Precepts written for the Moslems of India by Mir Najat Nakshband, who is generally known as Baba Sahrai

O thou that hast grown from earth, like a rose, Thou too art born of the womb of Self.

Do not abandon Self! Persist therein! Be a drop of water and drink up the ocean!

Glowing with the light of Self as thou art, Make Self strong, and thou wilt endure.

Thou gett’st profit from this trade, Thou gain’st riches by preserving this commodity.

Thou hast being, and art thou afraid of not-being? O foolish one, thy understanding is at fault.

Since I am acquainted with the harmony of Life, I will tell thee what is the secret of Life

To sink into thyself like the pearl, Then to emerge from thine inward solitude;

To collect sparks beneath the ashes, And become a flame and dazzle men's eyes.

Go, burn the house of forty years’ tribulation, Move round thyself! Be a circling flame!

What is Life but to be freed from moving round others And to regard thyself as the Holy Temple?

Beat thy wings and escape from the attraction of Earth; Like birds, be safe from falling.

Unless thou art a bird, thou wilt do wisely Not to build thy nest on the top of a cave.

O thou that seekest to acquire knowledge, I say o’er to thee the message of the Sage of Rúm.

"Knowledge, if it lie on thy skin, is a snake; Knowledge, if thou take it to heart, is a friend."

Hast thou heard how the Master of Rúm Gave lectures on philosophy at Aleppo?

Fast in the bonds of intellectual proofs, Drifting o’er the dark and stormy sea of understanding;

A Moses unillumined by Love's Sinai, Ignorant of Love and of Love's passion.

He discoursed on Scepticism and Neoplatonism, And strung many a brilliant pearl of metaphysic.

He unravelled the problems of the Peripatetics, The light of his thought made clear whatever was obscure.

Heaps of books lay around and in front of him, And on his lips was the key to all their mysteries.

Shams-i Tabríz, directed by Kamál Sought his way to the college of Jaláluddín Rúmí.

And cried out, "What is all this noise and babble? What are all these syllogisms and judgements and demonstrations?"

"Peace, O fool!" exclaimed the Maulavi, "Do not laugh at the doctrines of the sages.

Get thee out of my college! This is argument and discussion: what hast thou to do with it?

My discourse is beyond thy understanding, It will not brighten the glass of thy perception."

These words increased the anger of Shams-i Tabríz And caused a fire to burst forth from his soul.

The lightning of his look fell on the earth, And the glow of his breath made the dust spring into flames.

The spiritual fire burned the intellectual stack And clean consumed the book of philosophy.

The Maulavi, being a stranger to Love's miracles And unversed in Love's harmonies.

Cried, "How didst thou kindle this fire, Which hath burned the books of the philosophers?"

The Sheikh answered, "O unbelieving Moslem, This is vision and ecstasy: what hast thou to do with it?

My state is beyond thy thought, My flame is the Alchemist's elixir."

Thou hast drawn thy substance from the snow of philosophy, The cloud of thy thought sheds nothing but hailstones.

Kindle a fire in thy rubble, Foster a flame in thy earth!

The Moslem's knowledge is perfected by spiritual fervour, The meaning of Islam is Renounce what shall pass away.

When Abraham escaped from the bondage of "that which sets," He sat unhurt in the midst of flames.

Thou hast cast knowledge of God behind thee And squandered thy religion for the sake of a loaf.

Thou art hot in pursuit of antimony, Thou art unaware of the blackness of thine own eye.

Seek the Fountain of Life from the sword's edge, And the River of Paradise from the dragon's mouth.

Demand the Black Stone from the door of the house of idols, And the musk-deer's bladder from a mad dog.

But do not seek the glow of Love from the knowledge of to-day, Do not seek the nature of Truth from this infidel's cup!

Long have I been running to and fro, Learning the secrets of the New Knowledge.

Its gardeners have put me to the trial And have made me intimate with their roses.

Roses! Tulips, rather, that warn one not to smell them Like paper roses, a mirage of perfume.

Since this garden ceased to enthral me, I have nested on the Paradisal tree.

Modern knowledge is the greatest blind— Idol-worshipping, idol-selling, idol-making!

Shackled in the prison of phenomena, It has not overleaped the limits of the sensible.

It has fallen down in crossing the bridge of Life, It has laid the knife to its own throat.

Having fire, it is yet cold as the tulip; Having flame, it is yet cold as hail.

Its nature remains untouched by the glow of Love, It is ever engaged in a joyless search.

Love is the Plato that heals the sicknesses of the mind: The mind's melancholy is cured by its lancet.

The whole world bows in adoration to Love, Love is the Mahmúd that conquers the Somnath of intellect.

Modern science lacks this old wine in its cup, Its nights are not loud with passionate prayer.

Thou hast misprized thine own cypress And deemed tall the cypress of others.

Like the reed, thou hast emptied thyself of Self And given thine heart to the music of others.

O thou that begg’st morsels from another's table, Wilt thou seek thine own kind in another's shop?

The Moslem's feast is burned up by the lamps of strangers, His mosque is consumed by the Christian monastery.

When the deer fled from the sacred territory of Mecca, The hunter's arrow pierced her side.

The leaves of the rose are scattered, like its scent: O thou that hast fled from thy Self, come back to it!

O trustee of the wisdom of the Koran, Find thy lost unity again!

We, who keep the gate of the citadel of Islam, Have become unbelievers by neglecting the watchword of Islam.

The ancient Saki's bowl is shattered, The wine-party of the Hijáz is broken up.

The Ka‘ba is filled with our idols, Infidelity mocks at our Islam.

Our Sheikh hath gambled Islam away for love of idols And made a rosary of the zunnár.

Our spiritual directors owe their rank to their white hairs And are the laughing-stock of children in the street.

Their hearts bear no impress of the Faith But house the idols of sensuality.

Every long-haired fellow wears the garb of a dervish— Alas for these traffickers in religion!

Day and night they are travelling about with disciples, And ignoring their religious duties.

Their eyes are without light, like the narcissus, Their breasts devoid of spiritual wealth.

Preachers and Stiffs, all worship worldliness alike; The prestige of the pure religion is ruined.

Our preacher fixed his eyes on the pagoda And the mufti of the Faith sold his decision.

After this, O friends, what are we to do? Our guide turns his face towards the wine-house.