a hurting heart is;
her body was not sick, this condition from a grieving heart is.
When one is in love this results in a sore and an aching heart;
there’s no sickness like that sickness of a sick, breaking heart.
The lover’s ailment is difficult from all others on the globe…
mysteries of God can be probed using love as the astrolabe.
It doesn’t matter where love comes from, over here and there:
eventually… we are led by it to the Beyond, the Everywhere!
No matter what I say… or how I try to explain about Love,
when I experience Love I’m ashamed of what I said of Love.
Most is more understandable when a tongue the explainer is,
but love that’s not explained by the tongue so much clearer is.
The pen hurried along, being caught up in the act of writing...
but the moment it reached Love into itself it went, splitting!
When explaining it, intellect like an ass gets stuck in mire…
nothing but Love can truly explain love… and love’s desire.
If you want to know what the sun is, then to the sun you go:
you want proof of its existence don’t turn away, you’ll know.
A shadow a very good indication of the sun’s existence gives;
the Sun… the Light each moment one can experience, gives.
Shadows, like late at night talking… makes one fall to sleep;
but ‘moon is split asunder’ when over the line sun does creep.
In the world something existing as wonderful as sun is not;
but Sun of the soul never sets: going when day’s gone, is not.
Although in this physical world there’s only one sun we see,
to imagine another sun as the same… it is not a possibility.
But the Sun of the soul that is far beyond this world’s ether
is unique: nothing comes close in imagination or form either.
What capacity has the imagination to conceive His Essence,
so in the imagination... appears something of His Presence?
Shams-e Tabriz, that One who that supreme Pure Light is;
He, the Sun and the shower of what True and also Right is;
When news of face of Shams’ ud-din was heard far and wide
the sun of the fourth heaven its head out of shame it did hide.
And since his name has come up it’s only right that this one
gives out some inkling... of the bountiful Light of that One!
Right now the soul, Hesam’odin, grabbed my garment has;
for he, catching a waft of that Joseph’s garment’s scent has.
He says: “For the sake of these years we have been friends
speak now of those experiences that one into ecstasy sends,
So that earth and heavens laughing and rejoicing becomes...
from your voice countlessly real vision increasing becomes.”
I said, “O you, my soul who are so far away from that lover,
like one who far from the physician from illness can’t recover,
Do not ask me to do anything for I have totally passed away,
my comprehension has now vanished and praises I can’t pay.
One not conscious of himself, no matter how he expounds,
whether overdoing it or keeping quiet, never right it sounds.
Whatever he says doesn’t hold together, it makes no sense,
like mere formalities that to those pure are only a nonsense.
When my veins are insensible, for me a possibility there isn’t
to describe that Friend… a description, definitely, there isn’t.
The description of this separation and my poor bleeding heart
isn’t now possible: at another time, it my heart may impart.”
He said, “Nourish me now for I am hungry... please feed me
for time’s like a sword that cuts deeply, so do it now, quickly.
O comrade, the Sufi is the son of the time of now... of today:
putting it off by you saying ‘Tomorrow,’ is not the real Way.
Can it be that you yourself are not a true Sufi? Aren’t you?
What one has is worthless if not paid is the fee. Aren’t you?”
To him I said: “It’s better to cover up the secret of the Friend;
if you want to hear, listen, for into these stories it does blend.
Its much better that all the secret those loved ones may hold,
in the conversations and stories of many others they be told.”
He said: “Tell it openly and nakedly, not unfaithfully to me,
tell it and you stop torturing me, no more a meddler you be!
Be naked with the way you talk and strip away the cover…
when I sleep with the adorable One no shirt’s on this lover.”
I said this… “If that One should be exposed for you to see,
you yourself, your side and your centre… would no longer be.
Ask what you have to ask, but please… ask in moderation:
a single blade of straw will never hold up a mighty mountain.
If the sun by which this whole world is warmed and illumined
should come just a little closer... all on it would be consumed.
Do not keep looking for trouble and turmoil and bloodshed…
don’t mention him or ask again... of Shams-e Tabriz,” I said.
There is no end to this… much better of the beginning to tell:
But now, of this tale I’m telling it’s better the ending to tell...

THE SAINT DEMANDS THE KING
TO LEAVE THEM ALONE SO HE CAN
DISCOVER HER SICKNESS

The Saint said: “O king, clear the quarters now of everyone;
no one stays here: no family members, no strangers... no one.
All entrance halls must be cleared of listeners: no exceptions,
so that I’m able to ask of this servant-girl certain questions.”
The king emptied the place and then he himself disappeared
so through his trick questions her sickness would be revealed.
Those quarters were cleared of all who lived there: not a one
except for the divine healer and the girl in his care: not a one!

Gently, so gently he asked her: “Your home town is where?
Treating people from different cities can be a different affair.
In that place who was in your family, who is related to you?
Who’d you know: acquaintances, friends, companions, who?”
On her pulse he placed his hand… then one by one he asked
over and over again about Fate and its cruelty… in the past.
When the foot of somebody is suddenly stabbed by a thorn,
that one quickly lifts foot and knee to see where flesh is torn.
With a point of a needle that one seeks out the thorn’s head
and if he can’t get then with lips spit he wets there instead.
If a thorn stuck in the foot is such a difficult thing to find...
thorn in the heart is how much more? Answer, if you mind!
If each ordinary person could see a thorn that’s in the heart
would anyone suffer from sorrow… would grief ever start?
Someone takes a thorn and he puts it under a donkey’s tail:
donkey doesn’t know how to remove it, kicking to no avail.
Irritated, in pain the donkey tries everything to get rid of it:
in hundreds of futile places blows and kicks are given by it.
He jumps and jumps but that thorn digs in more deeply…
to remove it… it takes one person to be acting intelligently.
That saint-physician at taking out thorns was well prepared,
he gently touched here and there... he tested and researched.
Again using stories he gets the girl to talk of all her friends
and again towards her homeland the talk that way he wends.
And to the physician she narrates many things about home
of masters she had worked for and the allies she had known.
He listened well while she told of home and who she knew,
and while listening the beat of her pulse he was feeling too.
So that if her pulse began to pound when a name was said...
it was that one out of the whole world that her soul desired.
Again he counted off all of her friends from her native town,
then almost casually he named another town, another town.
Then he softly said: “When finally you went and left home
in which city were you, where was it that you called home?”
She told of a particular place, then how she’d left that place,
her face’s colour stayed the same, her pulse... it did not race.
Her pulse did not race or jump but was in its normal state...
until he mentioned Samarqand, city sweet as candied date.
O… then that moon-faced one all of a sudden felt so cold...
and out from one of her eyes water like a river quickly rolled.
Then her pulse thumped and red then white went her face:
She had separated from one there, a goldsmith of that place.
She said, “In the market there... that one, he’s still dwelling,
that master goldsmith in that city can be found, still living.
He had me there for six months... and then he… sold me;”
her grief flared like a fire when she said softly... “Sold me.”
The secret of the sickness had by the physician been found,
and it was obvious to him, her pain and grief’s background.
He said: “When you pass through where can he be found?”
“Where Bridge-head, Ghatafar Street are common ground.”
Then that true physician over to that servant-girl he went
and said: “You’re saved, you’ve escaped from that torment!”
And then he said: “I understand now why you are sick and I
will quickly bring about a miraculous cure, so be happy. Try!
Be happy and don’t worry anymore and let all of your fear go
for I’ll revive you as rain does that falls on a grassy meadow.
I will do all the worrying for you, so you do not need to worry:
much more kind than a hundred fathers is how to think of me.
But, now a warning… do not tell this secret… not to anyone:
even if the king asks you many times, tell it to no one, no one!
If your heart like a deep grave that holds your secret becomes,
more quickly that desire on which your heart is set becomes.”
The Prophet said that if one hides his secret thoughts inside
that which one desires one has; so... secrets one should hide.
When seeds are dug deeply so they impossible to see become
the secrets that are inside the garden’s great bounty become.
If gold and silver were not hidden away and difficult to find
how could they be nourished if they had already been mined?
All soothing words and promises that physician gave to her
made that sick one feel safe and vanished all her fears were.
Some promises are true, sincere... the heart’s always grateful:
others are false promises so full of difficulties, truly hateful.
Promise of one of grace is the treasure that flows: the Spirit;
from promise of one unworthy... into anguish goes the spirit.
If one makes a promise then that promise must be fulfilled;
if you don’t want to you’re immature and your blood’s chilled.

HOW THE SAINT,
HAVING DISCOVERED THE ILLNESS,
LAID THE CAUSE BEFORE THE KING

That healer then got up and left her quarters to find the king:
upon finding him he told him what he had been discovering.
The king said: “ Tell me your result of discovery, what is it?
Plan to remove sorrow that’s stopping recovery, what is it?”
He answers: “The plan is, we have to get him brought here
because that’s the only way that the illness will disappear.

Send a messenger, tell him to quickly come here: so he does;
so if he comes… he comes freely, without fear. So... he does.
Tell that goldsmith in that far off place that he must come;
offer him a robe of honour and some gold, an enormous sum.
For when that poor man all of that gold and silver is seeing,
for that gold he will leave his house, he will leave everything.
Making all logic turn into craziness is the work that it does;
it, especially turn poor people into a state that’s unfit, does.
Although gold can bring to one wisdom and that is for sure;
only the wise should have it for it is then kept pure… pure.”
When the king had finished hearing that from the physician,
his heart and soul he welcomed guidance from this wise man.
The king said: “Whatever it is that you command, I will do...
whatever you say or whatever you may demand... I will do.”
He chose two messengers carefully and them he quickly sent,
intelligent men, honourable and loved… wherever they went.
They travelled to Samarqand those messengers of the king...
goldsmith they soon found, those two messengers of the king.
They said: “O great master of the craft… such perfect skill,
your work’s perfection is shouted from each valley and hill…
listen, our great king of whom you’ve heard has chosen you,
for in the goldsmith’s craft you are by far the best, it is true!
Here, we bestow upon you this robe of honour and this gold,
when you come you will his friendship and his favour hold.”
When the man saw all of the gold and all the gifts of honour,
he left his city and children, he’d been completely won over;
Without another thought this man stepped out on the road,
oblivious to the king’s plan to him of his load... life, unload.
He climbed on an Arabian stallion and galloped off happily;
he only saw the honours, his blood as the price he didn’t see.
You, you whose own foot did over a hundred times consent;
by travelling on such a journey to your destruction you went!
He fantasized about great riches, power and a high position.
Death’s Angel Ezra’il: “Go, they’ll be in your possession!”
When the goldsmith left the road on reaching his destination
he was brought to the presence of the king by the physician.
With much pomp and pride they ushered him into the king,
so that on that candle of Tiraz… that one would be burning.
The king welcomed him and showed him great regard he did:
and he gave him his treasure house of gold to guard… he did.
Then the king offered the goldsmith the commission to make
anklets, badges, medallions, using whatever gold it may take.
Every sort one could imagine: in numbers, beyond counting...
each one would of the king’s horsemen be worthy of wearing.
That goldsmith received the gold and he began working at it;
the meaning behind the king’s gestures he knew not one bit.
The physician said quietly… “ O great and mighty Sultan,
give to this newly appointed lord the hand of that maiden...
So through union with him that servant-girl happy becomes
and by water of union... fever quelled completely becomes.”
The moon-faced one was given to the goldsmith by the king:
as he married them their desire for each other was showing.
In following six months they set about fulfilling their desire,
until the peak of her health could not have been any higher.
After some time the physician prepared for the man a potion
so that after drinking, she saw he was pale, lacking emotion.
When all of his good looks vanished, because of the illness,
the soul of the girl was forgotten, he only knew his distress.
And soon after, when he ugly, out of favour… gaunt became,
gradually her heart a cold place he didn’t even haunt became.
Loves that are skin deep... that based on form’s colour were,
are not true love but in the end a disgrace to the lover were.
It would’ve been better if he had originally been very ugly,
so that such a fate upon his head would never have to be!
Blood with tears flowed like a river from those eyes of him;
his face had now become the enemy in that demise of him.
The peacock’s real enemy is the colour and fair tail of his...
a king’s death due to magnificence is often the tale of his.
He cried: “I’m the muskdeer and because of gland of mine,
hunter took my innocent blood, with no command of mine.
O that fair fox of the meadow am I whose head they will
cut off… yes, for the sake of my fur, me… they would kill.
O… that elephant am I whose blood was made to flow…
for the sake of my tusks my master has delivered the blow.
That one who has killed me for something not really me…
doesn’t that one fear that my blood always restless will be?
Today my blood lies upon me and tomorrow on him it lies:
blood of my type is never wasted no matter what one tries.
Even though the well may throw out a very long shadow...
when comes the end that shadow back to the wall will go.
The world is like a mountain and our actions like a shout:
echo of the sound is everywhere after the shout goes out!”
And at that very moment he expired, went under the earth:
For the servant girl he longer felt pain or love of any worth,
Because the love of one who’s dead forever lasting... is not,
and sight of one who is dead available to our seeing, is not:
While love of the living is fresh every moment of the day...
fresher than a bud seen by heart, soul, eyes... in every way.
Choose the love of that Living One… Who will never die
and will give such wine to drink that your life won’t fly by.
Choose Love of that One... that One Whose Love Divine
gives Prophets Power, Glory, Knowledge of Divine Design.
Don’t you say this: “We can’t go and approach that King.”
With One generous, merciful it’s not difficult to be dealing.
This man’s life was not taken by the hand of the physician,
through a base motive such as fear or to gain some position.
He wasn’t killed by the physician to gain the king’s favour:
command of the Divine inspired the physician’s behaviour.
And in relation to the boy whose throat was cut by Khizer,
such a mystery is not understood by all... who it does hear.
One receiving inspiration and answers from the Almighty,
whatever he may do or say to do is right... for he acts truly.
If One who has given everlasting life kills, it isn’t a crime:
he is God’s messenger and his action is that of the Divine.
Lay your head before him like Ishmael lay down his head...
like Mohammed’s soul... that with Allah is commingling.
The cup of joy is emptied by the lovers at every moment...
when their lives by the hands of those fair Ones are spent.
Blood of that man wasn’t shed by the king because of lust:
from such wrong thinking and argument desist you must.
You’ve been thinking that he has committed a nasty crime
but when sublimation’s pure how can its leavings be slime?
Such a harsh treatment and rough process has a meaning...
it is so that the dross and muck from the silver is leaving.
The good... and also the bad are tested in such a way that
gold is brought to boil and scum rises to the top of the vat.
If the actions of the king weren’t inspired by a Divine Being
he would have been a dog that hunts, he wouldn’t be a king.
No passion, lust, desire to possess stained that king’s heart,
what he did was good… but a bad impression it did impart.
If Khizer happened to sink the boat to the bottom of the sea,
this sinking by Khizer… a hundred times right it would be.
Moses didn’t understand despite his mind of a high degree,
that… was beyond him. Without wings, to fly is not easy!
Don’t name a red rose wrongly, saying it’s something bloody:
he’s imbibed full Understanding, don’t say he a madman be.
If his only intention had been making blood of a Muslim flow
then I would truly be an infidel if I’d gone and praised him so.
When one praises those evil ones the highest heaven shakes,
and by such praise the thoughts of a holy man... to evil takes.
He was a king that was full of wisdom and understanding...
he was in that position: God him that position was trusting.
A one who dies by the hand of a king… such as this king is,
is taken by him to a fortunate place… much better than this.
If there had been no gain to the king by being violent to him,
that Mercy that is Absolute wouldn’t bring violence on him.
The sharp razor of the barber makes the child shake with fear,
the loving mother is happy... although her child’s fear is near.
God takes half a life and then gives lives by the hundred…
what is given by your imagination couldn’t be known or read.
You make a judgement based on what you yourself know…
but so far away from it are you. Think! Into the meaning go!




 
Last updated: May 9, 2004
www.khamush.com