The Song of Surosh

I fear that you are steering the barque into a mirage; born within a veil, you will die within a veil.

When I washed the collyrium of Razi from my eyes I saw the destinies of nations hidden in the Book

Twist over field and avenue, twist over mountain and desert – the lightning that twists upon itself dies within the cloud.

I dwelt a while with the Westerners, sought much and saw scarcely the man whose musical modes turn not upon number.

Without the anguish of battle that propinquity is not attainable; you who speak of ‘scent in rose-water, ‘, go, ravish the rose-bush!

Superficial ascetic, I concede that selfhood is transient, but you do not see the whirlpool within the bubble.

This delightful music comes not from the minstrel’s plucking, a houri exiled from Paradise is weeping within the lute.