Preamble

The Pir of Rum, the clairvoyant murshid —

The leader of the caravan of love and ecstasy.

Whose station is far above the Moon and the Sun —

For whose tent the Milky Way serves as pegs.

Whose heart is effulgent with the light of the Quran —

Whose mirror is more revealing than Jamshid’s cup.

That musician of Pure breed, with his music —

Has thrown my being into tumult once again.

Said he: The people have become aware of the secrets —

The East has awoken from its deep slumber.

Destiny has given it new aspirations —

And loosened its age-old chains.

No one, O knower of the secrets of the West —

Has experienced the fire of the West better than you.

Be God-intoxicated like the Abaraham, Friend of God —

And help bring down every idol-temple.

It is ecstasy that imparts life to peoples —

Though the undiscerning call it madness.

No people under the azure dome of the sky —

Has ever achieved anything without this ingenious madness.

The believer is strong through his will and his tawakkul —

If he lacks these two, he is an unbeliever.

He can distinguish between good and evil —

A mere look from him can shake the whole world.

His blow can crush a mountain to pieces —

And he has thousands of resurrections at his command.

Having drunk wine from my tavern —

You have removed all out-modedness from your vision.

Live in the garden like smell, both hidden and manifest —

Live among colours, but be free from colour.

Your age is not aware of the secrets of the spirit —

Its creed is nothing but love for the other-than-God.

Little has the philosopher understood this point —

His thought revolves only round matter.

He has not illumined his eyes with the lantern of the heart —

Hence he sees nothing but blue, red and yellow.

Fortunate is he who never bowed before any man —

And who freed his feet from the chains of servitude to the other-than-God.

What it means to be a lion is beyond the ken of cows and buffaloes —

Never reveal your secret except to lions.

One should not drink wine in the company of a churl —

Though he may be king of Rum or Rayy.

It is better that our Joseph be taken away by a wolf than —

Be bought by an unworthy person.

People of the world lack reason and imagination —

They are weavers of mat and know nothing about satin.

What a beautiful verse a Persian poet has sung —

Which sets the soul afire:

‘To the ears of the people of the world, the wailing of the lover is like —

The cry of the azan in the land of the Franks’.

Reveal once again the significance of religion and politics —

Tell the devotees of the Truth what you understand by them.

To the Faqir, even his patched-up garment is a burden —

Like breeze you should carry nothing except the smell of roses.

Are you an ocean? Then be constantly at war with your environment —

Are you a dew-drop? Then drop yourself gently on a rose-petal.

The Divine mystery is not hidden from the man of God —

Do you know what is the true nature of a believer’s soul?

It is a drop of dew which, out of desire for self-manifestation —

Unravelled its own knot with its own hands.

Which sat in the depth of its being by dint of selfhood —

Which started on its journey from the stillness of the heavens.

Which did not turn towards the limitless expanse of the ocean —

Nor hid itself in an oyster.

It palpitated in the lap of the morning for a moment —

And then dropped into the mouth of the new-born bud.