On the Bloodletting of the Praised One

You great one whose resolve broke the heart and back of this mean turning sky. Fate, out of the honesty of your fairness, raised up the ceiling of the heavens on its pillar. Whoever set his face to fight you, know that his stubborn luck brought him down. And whoever nursed the dream of rivaling you found the end of his effort turned upside down. A guilty man aimed to kiss your hand, and bent his back into a curve like the letter nun. The tip of an eyelash struck the eye of the law, and out of stillness drew tears of blood. From the lancet's cut the blood came out of the skin, and danced to a rhythm of shifting colors. Yesterday the lancet, from your blessed hand, like a hunter came at the moment to draw blood. A Khizr was led toward the water of life, since keen fortune became his guide. The fingernail of the blade struck the vein like a plectrum on a string, and the basin gave back the sound of an organ. Lightning of the lancet, through the split of the cloud of grace, brought forth a vein of rain the color of tulips. I said: that hand was a sea, so why did it bring out rubies from within, like a mine? From the jasmine branch a redbud blossomed; now the heavens have brought in this new custom. A twilight glow emerged from the column of dawn, as the hand of power put it to the test. A necklace of ruby from a rod of crystal, the diamond's point conjured up by magic. How did the bloodletter's hand bring molten fire out of the heart of frozen water? It struck me as strange, and this state made my wonder grow greater every moment. At last a very fine meaning brought a versatile thought to my mind. It said: no, the master's hand is a sea that crushes the pride of the Oxus with its waves. The lancet is a dark diver that fate sent down, humbled and head first. When it plunged its head into this sea, it brought up a branch of coral from within.