English
In Praise of Athir al-Din Amin al-Mulk Zayn al-Dawla Abu Mansur Nasr ibn Ali
When my beloved fastens a golden belt around that silvery waist,
whoever sees it, how could they ever set their heart on silver or gold?
Anyone who foolishly gives his heart to loving that sweet boy
must give up all hope for his own sweet life, as I have.
Sometimes he hangs a sash of musky hair down over roses,
sometimes he binds the moon in chains of his pitch-black curls.
From loving him my world shrinks to the ring of a signet,
as his curls twist into loops of amber, one within the other.
My mouth falls open like an arrow, my back bends like a bow,
when he deliberately drapes that musky ringlet over that silver shield of a face.
Whoever loses his heart to that candle among the beauties of Kashgar
turns golden-faced like a candle, weeping tears, his heart aflame.
I am like the rose and the narcissus, my collar torn, my head bowed low,
because he keeps growing more graceful than any fresh box-tree over the lily.
With that musky chain and those sugary lips like ruby,
in a single day he binds a hundred thousand hearts, more even than mine.
Sometimes those twisted, curling locks pour out my blood,
sometimes those black, heart-sweetening eyes steal away my sleep.
Whoever binds his heart in that chain full of musk and those lips full of sugar
becomes sugar in water, becomes musk in fire.
Sometimes he veils his silken face beneath hyacinth curls,
sometimes he ties an amber mask over that fine Shushtar-woven cloth.
From longing for his face the rose appears from the clay each year,
and when it sees his face, out of shame it packs its bags to leave.
Whoever pins his hopes on union with that silver-breasted idol
becomes worthless in people's eyes, like counterfeit coin.
Dear to great and common folk alike is the one who fixes his mind,
as I do, forever on praising the renowned lord.
Athir al-Din, Trustee of the Realm, Ornament of the State, that chief
at whose court Fortune girds herself for service every day.
Abu Mansur Nasr ibn Ali, from whose judgment, if it grants leave,
the sky belts its waist with Gemini in his service.
Like the moon split by the Prophet's finger, stone would crack in fear of him,
if ever, far from you, in his anger he fixed his eye on rock.
A whole world stands in his perfection, and no wise man of sense
would aim his ambition anywhere small while he exists.
To multiply his followers, God forever shapes their forms
in the womb from the drop of pure, sustaining water.
When his steed charges it fits to split the twin stars apart,
and when his lasso coils it locks around the throat of the fierce lion.
The vision of his dread grips the sword of death itself,
and the phoenix of his resolve ties down the decree of victory.
The heavens have set their hopes on his lasting life
the way the chameleon fixes on the sun and the oyster's heart on the rain.
Fire would turn to fragrant herbs for them, as it did for Abraham,
if in a moment of mercy he set his purpose on the people of hell.
In matters of faith he brings order through the knowledge of Ali,
and in matters of rule he sets the custom through the justice of Umar.
If every other lord, chasing the whims of his own appetite,
gives heart and soul to instruments of play and every kind of vain excess,
wisdom leads this man to fix all his thought and ambition
upon the means of true meaning and the masters of art.
With the foot of his will he keeps trampling the head of Fate,
and with the hand of his resolve he forever binds the feet of Destiny.
O renowned chief, whose pen strokes decrees
that even the Faithful Spirit, Gabriel, sets proudly upon his own head.
And if such a rank were granted to him, out of envy
the hand of heaven would draw a veil of shame across the face of the sun.
Year in and year out the sky keeps its golden litter ready,
hoping that his mount might one day be tethered behind its curtain.
Any poet who praises you even once will grow unwilling ever after
to set his mind on praising the noblest of mankind.
When the whole wide sky lies before us, who thinks of the mere earth?
When the encircling ocean is here, who sets his heart on a puddle?
Whether a wild ass opens its mouth to praise you,
or an ant girds itself to worship you,
one part of your majesty could tame ferocious lions,
and one part of your fortune could seal shut the jaws of striking serpents.
The senses of anyone who bends his mind to praising you
will never be dismissed by death; they last forever.
Time takes up the pen of your proud praise in its fingers,
and the stars fix the letter of your noble victory before their eyes.
Though Hatim is famous for generosity, whoever sees your giving
is amazed that anyone still tells old tales of him.
Though Ahnaf is remembered for forbearance, whoever knows your wisdom
finds it strange that anyone still repeats the story of him.
The white falcon would become his servant by your support,
if even the partridge took your high command upon its wings.
O you for whose praise my nature has bound its thought so fully
as a worshipper binds his mind at the hours of dawn.
Sometimes it holds the finest wonders within its words,
sometimes it fastens the most brilliant qualities upon its verses.
Now it has fashioned a praise like an adorned bride,
whose neck the tirewoman decks with jeweled necklaces.
In the very manner that the great master Lami'i spoke,
it draws a curtain from the dark night over the face of day.
As long as the raining cloud, in the month of spring,
fastens necklaces of pearl and ruby and turquoise on the branches of trees,
may your station be such that every servant, however lowly,
binds his belt in your service with turquoise and ruby and pearls.