Ghazals

Millstone, oh millstone, why are you as lost as we are? Do not hide your secret from us; tell us the whole story. You are drunk in your own turning, wise in your own circling. What do you know about us, that you dance for us endlessly? You were cut away from the mine, and so you moan, my hope. Tell us, faithful one, how our own tale plays out. You have a strange journey of your own, in a state of joy and ecstasy; in a single breath you travel from beginning to end. In these stories our soul lives on water, like a mill. Our farsighted reason, where did you go? Come back. Lose yourself, but do not lose the divine secrets of love. You are both the new and the old, both the mountain and the cry and its echo. You are the soul and you are the world, the stream and the flowing water, the miller too, and the wheat, and the mill itself. Love, you are the beloved of many souls, both enemy and friend; you are in the core and in the skin, in short, with king and beggar alike. You who know love's secrets, you its soaring Jafar, you its Qasem of light, the alchemy that turns the soul's copper to gold.

You are the heart and soul of weary lovers, welcome, blade of greeting. Your uproar reaches the depths, your splendor fills the sky. Your fierce jealousy has carried thousands into nothingness, slain by the sword of trial on the street of love. Drink the wine and stay silent; do not hunt within the sanctuary. Do not boast of more or less at the threshold of God's majesty. When you turn toward His presence, whether you are old or new, the radiance of that face will burn away your wings and feathers. Even if you are spring and a rose garden, bright in every eye, remembering the Beloved will give life and clarity to your mirror. I cried out 'enough is He', I raised the cup of pure wine; when that grace arrived, my heart and soul reached their fullness. Qasim, if you are a lover, what is the way of the truthful? They take the blade on the back of the neck and stay patient in affliction.

The dawn of good fortune shines from your forehead. What beauty is this? Sacred, sublime. I am the servant of that pure wine whose generosity refreshes my soul with every breath. There will be no drunken quarrel from me in your tavern; my life belongs to your beauty. How gentle that beauty is. Do not speak to the lover of the Kaaba or the temple; do not tell the one drunk on the beloved's face about heaven and paradise. If you would be one with God today, become singular now; do not chase tomorrow on credit, do not be a lover of some later day. My companions know the road is long and far, from the alley of purpose to the marketplace of desire. In your street I am lowly. What a lofty rank! With your face before me I am drunk. What a distant, ultimate goal! Since my bond with you is true, let me no longer speak of the standing of Adam and Eve. O guide of soul and heart and faith, let your boundless mercy, in kindness, forgive this helpless Qasim.

You who are patient in trial, knock, knock at the door of the Lord. The road is near and the beloved is near; the tale of endless deserts is over. The beloved is with us, what good fortune, my heart. God, God, if only you had a seeing eye. Do not seek the true faith through blind imitation; do not walk the path of truth with eyes shut. Come now, love of Mahdi the guide; come now, secret of the master of all masters. You are the wellspring of eternal life; you are the source and the farthest goal. In hope of you, Qasemi is alive. My lord, our God, in you we trust.

Shake loose your musky hair, for I rejoice in this longing; from its scent I catch the breeze of the highest paradise. You are the beloved of my heart and soul; everyone seeks, and you are the sought. What beauty, what grace, blessed be our Lord Most High. Safety is the ascetic's dwelling, bliss the shelter of the sincere; blame is the lover's way, and love the firm handhold to cling to. The pious walk the path of restraint; the muftis speak their rulings; the monks hold their stations of chastity, while among lovers there is uproar. Why chase each precious gem? He is the ocean and you a mere stream. Sing well, minstrel: had it not been for Him, we would not exist. Be wise and walk the road, a traveler among travelers; for higher than the highest is the station of nearness to Him, the utmost intimacy. You are trapped in your stubborn reason, and cannot see what joys, what fortunes fill the gathering of the free-spirited. When the sun of His beauty lifts the veil from its face, all explanations fold away, and the ultimate goal stands revealed. Speak not of reason and sobriety to a Qasemi like me; for the carefree drunkards possess eternal delight.

We went to many mosques out of devotion; but where is the Aqsa Mosque, the true Aqsa? Our Aqsa Mosque is the blessed city of the heart; and where does it stand? At the place of 'he drew near, then came closer.' The Aqsa Mosque is where holiness reveals itself; the Aqsa Mosque is where the Lord and master appear. Our Aqsa Mosque is the deepest core of meaning; our Aqsa Mosque is the mind of the wise. My heart, if you are a seeker walking the path, seek love, and stop reciting the tale of mere longing. Do not speak of faith or unbelief, for both are veils; burn your dervish cloak, and stop reciting the tale of the prayer mat. If you are Moses, where is his power? And if you are Christ, where is your pure gift of raising the dead? The world is an ocean, yet that ocean became so through us; the ocean itself would not exist without us. Qasemi, that beloved is as plain to see as the sun; but who has the eyes to truly see? Who has the seeing eye?

At dawn the nightingale cried out love before the throne of God: I am the one who loves You. Weak and worn, walking the path of pure solitude; look on my state with kindness, my Lord. We are wounded and exhausted, send us a balm; when the balm arrives, one clarity follows another. My heart wandered the world in the grief of love; when it saw Your face it said, 'Whoever sees You is glad.' Your remembrance is our soul, Your beauty is our triumph; we have been with You in this world for years. You would grasp it, and nothing hidden would remain, if for a moment you knew the secret of 'There is no hero like Ali.' You who challenge me, do not ask about the state of Qasim; we are drowned in union, annihilated in annihilation.

Until the morning breeze scatters your hair, no one can picture the composure I keep together. Love drags me by the hair from the mosque to the temple. God, what a difference, from where to where? Whatever they said in praising you, from the moon above to the fish below, it was talk that spanned from the depths to the sky. It cannot be captured by any pen, though the whole world explained it until the end of time: the story of my love and your beauty. You are the beloved of my soul; like a candle before your beauty, tonight I long to burn from head to foot. Last night you said: in the mirror of my face, do you see God? I said: yes, by God I do. Qasem's heart gave up its precious life for loyalty to your beauty. What splendid faithfulness!

My liver is full of pain, my heart full of blood, my soul reckless and drunk; my night is dark, my mount is lame, and my head is spinning with mad longing. I do not know my own cure; I am lost in this thought. Come, eternal cupbearer, bring that deep red wine. Like a candle before your face, if you set me alight in your presence, I will burn bright before you, standing firm like a candle on its feet. If you are sober and guarded, you stay far from the heart of this secret; you remain blind among the travelers, blind to the nearness of 'the length of two bows.' If from this endless ocean you bring up a pearl, keep it hidden inside your soul; tell no one on purpose. Come, my spiritual friend, speak the human names, for I know that you know the path of 'the knowledge of the names.' Speak of law and tradition to the sober who see only the surface; tell the tale of eternal love to the reckless madmen. You say to me: give me a sign from the world of meaning. You ask news of the ignorant one, a trace from the traceless realm. O love with the face of a king, you are both the whole and the detail; you are wisdom, you are power, you are lovelier than beauty itself. Take Muhammad as your guest, seat him at the table of grace, pour him wine from the cup of the Glorious One, for 'Glory to Him who took him by night.' Show your blessed face, let your wine dark curls loose, for in their scent I catch the breeze of the garden of refuge. If from the name of the All Subduing something is revealed, look, if you are a man of confession, at the sign of the Great Catastrophe. First know the Essence, then the divine attributes, for these divine attributes are the sum drawn from that source. Then comes the world of traces and deeds, forever bound to it. What wisdom, what power! Exalted is our Lord, the Most High. What a wonder in the beauty of oneness, what a wonder in balance and grace, what a heart ravishing king! How rare, the one without equal! From the sun of His beauty, whatever attribute I name, all the atoms cry: 'We witnessed' after 'We believed.' Every moment bears witness to the oneness of His Essence, whether it is the sun or a mote, whether the highest or the wise. Wherever I turned, I knew You and I saw You. What a benefactor, what a kindness, what a world adorning moon! The world is drunk with Your love, how wondrous the tales of Your love; all are lost in Your love, whether the ruler or the exalted. One must go and sleep, and keep the tale of love hidden. How can one put into words attributes that cannot be counted? Before you the mightiest emperor becomes level with the dust of the road, if you draw up a single shining pearl from this ocean. Come, my soul with sweet longing, behold the light of the revelation; to that gracious address, say: 'Here I am, to what You reveal.' Do not say 'Show me'; fear the refusal of 'You shall not' in the world of meaning, for in this valley the heart of Moses drowned in the sea of bewilderment. There are many who chant litanies and prayers in the world, but the prayer with the exalted breath holds another secret. The heavy souls died at 'No' in the shadows of the dark; the light spirits carried this road through, with the 'except.' But hear from me a piece of advice, so you may break free of your chains: if you know anything of meaning, do not stay stuck at 'no' and 'except.' You have stayed in the darkness of the body, and you are pleased and happy with it. If you have any faith or heart, would you not speak of the fire of mourning? How strangely bound to the body you are; you are not the named, only a name. Since you follow only habit and custom, what can I say to you, wise one? In form, Adam and Eve are perfectly clear, yet in meaning, know that Adam and Eve are none other than the Universal Intellect and Soul. If you are sober and awake, look at the power of the Creator: thousands of Adams and Eves have appeared out of the unseen. O Ahmad the Messenger, lamp of mosque and pulpit, you are the master, you are the leader, you are the goal of all seeking. Through you the sacred law grew bright, the mystic paths were proven, the truths were made clear. How radiant, O Ya Sin, O Ta Ha! You are the believer, you are the faith, you are the spring of the water of life; you are the everlasting king, you are the destination, you are the utmost. You hold the farthest goal, you hold the nearness of 'so he drew near'; all are turbid and you are pure, all are pure and you are the purest. From every perfect one who comes forward, your perfections rise higher; the perfect ones beside you are like a gnat beside the Phoenix. Come, Qasim, what are you saying, what are you chasing, what are you seeking? If today you are with Him, do not speak of tomorrow's tale.

Why keep asking where I'm from, where I am, and where I'm bound? I come from the hidden house of pure detachment, from the realm where all things pass away. You argue and dispute, but what else can you do? God said of you, truly: «Man is, above all, quarrelsome.» If the ascetic would open the eye of certainty, he would see from God, through God, and toward God, everything, from the depths of the sea to the highest sky. The Sufi draws a certain purity from his chants and litanies, yet he never reaches the quality and clarity that we possess. Everyone's fate hangs on their piety and their prayers, but the burnt-hearted lover keeps his gaze fixed on the pure gift of grace itself. This is a gathering of the unaware, so let go of your so-called knowledge; become oblivious, for everyone here is oblivious too. He set out to forbid what was wrong, went to the tavern, and in the end pawned his robe for wine. What a master he turned out to be! If for one moment you lean toward these drunkards, in an instant you'll come alive from the breath that «revives the dead.» The Beloved said: I will make you into my own likeness, just as «the King wills for the kingdom to bear this resemblance.» In spite of every envious heart, the Friend will not, at any time, spare even a breath to remember one like Ghasem, except, perhaps, by chance.

For God's sake, you who lead the prayers, have mercy: your coldness toward us has gone past all bounds. Everywhere, whoever you ask, His home is there: it is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, I say. I am spellbound by her hair; who knows what that black hair will bring forth, for 'the night is pregnant.' If you have drunk of it, may your hour be blessed, the pure wine poured from the cup of God Most High. We are drunk and joyful from the cup of longing for Him: ta-tan tan, tan ta-tan, tan tan, la-la-la. Break from yourself and join with Him, for this is our whole creed: to renounce all else and to love only Him. What is that self-absorbed Sufi saying? I stand there completely astonished at his words. Since you have no share from the lovers' cup, go and stop measuring out wine, you who only measure the wind. When Qasim broke free of his own existence, his wine turned pure and his cup ran clear.

My heart is glad that my beloved welcomed me; with that welcome comes serenity, one peace after another. The glass of my heart has been made clear by love's purity. Oh, how gracious your welcome; I'd give my life and heart for it! Ascetic, don't tell me the impossible: 'Repent of love.' What can I do with love's ache? Where would I find a cure? Blind imitation said 'repent'; true insight said 'love.' And the tale of imitation was, of course, defeated. Once it is certain that no one acts but God, let the words 'you did not throw' teach 'when you threw.' My soul has grown weary of stories told again and again. Come, my soul, and reveal the wine of divine oneness. My heart did not win the fortune of union with you for free; it has borne so many burdens, again and again. Speak no word outside the highway of the one who knows God as One. This is the beginning, and this same thing is the end. Since you have no real arrival, don't spin idle tales; on the highway of love, recite the mystery of 'Has there come.' Stop saying over and over that you wept blood from your eyes. Be a child of the present moment and let the past go. Qasim, do not speak of the soul-melting sorrow of separation. Take shelter in the shade of loving, and leave the quarrel behind.

What longing, what desire! What love and yearning! What a world-burning love, what beauty and devotion! What grace and kindness, what a lovely form and stature, what a day of resurrection, what a light of revelation! What a beloved, what a friend, companion of the free, what a mine of secrets, what a lofty rank! What light upon light, what a victorious banner, what a famous sign, all holiness and exaltation! What a fortunate star, praised and praiseworthy, finder and present, what a sublime presence! What an exalted essence, what a purifying light, what a spotless face, master of all masters! What a stirrer of turmoil, what sugar-sweet honey, what a captivating face, what jasmine-scented hair! We are seared by your fire, yet we will not turn from that burning; we are all drunk and ruined by that pure cup. Sometimes a torment to the soul, sometimes the world's uproar, sometimes safety and peace, sometimes a source of dangers. Sometimes the city's judge, sometimes the harsh enforcer, sometimes a spring of poison, sometimes a wave, sometimes the sea. You are the revealer of secrets, the distributor of light, the traveler of every path, both the name and the named.

The fiery wine has come from the hand of the cupbearer of souls; drink this cup of fire: we place our trust in the Lord. Swallow the crimson wine, fear neither water nor fire; rise and dance a while in joy, and see the wine's own generosity. Seek your perfection within yourself, for you are an ocean of oneness, not a stream; you are the essence of this wine, you are the whole vocabulary of this sea. You are that heart-burning king, triumphant and sovereign; your smallest cup is a sea, your smallest gnat a phoenix. Do not fear the enemy's tricks; set your foot firmly on the path of love; step into the valley of safety, for I have crossed this desert myself. Hear this simple word from me: seize the moment as a prize; learn from the lover, my dear, and do not put off today until tomorrow. You are the very soul of the beloved's soul, hidden from people's eyes; come out from behind your door, for the caravans have loaded and set off. Wherever that beloved is, I am fresh and glad at heart; we were where they were, and they were where we were. Poor Qasim always keeps his hope in you; you are present, you are watching, you are hidden, you are revealed.

The light of beauty has dawned across the world; and what quarrel does it have with faith or creed? It is the very meaning of the divine names. By your life, it is thousands upon thousands of leagues from the city of this world of forms to the kingdom of nearness to God. The whole world is full of this world-illuminating sun; where is the sun's radiant face, and where the blind eye that cannot see it? Drunk with longing for your love, I clap my hands and sing: 'tanan tanan, tanan tan, tala tala talla.' No mistake comes from God's doing, so do not walk the road of ignorance; it is only the arch of your own frown that has led you into error. 'He loves them' came down from God, dear scholar, so take no offense: our love-play breaks no law of the true faith. Blessed by the fortune of union with you, Qasemi is free at last from any thought of the shade of the Tuba tree or the paradise of refuge.

Reason rises from careful thought; love from madness and longing. Lord, how can I find a cure for this pain? Reason lives in thinking, love in bewilderment; this one deliberates, that one cries out in a frenzy. Reason is all formality, love is tenderness; reason keeps wishing, love keeps devoting itself. Reason seeks proof, the lover seeks his return to God; reason strains to reason it out, the lover seeks the highest companion. You are the soul of all souls, the wealth behind every appearance; you are the treasure house of safety, both the 'no' and the 'except.' Love, you are so full of affection, the source of every loss and gain; you are the wealth of true witnessing, a sea, yet perfectly clear. By those disarming glances, by those sweet ways, we were left dazzled, dazzled; we grew mad with longing, mad. From the cup of 'every faction rejoices' the people of the world are drunk; Qasim's soul is drunk from the cup of God the Most High.

Whoever spits at the face of the sky, that spit falls back forever onto his own face. How long will you worship this ignorance? How long will you follow your appetites and lust? If you are truly a man, tell me: why all this blind rejection of God's ecstatic ones? They are the kings of the realm of the spirit, the royal falcons of the nearness described as 'and We drew nearer.' In the encompassing sea of 'Be, and it is,' they are the soul's true purpose and its farthest goal. They are the guides of wisdom on the road to salvation, the travelers of the path of truth and purity. They drink from the cup of the Eternal One, the fair faced ones of the most beautiful beauty. It is beyond us to describe these kings. Our Lord, keep us well and have mercy on us. What a pity if you cannot tell the jewel of the soul from a hard, deaf stone. In his ignorance the town's ascetic cannot tell a cheap glass bead from a gleaming pearl. Qasemi, whatever exists is devotion to Him. My master, our Lord, in You we place our trust.

If you would praise God's attributes as they deserve, call out: 'Our Lord, the Most High.' If you are the great truthful one, do you know what the mark of truth is? It is 'We have spoken truly.' In this house of existence there is none but Him; ask God for eyes that truly see. Someone asked Majnun to recite the Quran, and he said: 'By night He carried His servant to Layla.' However much reason tried to find a remedy, this madness never left my head. You stole my heart and then hid your face; to whom can I tell these complaints? Qasemi is deceived by his own imaginings, for he cannot tell morning from evening.

Without love, the drop never reaches the sea; it was love that made Simon and the Messiah one. Blend yourself with love and keep away from strangers; when you become undivided, love itself becomes the very meaning of your name. Whoever falls in love with something becomes that same thing; wherever it came from, back there it returns. Every atom of the world bears witness to this truth: my friend, all the parts return to the whole. Pass beyond every thing, for all of it is a veil; truly, the mind that knows will not be held captive. Love alone revealed all the secrets of the world; through Qasim Anvar this love became plain to see.

Every moment I tear my collar, crying: don't pull your skirt away from me, for I hunger for your face, I am reckless, in love, and out of my mind. Tell those drunken, wine dark eyes of yours, you plundering beauty: after all, what do you want from raiding so many hearts? Sweep the darkness of your hair aside from that sunlit face, so those who long for you may pass from night's darkness into day. I am so single hearted in love that even if the blade falls on my head, on the day of testing I will stand firm, upright like a candle. From head to toe I am all soul, for I am drowned in the beloved's love; my whole being is love, from head to toe, from head to toe. I said, my heart is disheveled by your hair; she said: for a lover, ruby wine is the cure for the sickness of longing. Love pours down from Qasem, while the preacher offers piety and pretense; between the sheikh and the master lies the distance of two horizons.

«Nun» spoke, and «the Pen» spoke, holy and exalted: from the fine detail, the whole became clear and plain. What is detail? A single drop crossing the open plain. What is the whole? The drop becoming the sea. To the drop, a call: step out of your separateness. To the sea, a rebuke: step out of your singleness. To the cloud, a call: rise to the height of the sky. To the raindrop: do not settle at this height. To the wine the word is 'make drunk,' to the cup 'pass it round'; with the jar and the flask, the talk is of love and devotion. With the sea, to speak of the drop is the path of right guidance; with cup and flask, the talk is of the servant and the Lord. Come, open the eye of your heart, so you may see: the heart is the sacred house, and the soul the final goal. From the wine cup of your love the soul is drunk and undone; bravo, what a cup, and how generous your red wine. Qasim, night and day, is all wonder and love, drawn to that heart brightening face and that jasmine scented hair.

Whatever happens, from the depths of the sea to the height of the sky, no one can say why the one who makes it happen does what he does, or how. This separation has dragged on too long, past all endurance; if my heart stays in this state, then woe is me. This burning fire I carry in my head will melt me away, head to foot, like a candle. So tell me, my heart-warming love, what happened, what went wrong? For once, look my way, at this servant of yours. It is your glance they mean when they speak of the good life; it is your breath they mean when they say, 'the one who revives the dead.' How long will arrows of blame keep flying from every side? The arrow is clear enough, but the hand and bow that shoot it stay hidden. Why should Qasemi grieve over the scolding of enemy or friend? Loving was my heart's portion from the very beginning of time.

Cupbearer, in your kindness fill this clear cup: that holy spirit, that exalted soul. The day you pour a cup for some final end, spare a single sip for that handsome preacher too. If you want the atoms of the world to dance for you, let those curling, cross-shaped locks scatter loose in the dance. Adviser, go and sit down, stop reciting so many tales: this fever of longing cannot be driven from my head. You said: lose yourself, so you may find the way to yourself. I cannot decipher this riddle, this mystery. Each time I died, I carried away a hundred other lives: no one can count the miracles of the Messiah. Qasem will never fall in love for his own desire; but what can be said of the one who owns all hearts?

I don't know what fate has decreed against my worth, that from this threshold they keep driving me, forever homeless and adrift. How glad I am for this: I've fallen into good fortune, for on my journey a moon-faced companion walks beside me. Go, adviser, spare me your counsel, for I am bound to no one; no one but the old master of the tavern can guide me on this road. Go, preacher, don't tell me tales of repentance and piety, for such a shallow sermon never reaches the ear of my soul. I have not seen my beloved's face with the eye of pure oneness; in this state, both worlds cannot fit into my sight. Out of fear of separation, the caravan bells cry in the deserts; from their wailing this much has become clear to me. Qasim's heart is shattered, for the beloved has vanished from his eyes; in this parting a fresh wound scars my heart each day.

Every dawn I whisper my message to the wind through my weeping, so it might carry my heart's condition to that cypress-tall one born of angels. I have thrown myself on the dust of the road before her door like a servant, for at this threshold I saw that humbling oneself was the way to honor. Though my tears sank into the ground under the schooling of her sorrow, in the end my heart carried its cry all the way to the sky. I want to lay a foundation of patience upon the ground of my heart, but her love keeps tearing down the wall of that foundation. Since praise of those lips became my constant chant within every word, I recite these prayers sweet, lovely, and brief. My eye spoke of kinship with the family of her ruby lips, to prove the bond; let these human-born tears stand as witness before it. From her intoxicating eyes, Qasemi, my heart tosses in a wave of blood; that black-hearted hunter showed no mercy to her own prey.