Tarjuman al-Ashwaq-Ibn Arabi(selections)
Lathief
INTERPRETER
OF
DESIRES
An interpretation in English of the 65 odes of Ibn Arabi called the
Tarjuman al-Ashwaq.
Arranged in this volume under seven chapters:
1. Mecca
2. The Parting
3. The Dove
4. The Quest
5. Lost
6. Baghdad
7. The Heights
A gazelle of a girl from the prophet's city drew
The edgelong blade of her magical glance:
As I realised her inner desire
Patience was routed in passion's advance.
Holy union, a night of nearness,
Here and gone in a couple of shakes:
Put no trust in such a maiden,
She will betray every promise she makes.
But my dream came true in a vale of angels -
I wish it could last till the hour that I fade -
I fell in love in a wonderland wilderness
Dazzled by moonlight that she displayed.
She showed me her loveliness, shot her quarry,
Did not forbid me to enter her fold,
Watched lightning flash over her altar
Glancing more swift than her thought was told
And the fire in my heart evaporated
The water the village cisterns hold.
Beneath a tree on the Mount of Vision,
Adorned with pearls from a secret space,
In the Land of Light, when she'd go no further
For fear of the lions which haunt the place,
Then the peaceful shrine where she took my life
Sacrifice to the sword of eyes that thrill,
Kept vigil for me in her secret garden,
Showed me her mercy, the power of her will
And her wish to be good, and so arranged it
That only my true love escaped the kill -
For the spires of her citadel breach seven heavens,
Transcendent, invisible, towering still.
The poet, Muhyuddin Ibn Arabi of Murcia, called Son of Plato, the
greatest philosopher of the Sufis, relates:
While in Mecca, on my first pilgrimage there, in the five hundred
and ninety eighth year after the Hejira (1201 according to the
Christian calendar), in the thirty-seventh year of my life, I
frequented a scholarly and virtuous company whose ancestors had
migrated from Persia long before. Among these were the wise and
learned master Zahir ibn Rustam of Isfahan and his venerable sister
Fakhr un Nisa bint Rustam.
Now this master had a daughter, a lissome maid of fourteen
years, named Nizam, whose mere presence at our gatherings captured
every eye and shocked every beholder into amazement. Studious and
pious, experienced in the spiritual life, her discourse flowed from
the source, her comments were concise and eloquent, her reasoning
crystal clear. Her nature was noble, her glance magical, her body a
garden of gifts. She is the model and inspiration of these poems,
which are love poems sweet and elegant in diction, though they do
not express a fraction of the feelings which my soul experienced in
her company, nor the love in my heart for her, nor the memories of
her faithful friendship, her graceful mind, her modest mien. For she
is my quest and my hope, the virgin most pure. Still, for her sake I
have let my enamoured heart speak freely and offer here as a
treasure some expression of the longing thoughts, the deep
connections and concerns of bygone days which still move me today,
as I recalled them on the occasion of my return to Mecca thirteen
years later.
One night, as I circled the Kaaba, fully aware of the gentle
feeling of deep peace which my spirit tasted, stepping out of the
crowded pavements on to the sand, a few staves of verse entered my
mind and I began to recite them aloud as I walked:
If I only knew if they knew the heart that they have stolen,
If my heart but knew what mountain passes they are wending.
Do you think that they are safe? Do you think they may have fallen?
Oh the path of love has false trails and pitfalls never-ending!
No sooner had I recited them than I felt the touch of a
hand, softer than silk, on my shoulder. I turned round and found
myself in the presence of that young girl, that princess of
Byzantium.
"O my Lord," said she, "I am surprised at you. How can you,
the great mystic of your time, wonder if `they know the heart they
have stolen'? For how could they have possession of anything without
having perception of it? And then you said you would like to
know `what mountain passes they are wending' but, O my Lord, it is
forbidden for the heart to know the hidden paths between the heart
and the pericardium, so how can someone like you even speak of
desiring that which you can never attain? And then what? `Do you
think that they are safe? Do you think they are fallen?' As for
them, they are safe enough, but I cannot help wondering whether you
yourself are not fallen, O my Lord! And what was that last line?"
She repeated it and made a noise. "However can a true devotee lose
his way when true devotion is such that it completely fills the
soul, stills the senses, stops the mind and sweeps us away so that
we disappear? Where is there any room for confusion? These sayings
are unworthy of you."
This was my first meeting with her, the most beautiful, soft-
spoken, tender-hearted, subtle and spiritual woman of her time. I
asked her name and she took her leave. But we met again after: I
came to know her, cultivated her friendship, discovered in her an
indescribably subtle knowing. Whatever name I mention in these
poems, I mean her name. Whenever I sing elegies over the abodes, I
mean her abode. But more, I always mean my words to signify divine
influences and spiritual visitations, making analogies between the
angelic and the physical worlds. Thinking in symbols, as we Sufis
do, I have used the erotic manner because it is attractive to the
human spirit. This young girl understood these significances
perfectly, being herself the visible manifestation of a sublime,
sacred, essential wisdom. God forbid that any reader should infer
anything unworthy of souls who despise evil and are concerned only
with the celestial.
Amen.
I
MECCA
9
Lightning flashed over the Holy Land,
Thunderclaps crashed in my chest.
Clouds drenched the open fields,
Growing wands danced in the wind.
The channels flooded, the air sweet-smelling,
The flapping of a dove, a branch put forth green.
Their scarlet pavilions pitched for the reception
As the rain-rills trickled like silver serpents,
Welcoming girls with shining faces,
Wide-eyed and lithesome, heirs of untold riches.
7
I kissed the Kaaba stone and made my covenant
Amid a circling throng of women veiled and kindly
Unveiling their sunlight faces, saying
`Beware, for to behold us spells death to your soul!
How many pilgrims have we killed already,
Or driven mad with desire for us
As they circled the stone, or sought in vain
Union with us in the lonesome mountains?
Do you not see that beauty will steal your shame?
For beauty, they say, is the thief of virtue.
Later we meet at the wellspring of Zamzam
Among the rocks, by the central pavilion,
Where every pale lover finds medicine for anguish
Of body and soul in desire for our fragrance
Who let fall our tresses like mantles of darkness,
Hiding our faces from fear you would hold us.'
22
Let the stormclouds' caravan reach to the stony places,
To the tender branches and the water-meadows:
Evening and morning let them reach yonder
And the forked lightning flash and strike.
And lift up your voice in a dawn invocation
To the radiant faces of fair slender maidens
Whose black eyes assassinate,
Whose graceful necks incline. Among them
One who sends her love like an arrow, one who glances
Like Indian steel on every heart mad for the lovely.
She puts out a white hand, soft as silk,
Fragrant with musk and with sweet oils anointed;
Considers us deeply through fawnlike eyes,
Gazing at us out of belladonna blackness.
Her eyes are a death-spell guised in sweetness,
She is robed in wonder and incomparable beauty:
My slender girl requites me not
But spares me the revenge she threatens.
Uncoiling her black plait like the serpent of wisdom
She puts to flight any who might think to hold her.
God, I fear not death - I only fear
That, in dying, I might miss her tomorrow.
40
In the country of mystery, Mesopotamia,
There rose a full moon; a girl of fourteen
Whom time shall not alter, for unto her
Are the kingdom and the power and the glory.
Any ordinary moon, when it reaches its fullness,
Must suffer a waning in the dark fortnight.
But she alone neither wanes nor waxes,
Neither sets nor rises, nor changes with the signs.
O you are a chalice of incense and fragrance,
You are a meadow of spring herbs and flowers,
You are the best of all possible loveliness,
Nature's ultimate, my incomparable one!
44
In her black sky of hair the face of the full moon,
Dew in her black narcissus eyes for her roses.
Brighter by far than the moon she shone,
My gentle child laid the fine ladies low.
More glorious by far than the sun she shone -
To what shall we compare the grace of her body?
The sphere of the sun is as her footstool,
Beyond the seven heavens her diadem.
Only to think of her is to disturb her -
How could she be seen by the physical eye?
A sweet dream dissolving eludes the clutch of reason -
Too subtle is she, and outside perception's spectrum.
Language fails, and explanation,
She is beyond, and all tongues speechless.
If poets presume to tell her tale
She brings them all to utter confusion.
Those who seek her cease their search;
What map can trace, what steed will reach her?
But those who burn with love for her
She leads away with blissfulness
Indignant lest her lucid essence
Get mixed up with this cesspit world.
35
Three full moons went forth in simple grace,
Their loveliness veiled, yet seeking to be known,
Chanting blessings, seeking a holy shrine
Where their sun-bright beauty might be shown.
Stepping stately as river-herons, each
Reached to my heart in her priestess' gown.
34
Proud lions in the restless uplands
Are conquered at a glance by beautiful lovers.
Though they were warriors, bred for battle,
How could they stand against such eyes?
Slain by sweetness out of blackness,
Killed by the daughters of the King of Love.
25
Oh grief for my heart, oh grief!
Oh joy for my mind, oh joy!
In my heart burns a fire of passion:
In my mind's night a full moon rises.
How bright the moon's silver mirror!
How sweet the musk! How green the tree!
Oh laughing mouth, flecked with loveable foam!
Oh wet tongue, tasting of honey!
Oh moon, all veiled in modesty,
Blushing red like the cheek of a lover!
Light upon light if you saw her
Unveiled - unbearable anguish.
Like the morning sun in an empty sky,
A green branch in a paradise garden
Which I water with tears unceasing
As my awe-stricken eyes watch and worship;
If she rises my eyes fill with wonder:
If she sets then I lay down my life.
Crowned by Beauty with gold unwrought,
I would work this gold to perfection!
Had Adam possessed such splendour
Satan would have knelt, his servant.
Had Hermes looked her truth in the face
He would have left all his learning.
Had Balqis beheld her estate, where then
Would be Solomon's court and wisdom?
O trees of the woods and the valleys,
Loose your perfumes on the zephyr!
O flowers of upland and lowland,
Breathe out your sweetest odours!
Reach out your stems so tender
To her incomparable tenderness!
The breeze sings of youthful moments
Of vision and contemplation
In the valley of the hidden garden,
In a wonderland of gazelles.
Do not wonder, do not wonder, do not wonder
If my heart loves the girls of its homeland;
If, hearing the dove cry flying homeward,
I faint with the thrill of remembrance.
II
THE PARTING
2
The day of parting, the red-white camels saddled,
First they mounted kaleidoscopic peacocks on their backs;
Imperious peacocks, staring deadly, each
Like Balqis, Queen of Sheba, upon her throne of pearls.
She walks the crystal pavements of the palace of Solomon
Like the sun in splendour, like the chariot of Enoch,
She kills with a glance and gives life with a word -
Raises the dead from the tomb like Jesus.
Her smooth legs shine like the tablets of commandment
I follow them, treading in the footsteps of Moses.
Lady Philosophy, daughter of Byzantium,
In simple white and radiant with virtue -
Wild she is and cannot be befriended,
Alone in her room, a marble tomb for remembrance -
Has baffled all of the priests and scholars
With their psalms and traditions, midrashim and epistles,
Yet if, with a sign, she should ask to hear the gospel
You would think we all had taken holy orders.
On the day they set out on the high road of leaving
I marshalled up the armies of my patience,
With my heart in my mouth I beseeched deliverance
In the grace and the sweet breath of the beautiful one.
And she surrendered - O deliver us from evil!
And Michael! Beat down Satan, the lord's jealous lover -
As her she-camel turned to the road I cried
`Oh take her not from me, though you take her to heaven!'
21
Receive, O valley garden, my lady of the sanctuary
Whose voice is milk and honey, O garden of the valley!
And shade her a little for a little while,
Until she may settle at the meeting-place,
Until they have pitched her pavilion. Then
Her dew shall feed your young shoots to your heart's content,
Evening and morning your trees be quenched
By showers from her rainclouds to your heart's content.
Deep shade, yes, and sweet fruit to gather,
Bending the branches, to your heart's content.
And friends you shall welcome, out of the sandstorm,
Calling the camels onward, driving them from behind.
41
A bird flew down from heaven and perched in a tree:
God save you, little bird, who told the tale to me
Of my loved ones, how they had saddled their camels
And left, as first light mingled with night.
I rode out after them - because of their leaving
A fire was blazing in my heart -
Urgent to catch them in the dark of night,
Calling out after them, following their trail,
Without any guide to lead me onward
But the perfumed breath of their love.
The women raised the carriage-curtain, darkness was light,
Their camels journeyed on, in moonlight unafraid,
And I let my tears pour in front of the camels
And `when did this river flow?' the riders said,
And they could not cross it - how could they know it?
I answered them `This is my flood of tears'.
The thunder-crash as the lightning flickered,
The passing clouds as the rain came down,
Seemed the beating of my heart at the flash of a smile
And the shower of tears as the travellers rode on.
O you poets, who like to liken your loves'
Slender forms to the spring-green, supple cypress -
I'd say you see life through a looking-glass
So I've put your metaphors right way round,
For soft trees only echo her shape
And what rose can compare to the blush of her cheek?
31
Stormclouds gathered over the lowlands
Lightning flickered over the endless plains.
Thunder broke in a voice of mystery,
The clouds opened, the rain flooded down.
They cried out in confusion `Make the camels kneel!'
And I in my passion cried out `O driver,
Halt here, dismount and stay, I pray you,
For there is one I love who is among you.
Lissome she is and gracile and lovely,
The one for whom this sad lover's heart is longing.
One mention of her name will fill the town with fragrance,
For her name will be heard on everybody's lips.
If she were a woman of the dales and valleys
(Though I know she is enthroned in the most high places)
Even those lowlands would be elevated
Far beyond the range of envious eyes.
She makes every desert a city of lovers,
Turns every mirage into living water,
Touching every field with a ray of sunshine,
Distilling every sweet wine into spirit.
My nights are day-bright with her face,
My days are night-dark with her hair.
The god of love has shot his arrow
Straight through the centre of my heart,
But her eyes have pierced me to my very guts,
As was her aim, which never misses.'
Not the owl in desert places,
Not the dove, nor croaking raven,
Is more cursed than the camel saddled
To bear away her peerless beauty,
Leaving behind her faithful lover
Slain for love in the Land of Light.
43
Let me never forget this place of penance
How I bade the riders as they came and went;
`Stay by me a little while and bring me comfort:
You bring me consolation, I swear by those I love'
If they move on, they shall travel by a friendly star,
If they settle, they shall camp in places of plenty.
In the valley-glades of Qanat, there it was I met them,
Between an-Naqa and Mushalshal was my last glimpse of them,
Watching every step their sure-foot camels take,
Paying no attention to a heart that's lost its way.
Have pity, camel-driver, don't you see me here
Saying my goodbyes, weeping sulphuric tears,
Folding my hands across my unsteady heart
That leaps at the sound of her carriage as it leaves?
`Patience!' they say, but pain cannot be patient,
What can a boy do if patience should defect?
Even if I'd kept it, my soul would still reject it,
So, seeing that I've lost it, what do you expect?
6
They left - my patience and strength left with them
They left - though they were dwelling in the centre of my heart.
I asked the guides about their resting-place: they answered
`They found welcome where the breeze sways the fragrant trees'
`Then, breeze, bear my sighs' I said `to that shady grove,
That purified place, that they hear and return.
Take a message of greeting, that they feel my longing,
The sorrow of my heart at being parted from my own.'
47
The dove that descends in the hour of glory
Brings a cross to bear on the day of penance
And who can bear love's agony?
Who would not let this bitter cup pass?
Wounded with passion, I cry `He forsakes me
In my wounded hour, who dealt me this wound!'
He passed by my back-door, laughed and was gone,
His head cowled, concealed, he turned away.
If I cannot see him, that does not hurt me:
It hurts because I don't know why he turned away.
15
They left me, a slave here in this solid world,
To tend this fire that burns me and complain.
Our father be his ransom! Who melts me with desire.
Our father be his ransom! Who freezes me with fear.
Whose cheek crimsons shame like the blushing sundown
Meeting the pale morning light and conversing.
Grief has pitched its tent here, patience has departed,
And I am caught in between, a broken man.
Show me someone to put me together. Ease my pain.
Where is a doctor for love's wasting-sickness?
However hard I try to keep the pain of longing secret,
My sleepless eyes, my fiery tears betray me.
However long I cry `just a glimpse', I am answered
`It is only his compassion that stands in your way.
What could that glance do but burn you away
Like a lightning-bolt in a flash of vision?
I cannot forget the camel-driver's calling
As he bade them depart for their homeland far.
Ravens of separation cawing ugly:
May they never prosper, who keep me from you!
Ravens of separation, camels of aspiration;
What difference is there really between the two?
19
Time has altered the face of the world
Here, where I played with those friendly girls -
Yesterday how gay and smiling:
Today it frowns in desolation.
They left, went far without my knowing:
They did not know I was thinking of them,
That my thoughts were following them as they travelled
So that their camels sometimes felt my presence,
Until they rested in the empty desert,
Pitching their tents and spreading their carpets,
So that the barren land to which I led them
Flourished into green and fertile meadow.
No place they reached but in the fields was seen
Their peacock-like, their lazuli loveliness:
No place they left but on the ground were seen
The marble tombs of their true lovers.
4
Greetings to my Salome, in her closed garden;
Sending greetings to those we love is not unseemly.
And what harm would it do if she sent her love to me?
But she is free. Fine ladies come and go as they please.
Black velvet night fell: they rose and were gone,
Though I pleaded for her pity like an outcast on the street
And told her how an ambush of desire and passion
Barrages me with arrows whichever way I turn.
Then her dazzling smile as the forked lightning flashed -
I could not say which it was that split the darkness -
And she said `Is it not enough that I am in his heart,
That he finds me there forever? Is it not enough?'
III
THE DOVE
13
A hidden dove descended, calling, calling,
A lover's grieving heart, torn, cried out in return
And the whole world wept, till tears filled the rivers
At the world of yearning that the dove's cry awoke.
She called in the shade but her young one gave no answer,
Her only child gone and only I to answer,
Only I to answer, while grief walked between us,
Though she was hidden, while my state was all too plain.
I am burning for the place where I long to be,
Her desert camp among the wide-eyed girls
Who stop your mind dead with a stare that follows you,
Unsheathing from their eyes their glancing blades.
The tears I had to hide, I swallowed them all
And concealed my heart from the slanderers
Till the raven's shriek, the omen of their leaving,
Breached my defences and revealed my sorrow.
They travelled on in haste the whole night through,
The camels that bore them galled by the bitter bridle,
And I saw my death in the moment of parting
As they harnessed the camels and gave them their heads.
For the pain of love is deadly when you suffer alone -
Then how easy seem the trials of togetherness!
All love her - who can blame me? - though none knows the way to her
Though she be with us all: Beautiful Love.
16
They mounted howdahs on the swift camels
For marble-carved, moonlight maidens.
Heart's vow: they would return
But beauty is a broken promise.
She waved farewell - her henna'd fingertips -
Her tears pure spirit to my heart's flame
And turned away, turning her eyes away
To their destination, the eternal home.
`Go to blazes!' - I cursed the world's cruelty,
She turned, answered, `"To blazes", you say?
Then say the same to every moment:
We travel on, leave only ashes behind'.
Sweet pure dove in the trees, have pity!
It seems you mourn the parting more,
Your sobbing deepens my longing more,
And your wings fan the flames of jealousy.
You double our despair, we yearn and sigh,
Through the sleepless summer nights of desire
You mourn. Death hovers, beckons soul from body
And we beg to be spared a little longer,
Hoping for a cooler breath of wind
>From highest heaven, bearing sweet rain
To slake our dry and thirsty souls -
But the clouds flee away even further than before.
O you lone star-gazer, be my true companion!
O weather-man, be my night-comrade!
And snore on, satisfied, sleeping citizen!
You are gone to your grave before your death.
If you'd had the love of a girl like that
She'd have brought you a world of joy tonight,
Pouring the intimate wine of communion,
Sharing secrets with the sun, singing praises to the moon.
49
Her henna'd fingertips - was this a sign?
Her honey'd tongue - was this the truth?
Among the young girls, their breasts growing,
Modest, gentle, virgin, beautiful,
A full moon rose up over the trees
Never to set again, nevermore to wane.
In a garden, in my native country,
A dove prophesies in a paradise tree.
Dying of longing, melting with feeling:
That which befell her has befallen me.
Mourning her only one, cursing the ages,
For marksman time has hunted us down.
Parted from her nearest and far from home,
In an age of separation, oh! the moment of union.
Her secret pleasure - was this my sorrow?
Will this call her to me, which has left me helpless here?
33
This my sad song I sing in answer
Each time a dove coos that roosts in the woods
Her eyes are dry as she grieves for her love
But my poor eyes stream tears of sorrow
And through my tears I appeal to her,
Overthrown by this yearning within me;
`Do you know, do you know where my loved ones are?
Did they rest this noon in the shadows of your boughs?'
11
O you doves, have pity, that haunt the trees;
Do not lament so, for you double my pain,
Lest you awaken with your complaint - have pity! -
My sleeping desires, or reveal my secret sorrows.
Dusk to dawn I am only an echo
Of your cries of longing and your moans of passion
As we breathed together mid the fiery trees of love
Spreading branches of flame and sweet annihilation,
Dropping flowers of true love's torment they came,
Soft petals of passion and unthinkable affliction.
But which of you can promise I'll be near them once again?
Who can say for sure I shall be ready for the bliss?
Although they circle round my heart, time and time again,
Like the Kaaba stone, awakening my passion with a kiss,
As Mohammed (peace upon him!), the very best of men,
Circled and kissed the Kaaba, whence the practice first began -
Though he was prophet to us all, there's no perfection in a stone
And what is Mecca put beside the citadel of Man?
How often they swore that things would never change!
Girls' promises fade faster than the henna on their hands.
And yet - most wonderful - that shy gazelle
Winked and pointed the way for the pilgrim lover.
She feeds among the lilies in pastures green -
Oh wonderful, this paradise amidst eternal fire!
And now my heart can take on any form:
This pasture for gazelles is a cloister to the Christian,
A temple to the pagan, a Kaaba to the Moslem
And the tablets of the law, and the book of the Koran.
I follow the religion of love: to travel with love's pilgrims
Is all my religion and all my faith.
Then let them be our pattern who died for love;
Layla and Majnun, Tristan and Isolde.
IV
THE QUEST
37
A friend at my right hand, a friend at my left:
Let us seek the secret garden. There are signs on the way -
Their tents and the fountain beside the curving sands;
In the dappled shade of the sacred wood.
You will find a vale where angels walk,
And there is the homeland of my heart.
Give them my love if they'll have it,
Else say only `peace be upon you!'
And mark well for me how they answer,
And tell them how one who is heartsick
Dismantles himself, seeking wisdom,
News of them and a cure for his sickness.
3
Head and Heart, my friends! Let us seek those secret places,
Lose ourselves in that land where the Fount of Life springs.
The home of the ones you remember, unto whom
Are my fast and feast days, my pilgrimage and service.
And let me not forget the holy places I have seen,
The altar where I sacrificed, the sacred well I drank of:
My heart is the holy place, my pilgrimage within me,
The altar my soul, the sacred well my blood.
O camel-driver, if you pass their home at Hajir
Halt your beasts a little while, and raise your hand in greeting
At the red tents, by the high-walled pasture;
Give a greeting for the one who longs to be there.
And if there is an answer let the east wind bear your blessings,
And if only silence greets you move your camel-train onward,
To the mouth of Jordan, where Jesus walked,
Where their camels graze by tents of virgin white,
And call upon those who are near and dear to me
By their names, and await and listen for reply,
And ask news of Baghdad, whether she is there whose smile
Is radiant as the sun, my graceful-limbed one.
52
Radwa is a place where travellers may rest
In contentment by the water-meadows.
Maybe if they hear of its fruitfulness
The ones I love will come and stay with me
For my heart binds me to them: how silently
It listens for their camel-driver's chanting.
And should they elect to cross the deserts
It will follow behind their camel-train keening
And will go before them if they make for Baghdad,
Nor in tribulation will it forsake them,
For it finds no fortune other than with them
Among the nestlings of Providence.
Fear for myself and fear for her
Are locked together in equal conflict
Lest my eyes be blinded by her glory,
Lest her ears be deafened by my sobbing.
58
Do you know the way to the light-lovely lasses?
Do you carry some keepsake, or tidings of them?
Shall I reach their tents by the curving sands tonight?
Shall I rest at noon in the shadow of their trees?
I heard my heart's voice - it was her voice - say
`Don't hope for what is hopeless: we travel on'
But you are my only hope, you are the total
Sum of my love, and all the sickness of my heart.
A full moon rising in exaltation
Never to set now once you have risen.
Behold, you are fair, my love - unequalled
In beauty and pride. That I might be your ransom!
The roses are wet with dew in your garden
And you, my lovely, are loved by all.
Your laughing flowers, your verdant branches,
Sway in the breeze which swerves to meet them.
Your grace alluring, your glance a piercing
Lance in the hand of your champion, Affliction.
20
I am sick with love of her whose eyes are lovesick:
Oh speak the name, and comfort me, and comfort me!
Silly grey doves fly low, moan in the meadow;
They are grieving for the loss that's grieving me.
I'd trade my birthright for that sweet, playful girl,
Guarded in her swaying carriage, lone among the wives,
Who rose into my world like a sunrise and vanished
To rise on the invisible horizon of my heart.
O tumbledown town in this lonely land! How many
Pretty girls with budding breasts have passed this way before?
I'd trade my birthright and myself for that god-suckled gazelle
That grazes in the safety of the pastures of my heart
Surrounded by a ring of fire, love's fire, whose light
Outshines, extinguishes, any lesser flame.
Oh turn me aside from this road, my friends!
Let me visit her birthplace and gaze upon it.
There let us dismount and stop awhile
And weep for me there, my two companions.
Stop, let your tears flow for my tears at these ruins
And for that which befell me, which is my death.
For passion attacks me without an arrow,
For passion slays me without a spear.
Say, will you weep as I weep beside them?
Say, will you help me, help me to cry?
And tell me tales of legendary lovers,
Of Qays and Lubna, of Omar and Zaynab,
Bring me news from the restless deserts,
>From the mountain shrine where gazelles feed and play,
And sing for me sadly Majnun's songs for Layla,
Recite for me the tragedies of lost romance.
For long have I longed for that tender girl
Who discoursed of mysteries, ascending the stair;
A princess she is, of the land of Persia,
A lady of stately, turquoise-towered Isfahan,
Of noble race, the daughter of my master,
And I a common desert child - then am I not her complement?
But how, O my lords, can these opposites unite?
I am here, she is gone, but when she comes I am gone!
Yet had you only seen us, where now lie ruins,
Exchange the loving-cup with unseen hands
Or heard the laughter and sweet nothings
Which passed between us without a sound,
You'd have lost your minds for sure, not knowing
Where you were - city and desert melting into one...
There was a poet, long before our time,
Who spoke false words, which are a pain to me:
`O thou who madest Orion and the Pleiades
God bless thee! But how shall such a marriage be consummate
With the Seven Sisters in the northern heights forever
While Orion hunts on the southern skyline?'
18
Halt at the camp-ground, which time has deserted,
Seek among the trash some clue where those whom we follow are gone.
Where are the friends we love? Where were they headed?
And look! in the desert haze we seem to see their camels
Their image magnified before our very eyes
In a mirage of gardens on the far horizon.
They have moved on, seeking that cool oasis
Where living water gushes from a hidden source unfailing.
I followed after, asking tidings of the breeze:
`Have they pitched their tents? Or found shade in the forest?'
`In the restless sands their tents are pitched, there I left them'
Said the breeze `their travel-weary beasts complaining.
They are letting down the awnings, retiring within
Lest the noon-tide heat should burn their beauty.
Rise up! Mount and follow their trail -
Urge on your camel: strive to draw near them.
High the hills, deep the dales, long the journey
Before your camel halts before the cliffs of that country.
At the darkest hour you shall find them near you
And glimpse the fires of those whose fire enflamed you.
Then mount your kneeling camel! Go! Fear no lions,
For, faced with this love of yours, you'll find them kittens!'
24
Halt at these ruins in this land of wonders,
Mourn lost love in this heart of nowhere,
Halt and complain to the dwelling-places,
Delicately, poignantly, wondering at the loneliness,
`Others beneath these trees have often gathered
The fruits of beauty, the flowers of the field -
You shower your grace on all who ask: your lightning
Never breaks its promise of rain, except with me.'
`Yes' she said `there have been blissful unions
In this place of plenty, in the shadows of these boughs,
When my light flashed in lightning smiles, where today
It flashes in the rays that beat upon these broken stones.
Such is fate, it can not be averted:
Blame, then, fate, but not these ruined dwellings.'
Hearing her voice I had to forgive her
For I heard her heart's sorrow answer my own.
And I surveyed her demesne, through which at night
The four winds sweep, and I enquired;
`Do the winds say where they are resting this noon?'
`Yes' she said `at Dhat al-Ajrac,
Where their white tents veil the rising sun
Shining with the radiance of their light within.'
8
Their camp-ground has decayed like sear autumn
But my desire remains eternal springtime in my heart.
Shedding tears beside the ruined homesteads,
My soul ever melting at the memory of them.
My love made me cry, as they began their journey;
`O rich in beauty, here am I, a beggar:
This passion of mine is as sackcloth and ashes,
By the love I bear you, do not abandon
One who is drowning in his own very tears,
One who is burning in the fire of his sorrow!'
Oh, if you would start a fire, it will be easy -
Come, take a light from this poor heart's passion!
30
In the tamarisk grove, on the Hill of White Musk, the birds declare
Melodious verities; there Beauty has pitched her canopy.
And in the midst of the far and lonely desert
There graze the camel-herds, the wild gazelles.
Do they speak to you, my friends, these dilapidated
Ruins of a homestead long ago abandoned?
Pause, mourn a poor boy's lost heart, cry
For the day of parting, as he walked away.
Do they tell you where they were bound, my friends,
To the lonesome sands or to the peaceful country?
They saddled up the camels and mounted, was I
Losing my mind? Were my eyes deceiving?
Neither this nor that, but the very power
Of my mad love it was that kept me from the truth.
And my chasing thoughts scattered like a search-party,
I called every wind that blows to beg for news;
`Do you know what I feel, can you even imagine
The anguish of loss for those that are gone?'
The hill-flowers whispered to the trees, they to the east wind;
`No cure for the lovesick but the legends of love.
Tell him such a tale, and yet more wondrous, north wind!
South wind, tell him such a tale, and yet more sweet!'
Said the north wind; `these glad tidings from the south wind and me:
Poison, to love, is honey, and every curse a blessing.
So why do you complain - what is the use, what is the reason?
Why do you complain that you are sad and sick at heart,
Knowing all beauty fades and every lover's vow is broken
Like lightning in the summer sky that never brings the rain?'
The unseen has embroidered a brave device
In lightning gold upon a white sleeve of cloud,
A shower of tears on the face of heaven
Kindling rose-red flames in the garden of the heart.
And she is the rose that heaven's tears have watered,
She is the wondrous spray of rain-drenched narcissi,
And when you would pick that flower, then she hides
Behind scorpion tresses she lets fall on her shoulders,
And the day breaks when she smiles, lord,
The bright rising sun, her red mouth.
And night falls as falls the blackness
Of the long tresses of her tangled hair.
Glucose cool, lord, her glistening saliva;
Bees swarm as to nectar when she speaks her truth,
And when she bends she is a fruitful bough,
And when she stares she is a drawn sword.
`Ibn Arabi, how much more time on the Hill of White Musk
Will you waste in sweet talk with silly girls?'
By my name, I am an Arab! - born to love
Beautiful womankind and girlish grace.
What matters it to me if I rise or fall?
Where she is is where I shall be found.
So I ask `won't you?', they answer `do you want to?',
Then I say `but what about?', they say `so won't you then?'
Yet whether they ramble the hills or the valleys
I ride to find them, they are all my quest.
My apostate heart follows the bull's footprints,
Worships the golden idol and be damned.
My heart quests like great Alexander
East and west for the Fountain of Life.
How many times we cried, yearning for the meeting!
How many times we cried, dreading the parting!
Sons of Baghdad, in the presence of the Master,
The moon that rose among you has gone down in me.
How many times, amid this moonlight ægis,
Lord, do I cry out loud, because it brings me grief?
Pity a poor boy who loses his senses
And is gone, whenever the sweet-voiced dove descends.
V
LOST
17
Not so quickly, camel-driver!
Pity this disabled body,
Rein them in and stop them, driver,
By my pain, by god, I pray you!
Who will pity, who will help me?
Legs too weak for willing spirit,
Like a master-craftsman hampered
By his tools, too rough to serve him.
Turn them right! This blessèd valley
Is the home of blessèd people,
Those who are my soul, my breath, the
Very blood-cells of my liver.
May this love of mine not prosper
Save it end in annihilation!
5
I long for the heights, my misery
Brings me down; I am torn apart where I stand.
No-one can put me together: opposites
Never meet, never cease to attract.
What shall I do, my conscience, what shall I depend on?
Yours is to guide me, not to paralyse with blame.
Certainly my sighs rise yonder
And my tears pour down like rain.
How my footsore camels long for home,
Travel-weary, like plaintive, disconsolate lovers.
What is life now they are gone except annihilation?
Goodbye, then, to this life and to all my patience!
50
Led astray by deceitful beauty
Medusa's venom claims another suitor
Melted away by a soft gaze,
A fevered heart in a wasted body.
Shot from a bow, her arched eyebrow,
Her martyr transfixed by a thousand glances.
42
You who have intelligence in love, I am hanging
Here between heaven's light and earth's gazelles.
No blame in being heedless of a little star,
But forgetting heaven's sun would be heedless indeed.
And take, eat, feed thy sheep,
That the ones you love shall honour you.
Truly, truly, an Arab girl,
A daughter of ancient Persia, truly,
Her teeth are beauty's sparkling necklace,
Clear, white and pure as crystal.
First I feared the omen of her unveiling
Then I trembled at her splendour:
The book tells of the first and second death
So is she not a revelation?
I asked her why such fear: she answered;
`Beware the daybreak ambush of the shape-shifting legion'
`I shall run for refuge in your hair' I said,
`Let it fall, be a curtain-wall, encircle me, hide me!'
This poem of mine, it doesn't have a rhyme
Or reason but to speak of her, cos I'm
Lost to the world of letters, it's true:-
The only one I know is U.
57
Breathe, breeze, a message in the inner ear
Of that young girl, my soulmate, where the graceful deer pasture:
`I have been faithful, kept the promise you remember -
Let us meet this sabbath morning in the walled garden at Red Hill,
Close by the stream, near the ancient stones,
Just to the right of where the lone stone stands.'
And if she be true, and if she be true,
And burns for me still as I burn for her
We shall meet in secret in the heat of high noon
And return to her home and renew our vows,
And I shall tell her, and she will answer,
Of the pains we have born, and of love's tribulation.
Oh, but am I dreaming, or seeing visions?
Memories returning, or mere imagination?
Oh you who have visited my heart with such desires,
Bring their ending in meeting, in the rose-garden!
28
Between the Mount of Vision and the wilderness
Of the madmen, gazelles both free and wild
Graze in tangled thickets of thorns
And browse in the no-man's-land.
Never the new moon rose above
The skyline of the Mount of Vision
But terror and awe arose in me
And I wished it had not risen.
And never a thunderbolt struck sparks
Among the rocks of that wilderness
But a flash of pity struck my heart
And I wished it had not stricken.
Flow my tears! My reddened eyes,
Oh do not cease your weeping.
Arise to heaven, my heart's sighs!
And do not cease your breaking.
And slow down, camel-driver!
For the fire is in my breast.
In fear of the leaving my bitter tears
Have been wept and left me empty:
You will find my eyes are melted away
By the time we take to the highway.
Then set out for the valley of the curving sands
Where they live, where I must perish.
Place of mercy, my true-love's home
Beside the bitter waters.
Ask `who will help a lad aflame
With desire, dismissed from your presence,
Whose sorrow has brought him into confusion,
The last remnant of ruin?
O clouded moon, take himself from himself
And leave him what is over.
Shine upon him a moment, no more,
>From behind your veil of darkness,
For he is too weak to look upon
Your terrible beauty and live.
But bring him hope, that he may return
To consciousness and life.
He is a dead man, between the Mount of Vision
And the wilderness of the madmen.'
Yes, I die of despair and regret
And cannot escape this place.
The east wind has told me only lies
And haunted me with illusions:
Deceitful wind, that breathes in my ear
Hallucinatory voices.
23
At daybreak they dismounted in the Valley of the Pilgrims,
And many a mountain-pass the travellers had crossed,
And by the dawning light they saw a sign:
A standing-stone upon a mountain top.
Far beyond the reach of the high-flying bird,
Far above the eyrie of the noble eagle,
All set about with subtle mosaics,
Rising from the peak like a grail-castle.
And then they read the legend engraved there:
Who will help this forlorn and longing lover
Whose ideals aspire higher than the very north-star
And is trodden underfoot in this soiled world beneath,
Whose home is at the very summit of heaven
And is drowning at the bottom of an ocean of tears?
His love brought him to grief in this place,
All alone, without a friend.
O ye who draw water from the holy well,
Righteous souls in the Valley of the Pilgrims,
You who would visit the Holy City,
You who journey on this straight and narrow road,
Mark with respect and with pity a man
Cruelly robbed, between dawn and sunrise,
Of a slender girl, shining-faced, sweet of breath,
Her musky perfume so all-pervading,
Who danced ecstatic as the supple willow,
Fresh as silk in a heavenly wind,
Her body trembling like a thoroughbred,
The curve of her hip like some terrible sand-dune.
And if I loved her, who was there to blame me?
And if I loved her, what lover could be jealous?
If slanderers had blamed me I'd not have heard
And my absent sigh would have answered them enough.
Riding the steed desire, grief was my garment,
Breakfasting on passion, bitter tears my wine.
46
Love made war between my eyes and my belly:
The conflict laid waste my contested heart.
Dark she is but comely, honey under her tongue,
By the sweetness of their honey shall the bees be known.
She is the dark moon, the day of judgement,
She is a red rose, a lonely pine.
Ever-virgin, beautiful, bejewelled,
Teeth cool and lucent as a shower of ice.
Love is a play to her, aloneness her earnest,
Between love and aloneness she will tear you apart.
Yet the proverb is well-known, wise and ancient;
The darkest hour is just before the dawn.
And never a breath of breeze blew from the east
Over the heartland homes of gentle maidens
But it made the branches sway, and whispered secrets
Of the apple-blossom perfume which it bears.
So I asked the east wind for word of them,
The east wind replied `what is the use of words?
They settle nowhere, ever moving onward,
The eternal pilgrims journey far and near.'
`Never too far to find' I told the east wind,
`For I ride the swift-hooved steed of my desire'
Foolish mind! My mind their only home -
See! The full moon rises where I stand.
She rises in my mind, sets in my heart:
No more sorrow, torn no more apart,
No black crow shrieking omens round my door,
No break-up ever, but love for evermore.
VI
BAGHDAD
29
Lord have mercy, these swaying branches,
Angel-hair fronds bend, caressing my cheek.
Shake down your plaited hair, and be unveiled!
How soft their limbs, how soft their motion;
Trailing proud robes of glory
All embroidered with many-coloured patterns.
Who guard their beauty for their true lovers,
Who bring home-made gifts and hand-me-downs,
Who charm with laughter and sweet smiles,
Sweet lips, sweet to kiss,
Graceful their bare limbs, their apricot breasts,
They come bearing gifts of the best.
Oh their lorelei voices,
Enchanting ear and heart!
Concealing themselves in shyness,
Captivating the pure in heart.
Teeth like a string of pearls iwis,
They spit in your mouth to revive you,
Yet one sharp glance can pierce the heart
Of even the most seasoned swordsman.
New moons arise from the curve of their breasts,
Never to be eclipsed by earth's shadow,
And evoke a monsoon of teardrops,
A rolling thunder of sighing.
My friends, I'd stake my life blood for
That delicate girl and the gift of her grace:
Beautiful love makes fools of the wise,
My sister, my stranger, her beauty, my love,
Her gaze grave as a bright blade,
Her lightning smile divine joy.
`Oh halt, my friends, at this walled garden,
My heart, my reason, halt!' I cried,
`That I may ask where their camels have fared,
For I have been lost amid death and destruction
In unknown and familiar country'. My she-camel,
Footsore, complained of the endless desert,
Travel-weary, lean and hungry
>From my long and rapid questing.
Till I stopped at this certain secret place
Where young camels follow their mothers,
Led by a stranger, terrible as the moon,
Whom I embraced and resolved to follow -
Indeed, he seemed to be following me
Even as I followed him
Whose long robe effaced his footprints
So that no skilled tracker could follow.
48
Let us halt, camel-driver, in this friendly country,
Let us travel more slowly, lest I am overcome.
Call to the princes of the place as we arrive;
`From your pity and grace, oh grant us comfort!
Out in the wild and lonesome hills, unknown
And inaccessible, there is a damsel in a tower enclosed,
So beautiful, so gentle, you will find your way
Through dark paths to her by the light of her loveliness.
A hidden treasure, a pearl of great price,
A pearl formed in a shell of jet-black hair:
Philosophers, pearl-diving, suffer a sea-change
And are lost, drowned in her ocean deeps,
Or they follow the white hind into the wilderness
After her fleet neck and her graceful motion.
She is a springtime sunrise, the very hearts
Of those who behold her cross heaven's zenith:
If she unveils and reveals her countenance
The light of daybreak seems a cheap trinket.'
In those wild hills I found her secret garden,
I called for her help, I, who came in such hope
Cried `who will help me, lost in this wilderness,
Miserable, dismayed and wandering in my wits?
Who will help me, drowning in love's tears,
Drunken with the love's wine of your mouth?
Who will help me, whose very sighs burn me
With desire for the jewel in the centre of your brow?'
Love has made a plaything of my heart:
It's a crime of passion, I plead insanity.
61
There grows a tree in old Baghdad
In the Master's garden, beside the river
And there sits in its swaying boughs a dove
Whose call has brought me grief for thee.
Whose sad pavane reminds me of
My lady's chamber and the love-song she sang -
Dulcimer, virginal, harmonic triads -
Her sweet complaint, a second Salomoni!
How she poured forth her melody,
Called forth my soul like a camel-driver.
I swear by all the gold in the world
Her golden voice is my only treasure:
I swear my love for my Shulamite,
For the girl I met in the Holy City.
No, for I lie - she dwells in my heart,
In the very blood-cells of my liver.
Beauty is tried by my love's example,
Her fragrance of saffron and musk all-pervading.
32
Our stories of the Masters recall a bygone time
In my younger days of discipline, when I was in my prime.
I look back on my fifty years pursuing meditation:
It's left me weaker than a child, such is my situation.
Reading, chanting, contemplating, lines of holy rhyme
In my younger days of discipline, when I was in my prime,
And my driving of the camels through the valley to the goal,
And how I kindled fire with the spindle and the bowl.
54
`The sun's in the sky, and light is my heart'
They say, and where else should sunlight be?
When a throne is set up in a royal court
It shows there must be a king to reign:
When a heart is set free of its ignorance
Then the angel must surely descend.
He has mastered me, yet the king needs his vassal,
So each is in fee of the other.
That I'm his slave is sure, that he is mine
Is clear when he calls me to his need.
O camel-driver, let us turn off the road,
Let us not pass this convent of light
By the waters, this royal palace where you fell in love
And found cure nor ease for your sickness.
How can you blame me? I wish the god of love
Had destined you my long, burdened journey!
Little you know of the restless deserts,
Little you have fasted in the heights inaccessible:
Though on your grievous trail you longed for rain
And journey's end, rainclouds never covered you.
Your love was only for the court and its glory
No sweetness was in your surrender.
His love did not reach you: if only he'd brought you
Courage at least to show your love for him.
56
City of Baghdad! City of the royal palace!
How shall I number you among the cities of this world?
Set like a crown upon this fertile kingdom
Like a bride unveiled in her perfumed chamber.
The wind flirts with the swaying branches here
As though they were exchanging promises of love.
Tigris river like a string of pearls around her throat
And her consort is our lord and Master, perfect guide,
Who brings us to victory from his own victory
Nor ever rides to war; the greatest of kings.
May he be blest! And may the exiled ringdove
Make him sweet moan from her swaying bough
And may smiles flash like lightning on their faces,
Tears of joy fall from my eyes like early morning rain
At their virgin mouths, as the sun dispels the mist
And the radiance of enlightenment shines all around.
38
The world's dearest place to me, after Mecca and Medina
And far Jerusalem, is the city of Baghdad,
City of Peace! How should I not love you,
Home of my Master, my soul's guide?
The home of noble Persia's daughter
Of the subtle gestures and the drooping eyelids
Who kills with a glance and revives with a greeting,
Who summons me, a witness, to the presence divine.
10
"I'm astonished" she said "that a lover like you
Should walk in these gardens so proud and affected!"
"No wonder" I told her "for love is a mirror
You see nothing in but your own self reflected".
55
I am gone! This longing is killing my soul.
His presence does not cure me: he is present - still I want him,
Or, the cure has proved a graver sickness,
Here in his unimaginable presence,
Because, it seems, the more I see him,
The greater his beauty, his splendour, his majesty.
The inverse square law of his attraction draws me
Forever faster into his field's empty centre.
53
Embracing, as we go our separate ways,
We merge like the diphthong in this ægis.
Two separate worlds, two separate bodies,
But that which appears to the eye is single,
His body filled with light, and mine so ethereal
I'd vanish away were it not for my complaining.
VII
THE HEIGHTS
45
My heart's delight - where are they?
Say, by god, where are they?
As you've seen their likeness,
Will you show me truly?
Long, long, have I sought them,
How often begged to meet them,
No longer scared to lose them,
I fear to be among them.
My lucky star may keep me
>From wondering how far they
Are gone from me; I'll see them
And never ask `where are they?'
51
In the land of light, the land of peace and blessing,
In the whinnymoor borders, night-travellers may behold
The sword-flash lightning of blissful smiles,
Sweet spermaceti odours forbidden to man.
Resist and they unsheathe the dagger of their gaze,
Surrender, they unloose the sweetness of their smiles
Their joy in the play is equal to our own -
Beloved ones and lovers, each to their kingdom.
14
Lightning flashed in the east: he longed for the east -
Had it flashed in the west his heart had drawn him westward.
The fiery flash of heaven's light: this is my desire -
What care I for the world, for east or west?
But the east wind brought news of a secret tradition
Handed down from a drunken master of old
By an ardent disciple to a tear-stained lover
Through dreams and desires, through pains and trials:
`The one you love is in your own very heart
Pulsing, breathing in your own very breath'
I told the east wind `Carry to my love this message
Whose fire has kindled fire within my heart,
That this fire shall burn until union quench it;
If I perish in the flames, it is love's consolamentum.'
12
Devotion has her shrine among the Himalayan heights,
Where move gazelles like golden light on statues of white marble,
Where I keep the shrine and scan the circling heavens
Keeping watch over this meadow many-coloured in the spring.
So that, at times, the people think me just a simple herdsman,
At times they say astrologer, at times they say a priest.
For the one I love is one indeed, and yet my holy trinity,
Divine, sovereign, merciful, and still my only one.
So frown not on me, friend, if I see heaven in these deer,
Nor think I am a heathen if my poems speak of stones
As the hand and heart of love, and sunlight as the one light,
Reading prophecies between the graceful lines of these gazelles
For the branches bend like angels here before a gentle breeze
Which is the breath of the divine, as this spring storm is heaven's
laughter.
36
May the rainclouds water you you high places,
Shower upon you and shower, and may you be blest!
I have lifted up my voice to you these fifty years -
Once, twice and again may I greet you!
I suffered in the wilderness, crossed the wasteland to meet her,
Rode this broken she-camel, this trail-wise dromedary,
And lightning flashed yonder in the world's darkness
Over city houses, and struck sparks on my passion.
27
O ancient temple of the mysteries!
In our hearts there burns your eternal flame.
I have crossed, to come here, dry wilds of desolation,
Shedding wild tears, complaining of my desolation,
Finding no joy in rest from dusk to dawn
But travelling on from dusk to dusk, from dawn to dawn.
True, my camels, my footsore camels,
Journeyed on by night, hasted on unfailing;
Dumb animals, yet eager, ever-willing,
Knowing nothing, gaining nothing, of their journey's end,
Spurred on by my passion, crossed waterless wastelands
Never complaining, though journey-weary,
Though galled by my sharp anguish - it was I
Who complained, such was my ridiculous desire.
26
Here is the journey's end, the meeting-place,
Here in this vale between the stones: Make the camels kneel!
>From here there is no better place beyond -
No other place, so be silent.
Then play! as kindly, sweet girls played,
Graze! as grazed those shy gazelles,
In the meadows, where insects hum
And a joyous bird breaks into song.
A soft verge and a soft breeze,
Cloud, lightning and thunder.
The clouds crack, spilling raindrops
Like the tears of a love-lorn lover.
Drink it like spirit, be drunken, then
Let this love-chant steal your heart;
`This is the wine of Genesis, pressed
>From the true vine, the vintage of Eden
Sweet as the mouths of fair women,
Poured freely by heavenly virgins.'
39
I'd pledge my soul for those heaven-sent, playful lasses
I met in the Holy City as I kissed the stone.
You will lose your way pursuing them, lose yourself, finding
No trail to follow but their sweet, fugitive fragrance.
Yet, when the moonless nights were darkest, I had only
To remember them and I journeyed on in moonlight.
And only when I walk among that company of riders
Does night seem as bright to me as sunrise morning.
Urged on by love, I sought out one among their number:
For beauty there can be among humanity no sister,
And if she loose the veil from her mouth she will surely
Reveal to your eyes the glittering sunlight's changeless radiance.
Sun-bright her brow and night-black her hair:
Both day and night she is, and the form transcendental.
Her light takes the dark out of the night: she tangles
Broad daylight in the mystery of her midnight tresses.
60
Draw near to the home of the beloved ones
Of the covenant - may blessings shower on them forever,
And the sweet breeze blow there! Breathe it, wishing
That their perfume in the wind may guide you to them.
I know they found the pure land, their travels are ended,
They abide in the fragrance of thousand-petalled flowers.
---o0o---
(C) Copyright Sakal 2000. All rights reserved. You may make use of
this work only in unmodified form, non-commercially, with this
notice affixed. Please inform the author of any public use
whatsoever, most especially with regard to any possible commercial
publication. Thank you. sakal@...