English
In Praise of Imam Ali and Farewell to the Soil of Najaf
Peace to you, whose essence is an ocean of justice, fairness, and faith; your pure being is a copy of the attributes of the Lord of all worlds.
Peace to you, who in honor have risen so high that the imprint of your foot once shone upon the shoulder of the best of messengers.
Peace to you, whose word will be reason's certain knowledge until the Resurrection, and whose deeds are certainty itself made visible.
Proof enough of your excellence: that the best of mankind was your pupil. Witness enough to your knowledge: that Gabriel was your teacher.
You have power over whatever you wish, for in truth the hand of divine power is tucked into your own sleeve.
To bind hearts fast to the summit of true knowledge, from the rays of your every word you hung the firm, unbreakable rope.
No one truly knows you, for it is hard to tell one jasmine's scent and color from another jasmine's.
If both worlds deny your excellence, no harm: the clear Quran stands as the just witness to it.
Day and night, to sweep your courtyard, the wings of angels and the tresses of paradise's maidens reach out on every side.
If both worlds turned to cloud, the sun stays the sun; even on a cloudy day its grace upon the earth does not lessen.
Everyone bears your love, friend and foe alike; you have stamped upon every speck a sun-mark on its brow.
If you grant grace even to an enemy, there is no room for surprise: you are a mercy to all worlds, a mercy to all worlds.
Whoever in every breath had the Prophet as his companion, on the path of oneness he too was joined to the Prophet.
In my loneliness both Mustafa and you are my refuge. Let both worlds be worthless to me; these two are enough.
Without the dust of your feet the sun has no light on its brow; without the sun of your banner the dawn cannot draw a breath.
All knowledge is borrowed from the grace of your knowledge; all reason is kindled from the light of your reason.
Over the honey of your words the wise watch, every moment, the swarming of angels gather like flies to the sweetness.
And in the caravan of your majesty since the day of eternity: the Universal Soul is the cameleer, an angel the camel, the stars its bells.
In the realm of your generosity, great and small weigh the same; no one can tell there a whole mountain from a single lentil.
Whoever in the world sees your pure shrine sees it as one who sees a flower garden through a cage.
The sky over your dome is like a bird that lays a nest of straw upon a mighty cupola.
If time itself should wipe out the garden of Eden, for lovers that shrine of yours is paradise enough.
I want the lane of your threshold, not paradise; the lover seeks nothing but the street of his beloved.
From you I ask my heart's desire in this lane of desire, though the heavens have blocked my striving from before and behind.
To complain of fate is a disgrace, yet against its complaint I can cry out, for you are the one who answers cries for help.
I am so full of hope in your boundless grace that in that lane I will be safe forever from the turns of time.
You from whose threshold's dust the sun took its ornament, and from whose desert sand the sky received its stars,
from the blade of your sword, until the day of reckoning, the brides of victory and triumph have taken their adornment.
Since the sun rubbed its face on the dust of your threshold, it has turned its own dust to gold forever by this alchemy.
The pearl mine filled its vessel of honor from your door; the ruby mine found red sulphur at your threshold.
For ages the keeper of paradise has dwelt beside your door's dust, until he found the water of Kawthar for his garden.
The sky has spun about your head until at last it gained, from the glow of your mind, the most radiant sun.
When the sky strolled across the meadow of your generosity, it found a single dewdrop there to be a green ocean.
Whenever the sea weighed its pearl against the pearl of Najaf, it found its own gem as dim as the dark body of the moon.
Your threshold of fortune is the elixir of every wish; there the sky found its desire fulfilled again and again.
A single drop of your sea is an ocean so vast that the highest heaven is found swimming within it.
I ask nurture from your grace, for by the nurture of your grace the iron of the sword's ability gained its fine edge.
When all the world is brimming with desire from your grace, why should I alone be left with my wish unfulfilled?
Had fate not seen you as its cause, it would forever have left the Universal Soul barren and the Universal Intellect unwed.
From the rising of your glory comes Mustafa's glory; your pure essence is the very salt upon Mustafa's table.
Though several verses came down to Mustafa for your sake, your very being is a verse sent down in Mustafa's honor.
By the command 'submit to him' you were Commander of the Faithful even while Mustafa lived, in Mustafa's own time.
The palm tree of Mustafa's law draws its freshness from you; your perfect being is the flowing water of Mustafa.
You left not a drop in the spring of true knowledge once you set your thirsty lip to Mustafa's mouth.
Mustafa knows your worth, for in both worlds there is no one who knows Mustafa's worth as you do.
Your word is the Prophet's word, your deed is God's deed, for you are the hand of God's power, the tongue of Mustafa.
Mustafa's truth-seeing eye is bright forever through you, for from eternity you were the soul of Mustafa's world.
The light of the Prophet's eyes was the light of your eyes; no one among Mustafa's people had this honor.
You whose body is purer than the souls of all the world's people, grant us the grace of your body, by the soul of Mustafa.
Mustafa's household is support and shelter enough for me; let my life be sacrificed for Mustafa's household.
If you cast a single glance of favor toward me, my arm will break the powerful arm of the heavens.
If I do not say 'I would die for you, Commander of the Faithful,' then what shall I say in your praise, Commander of the Faithful?
He whose footprint once shone upon the shoulder of the divine Throne, that very shoulder now brushes against your foot, Commander of the Faithful.
What are breath and soul and body, what are wealth and family and wife? This world and the next be sacrificed for you, Commander of the Faithful.
What they call the cloud of mercy is just a name for the shadow of your praying hand, Commander of the Faithful.
What humiliations the mine would suffer if it dared weigh itself against the pearl of your bounty's sea, Commander of the Faithful.
The pearl's luster floods every side like a storm when the rain of your generous cloud begins to pour, Commander of the Faithful.
How could the length and breadth of these six directions ever befit you? The Throne is no fitting place for you either, Commander of the Faithful.
If you wished to return to the field of eternity, until the end of time they would walk behind you, Commander of the Faithful.
Every green blade looks like another sky upon the ground of your majesty, Commander of the Faithful.
The mightiest Throne cannot lift its eyes to reach the door of your court of fortune, Commander of the Faithful.
How can I withdraw my reaching hand from the hem of your union, when I know no one to take your place, Commander of the Faithful?
Living without you is a fresh death each moment; I, who would gladly die for you, Commander of the Faithful.
The Throne is but the first step of the threshold of your court; the highest heaven is only the first course of your wall.
The feast that no eye has seen is set aside for your guests; the eight paradises are but a morsel from your table.
Tell the sun not to rise, tell the dawn not to breathe: the morning sun is but a speck on your collar.
The clouds are dust raised from your path; the cloudy sky is fed from the ocean of your kindness.
Paradise is nourished by your commands and prohibitions; the water flowing through that garden runs by your order.
When the pillars of the Throne tremble at the trumpet of annihilation, what stays unshaken are your pillars.
It is not only the Quran that speaks in your praise; all the heavenly names are spoken in your honor.
The destiny of all creation does not lie outside you; what they call the knowledge of fate is but your title.
If the sun turned back and the moon was split, what of it? From the first day the sky has been a servant of your command.
Though the keeper of paradise quarreled and boasted wonders in pride, the truth lies in the hand of your gatekeeper.
If you grant kindness to the bountiful one, Faiz of Kashan, it is fitting, for he too is bound to your covenant.
In your lane, who could stop his breath from lamenting? If he cannot sing your praise, he is at least your singer of ghazals.
If with insistence I ask no cure from you, no wonder, for the very pain I bear is your cure itself.
From the physician of love no cure should be expected; here the rule is to keep the pain as better than its cure.
In bidding you farewell, all patience and endurance leave my heart. Peace to you, O peace and rest of my heart and soul, peace.
My heart will not come out from the door of your court of fortune; and if it does come out at someone's bidding, let that bidding be forbidden.
The heart that leaves this lane will not descend even to heaven; no roof can bear the splendor of this dove.
What good if a whole world turns toward Najaf's threshold? The soul of the world, that is, your pure body, dwells there.
I do not know from where they brought this ground, for nothing equals it in reverence except the sacred sanctuary.
I found it like Najaf in no respect at all, though I walked through all eight paradises on the feet of reason.
Noah sailed in his ark and came ashore here; Adam came down from paradise to make his home here.
If the Kaaba were set beside Najaf before reason, reason could not tell at last which is which.
I have made my pilgrimage and turned back from your lane, yet my soul, like the bird of the sanctuary, circles your head forever.
May God not make this our last visit near you; rather grant us return, then return again, until the Day of Resurrection.
I left your lane with a hundred heartaches, dust be on my head; in the way of love, what name can anyone give to this?
I came one evening to your court and leave at dawn; yes, yes, at your court dawn itself turns to dusk.
Whoever rubs his brow at the door of your court of fortune, his forehead will never again see a wrinkle until the Resurrection.