“God, the Self-Subsistent”

If thou hast bound thy faithful heart on God The Self-subsistent, thou hast overlept The rim of things material.

No slave To things material God’s servant is; Life is no turning of a water-wheel.

If thou be Muslim, be not suppliant Of other’s succour; be the embodiment Of good to all the world.

Make not complaint Of scurvy fortune to the fortunate, Nor from thy sleeve reach out a beggar’s hand.

Like Ali, be content with barley-bread; Break Marhab’s neck, and capture Khyber’s fort.

Why bear the favour of the bountiful, Why feel the lancet of their nay and yea?

Take not the sustenance from mean, base hands; Thou art a Joseph; count thyself not cheap.

And if thou be an ant, and lackest wings And feathers, go not unto Solomon To plead thy want.

The road is arduous; Go light-accoutred, if thou wouldst attain; Unfettered live thy days, unfettered die.

Count o’er the rosary of Take thou less Of this world’s goods, and thou shalt riches win In living free.

So far as in thee lies Become that Stone of the philosophers, Not the base dross; a benefactor be, Not a petitioner for others’ alms.

Thou knowest well bu Ali’s eminence, Accept from me this draught, drawn from his cup

“Trample Kai-Kaus’ throne beneath thy foot; Yield up thy life, but not thy self-respect!”

The tavern door stands open of itself To those whose bowls are empty, whose needs none.

Harun Rashid, that captain of the Faith Whose blade to Nicephor of Byzance proved A deadly potion

unto Malik spoke Upon this fashion: “Master of my folk, The dust before whose door illuminates My people’s brow,

melodious nightingale Carolling mid the roses of good words, I am desirous to be taught by thee The secrets of those words.

How long art thou Content in Yemen to conceal the glow Of thy bright rubies? Rise, and pitch thy tent Here, in the homestead of the Caliphate.

How fair the brightness of the shining day, The captivating beauty of Iraq!

The Fount of Khizer gushes from its vines, Its earth is healing for the wounds of Christ.”

“I am the Prophet’s servant,” Malik said, “And only him I love, with all my heart.

Bound to his saddle-bow, I will not quit His holy sanctuary

By the kiss Of Yathrib’s dust I live; my night to me Is fairer that Iraq’s pellucid day.

Love says, ‘Obey my ordinance; sign not The articles of service even to kings.’

Thou wouldst become my master, overlord Of this freed slave of God, that I should wait

Upon thy door to teach thee, and no more Serve the community, being bound to thee.

Be it thy wish some portion to attain Of godly knowledge, in my circle sit And study with the rest.

Indifference To worldly needs engenders fine disdain, And holy pride takes many splendid shapes.”

Godly indifference is to put on The hue of God, and from thy robe to wash The dye of otherness.

But thou hast learned The rote of others, taking that for store, An alien rouge to beautify thy face;

In those insignia thou takest pride, Until I know not if thou be thyself Or art another.

Fanned by foreign blasts Thy soil is fallen silent, and no more Fertile in fragrant roses and sweet herbs.

Desolate not thy tilth with thy own hand; Make it not beg for rain from alien clouds.

Thy mind is prisoner to others’ thoughts, Another’s music throbs within thy throat,

Thy very speech is borrowed, and thy heart Dilates with aspirations not thine own.

The song thy ring-doves sing, the leafy gowns That deck thy cypresses, are meanly begged;

Thou takest wine from others in a bowl Itself from others taken upon loan.

If he, whose glance contains the mystery Erred not the sight – if he should come again Unto his people,

he whose candle-flame Knows its own moth, who can distinguish well His own from strangers standing at the gate,

Our master would declare, Thou art not mine. Woe, woe, alas for us upon that day!

How long wilt thou content thyself to live The life of stars, that in the risen morn Lose all their being?

Thou hast been deceived By the false dawn, packed up thy goods and gone From the broad firmament.

Thou art the sun; Look on thy self a little; purchase not Some shreds of radiance from others’ stars!

Thou hast engraved thy heart with alien shapes, Gambled the alchemy and gained the dross;

How long this glittering with others’ shine? Shake off heavy fumes for foreign grapes!

How long this fluttering about the flame Of party lanterns? If thou hast a heart Within thy breast, with thine own ardour burn!

Be like the gaze, wrapped round in thy own veils; Rise on the wing, but ever wheel back home;

Bubble-like bar thy little privacy Against the intruder, if thou wouldst be wise.

No man to individuality Ever attained, save that he knew himself, No nation came to nationhood, except It spurned to suit the whim of other men

Then of our Prophet’s message be apprised, And have thou done with other lords but God.