پس چه باید کرد ای اقوام شرق

Humanity weeps in bitter anguish at the West —

Life itself has gathered chaos from the West.

What then must be done, O nations of the East —

That the days of the East may shine bright once more?

A quiet revolution has dawned within its soul —

The night has passed and the sun has risen.

Europe lies fatally wounded by its own sword —

It has laid the foundation of godlessness beneath the sky.

A ravenous wolf hidden within the skin of a lamb —

Waiting in ambush for the innocent at every moment.

The trials of mankind stem entirely from it —

It is the source of humanity's deepest, hidden grief.

In its eyes, man is nothing but water and clay —

And the caravan of life wanders without a destination.

Whatever you behold is born of the Divine Light —

The wisdom of all things lies in the mysteries of the Real.

Whoever witnesses the signs of God is truly free —

The root of this wisdom rests upon the (Quranic) command to "Behold!"

The faithful servant draws far greater fortune from it —

And looks upon the state of others with profound compassion.

When knowledge illuminates his earthly clay —

His heart becomes ever more filled with the awe of God.

The knowledge of things serves as alchemy for our dust —

But alas, in the West its effect has taken a different course.

Its intellect and thought possess no measure for good and evil —

Its eyes are void of tears, its heart turned to stone and brick.

Because of it, knowledge is disgraced in city and desert alike —

Even Gabriel turns into Satan through its corrupting company.

The wisdom of the West carries a drawn sword upon its shoulder —

Striving relentlessly for the destruction of the human race.

With the base and vile in this world of good and evil —

The sacred intoxication of knowledge and art cannot align.

Alas for the West and for its desolate laws —

Alas for its godless and barren philosophy.

They have taught the Divine Knowledge, the tricks of sorcery —

Nay, not sorcery, but the darkest disbelief they taught.

From every side it sounds the trumpet of a hundred afflictions —

Wrest the sword away from the grasp of this highwayman.

O you who know the soul to be greater than the body —

Shatter the dark enchantment of this godless civilization.

The spirit of the East must be breathed into its lifeless frame —

So that it may become the key to the locked doors of meaning.

Intellect under the command of the heart is divine —

When it breaks free from the heart, it becomes satanic.

Life exists in a state of eternal, relentless struggle —

The tragic plight of Abyssinia serves as a grave warning.

The law of Europe, without debate or hesitation —

Has declared the lamb completely lawful for the wolves.

A new order must be established within the world —

For what salvation can be hoped for from stealers of shrouds?

What exists in Geneva besides deception and craft?

Merely agreeing: "You hunt this sheep, and I will prey on that."

Mysteries too vast that cannot be contained in speech —

A whole world of chaos, an entire universe of strife.

O captive of (Western) illusion, wash yourself clean of this worldly hue —

Have faith in your own soul, and deny the ways of the West.

The threads of profit and loss lie within your own hands —

The very honor of the East rests securely in your grasp.

Bind together the scattered pages of these ancient nations —

Raise high the luminous banner of purity and truth.

For the people of Divine Truth, life draws its breath from power —

And the power of every nation lies in its unity.

Vision without power is nothing but trickery and spell —

Power without vision is sheer ignorance and madness.

The fire, the melody, the ache, and the scar are born of Asia —

Both the intoxicating Wine and the sacred Chalice belong to Asia.

It is we who taught Love the delicate art of capturing hearts —

It is we who taught the method of shaping true humanity.

Both high art and pure faith sprang from the dust of the East —

The heavens themselves envy the sacred soil of the East.

We unveiled all that was once concealed behind the veil —

The sun is born of us, and we are born of the sun.

The pearl in every shell is formed by our spring rain —

The majesty of every ocean is born from our raging storm.

We have seen our own soul weeping in the nightingale's lament —

We have seen the blood of Adam flowing in the rose's vein.

Our thought was the seeker of the deep mysteries of existence —

It was our thought that struck the first chord on the lute of Being.

We carried the burning scar (of Love) deep within our breast —

And placed this blazing lamp upon the pathway of the world.

O you who are the custodian of the wealth of faith and culture —

Bring forth that radiant, White Hand from your sleeve once more.

Rise and untangle the knotted affairs of the nations —

Cast the intoxicating spell of the West completely from your head.

Lay down a new foundation for the unity of the East —

And reclaim your true self from the dark grasp of Satan.

You know the nature of the West and its deceitful deeds —

How long will you remain bound by the pagan thread of the West?

The wound is from him, the lancet is his, and his the needle —

While we sit in a river of blood, hoping he will stitch the tear.

You know within yourself that kingship is tyranny and force —

And tyranny in our age is nothing but the merchant's trade.

The shopkeeper's counter has become a partner to the throne —

Reaping profit from commerce and extracting tribute through rule.

That ruler of the world who is also a cunning merchant —

Holds goodness upon his tongue while deep evil resides in his heart.

If you truly understood the measure of his deceitful ledger —

You would see your coarse cotton is softer than his finest silk.

Pass by his sprawling factories with complete indifference —

Even in the bitter winter, do not purchase his woolen coats.

To slaughter without outright battle is his established law —

Countless deaths are hidden in the revolution of his machines.

Do not trade your humble straw mat for his luxurious carpets —

Do not sacrifice your simple pawn for his commanding queen.

His pearl is flawed and spit upon, his ruby bears a dark vein —

This merchant extracts his musk from the navel of a dog.

The slumber upon his velvet steals the vision from your eyes —

The vibrant luster of his velvet is a highwayman to your soul.

You have cast a hundred painful knots into your own affairs —

Do not weave your turban from the fabric of his loom.

The wise and awakened never drink from his poisoned jar —

For whoever drinks of it simply dies within this very tavern.

In trade he laughs softly and makes no loud, aggressive cry —

We are but naive children, and he the seller of sweet treats.

He knows the deepest secrets of the buyer's heart and gaze —

O Lord, is this mere merchant's trade or a dark, binding magic?

The merchants of worldly illusion carried away all the profit —

While we, the buyers, were left entirely blind and bruised.

Whatever grows from your own sacred dust, O free man —

Sell only that, wear only that, and consume only that.

Those seers of the good who have recognized their true selves —

They alone have woven the garments they wear upon their backs.

O you who remain oblivious to the workings of the modern age —

Observe closely the cunning sleight of hand of Europe.

They wove luxurious carpets from your own extracted silk —

And then cast them back before you for your own purchase.

Your eyes are easily spellbound by its shining outward form —

Its color and luster sweep you away from your true station.

Woe to that ocean whose waves have ceased their restless surge —

And is forced to buy back its own pearls from the divers.