Faqr

O slaves of material world! Do you know what Faqr is? —

A gaze that pierces through illusion’s veil, and a heart resurrected by Allah’s love.

Faqr is to hold oneself accountable in every deed —

And make 'Lā ilāha' the axis where all actions lead.

To conquer Khyber with barley-crusts as your bread — that is Faqr!

Kings and princes? All bound in Faqr's hunter's net like prey struck dead.

Faqr is the name of ardour, ecstasy and submission to the will of God —

This treasure belongs to the Prophet (P.B.U.H), and we are but its trustees.

Faqr, a thunderbolt striking angels unaware on one flank —

While storming the hidden forces of creation on its other flank!

Faqr carries you to a realm beyond mortal claim —

Transmuting glass of your being to a flawless diamond.

All the provisions and equipment of Faqr are drawn from the Mighty Qur’an.

A true darwish cannot be contained in patched robes' span.

Though the faqir speaks very little in the assembly of people —

Yet this little sets a hundred assemblies aflame with ecstasy.

It breathes the longing for flight in wingless, slumbering hearts —

And crowns the feeble gnat with the grandeur of a royal hawk.

When the Faqir stands before the mighty kings —

The splendor of his straw-mat makes thrones quake with fright.

With his divine madness, he stirs the city in uproar —

And liberates the creation from tyranny's crushing weight.

The Faqir makes his abode only in that desert —

Where even falcons flee from confronting the dove.

Faqr's heart draws strength from passion and spiritual wayfaring —

Before kings, it raises the cry: 'There is no king!'.

It is through his sacred dust that our fire learns to blaze —

The mightiest flame before his humblest straw trembles and sways.

No nation is ever truly defeated in war —

So long as one Faqir-heart still beats at its core.

From the Faqir's lordly contentment our honor springs —

His carefree zeal sets our soul's fire blazing on wild wings.

Behold yourself in the Faqir’s radiant mirror-glass —

Till God anoints you with a clear authority none shall surpass.

Religion’s wisdom lies in Faqr’s gentle, heart-winning kindness —

Its strength flows from Faqr’s indifference to sway.

The King of Faith, Messenger (P.B.U.H) declared to the believers: —

“The whole earth is my mosque.”

May Allah protect us from the nine heavens’ revolution —

Lest the believer’s mosque, this earth, remain under others’ domination.

Allah's pure-hearted slave wages relentless jihad —

To liberate his Master's mosque, this earth, from other’s clasp.

O you who preach the world’s renunciation, speak not so bold —

For to renounce this world is to seize its hold.

To be its rider is the only path to break away from its chains —

And hence to rise beyond the rank of water and clay.

This world of water and clay is the Momin’s prey —

Would you bid the falcon to throw its hunt away?

I cannot understand, nor see the why —

That a falcon should flee from the open sky.

Woe to the falcon that never soared nor preyed —

No bird by its talons was ever dismayed.

That remains confined in its nest, in sorrow and stress —

And never soars through the sky’s vast wilderness.

The Faqr of the Qur’an is to hold the world to account —

Not music and rapture, nor dance in mystic mount.

What is a believer’s Faqr? It is the conquering of dimensions —

Through which the slave acquires the attributes of the Lord.

The Faqr of an unbeliever is retreat to the wilderness —

The Faqr of a believer is to make both land and sea tremble.

Life for the former is solitude in caves and mountains —

Life for the latter flows from a glorious death.

The former is seeking God through renunciation of body —

The latter is whetting one’s khudi on the stone of God.

The former is scorching the khudi till none remains —

The latter is making it shine like lamp-lit flames.

When Faqr lies bare beneath the celestial sphere —

The sun and the moon tremble in awe and fear.

Naked Faqr is the fervor of the battles of Badr and Hunayn —

Naked Faqr is the cry of Takbir from Hazrat Hussain.

When Faqr lost its zeal to stand unclad —

The Muslims lost the glory they once had.

Alas, a hundred times alas—in this ancient idol-shrine —

Neither your hand bears the sword of “Lā”, nor does mine.

O young man! Purge your heart of all but Allah to hold —

O young man! Throw wide the gates of this weary world of old!

How long without faith’s fervent flame will you live, O Muslim? —

This breath you call life, is but death, O Muslim!

The man of faith recreates his self anew —

He sees his being only in the light of The True.

He measures his soul by Mustafā's sacred scale —

And from that fire, forges world anew.

Woe to a nation that has fallen so low —

That it gives birth to kings and lords but not to a single dervish.

Do not ask me to tell you its story —

Or how can I describe what is indescribable?

Weeping and wailing have knotted within my throat, I can barely breathe —

It is better that this doomsday remain confined within my chest.

The Muslim of this land has lost all hope in himself —

For a long time he has not seen a true man of God.

Hence he has grown skeptical about the strength of his faith —

And has started ambusing and looting his own caravan.

For three centuries the Ummah has been wretched and helpless —

It lives on without an inner spiritual fire and ecstasy.

Lowly in thought, mean of nature, vulgar in taste —

Its schools and religious scholars are stripped of passion and fervour.

Its low thoughts have made it wretched —

And lack of unity has made it sick of itself.

As he (the Muslim) is not aware of his true station —

So the zeal for revolution has died in his heart.

For lack of contact with a God-fearing man of knowledge —

He has become feeble, dejected, and incapable of accepting truth.

He is that wretched slave whom even his Lord has rejected —

Destitute, bankrupt, and utterly careless.

He has no wealth which may be snatched away by a king —

Nor has he any spiritual light that may be taken away by a Satan.

His Religious Sheikh kneels before Western lords —

Though his tongue speaks of Bayazid's exalted station.

He says: Bondage gives splendour to religion —

And life consists in being devoid of khudi.

He counted strangers' wealth as divine mercy —

And whirled, ecstatic, round the church till death.

O you who are devoid of passion, longing, zest, and anguish —

Do you even comprehend what our era has done to us?

This age has severed us from our very selves —

It has torn us from the beauty of the Prophet Muhammad (P.B.U.H).

When the burning love of the Prophet (P.B.U.H) left the heart —

It was as if the essence itself vanished from the mirror.

You failed to grasp this era's essence and inner reality —

Thus, from the very first move, you were checkmated.

When your mind became entangled in its vortex —

Your heart lost the power to kindle any living desire.

Hold yourself to account, do not flee from your true face —

For a while, become a stranger to other-than-yourself.

How long will you linger in fear, dread, and doubts? —

Recognize your true station in this world.

This garden (country) has many tall trees —

Therefore do not make your nest on a low branch.

O man unaware of yourself you have a song in your throat —

Recognize your true stock and do not fly with crows.

First, sharpen your Khudi like a sword —

Then hand yourself to the Hand of Destiny.

Within you rages a boundless tusnami —

Before which even mountains crumble like straw.

The grandeur of a tusnami lies in its ceaseless flow —

Should it pause but a moment, its power would perish.

I am neither a theologian nor a jurist capable of subtle debates —

Nor am I acquainted with the intricacies of Faqr.

In matters of faith, my vision soars far yet my steps lag —

Even my maturity bears flaws, my work remains unfinished.

But God gave me this heart trembling with divine restlessness —

And through it, unraveled one knot among a hundred.

“Take your share, too, of this fire that burns within me —

For there may not come after me a faqir like me.”