English
In Praise of the Prophet Muhammad, Seal of the Prophets
You whose name is never spoken except in honor of God,
the whole line of prophets found its order through your being.
In the hand of reason, the light of your striving is a lamp;
over the appetites of the self, your forbidding is a bridle.
A single flame of your spear's fire is the light of dawn,
and a single strand of your black banner is the hair of night.
Your saddle strap is the firm handhold that Gabriel
grips tightly for the sake of his own honor.
If your form had not come as a mercy to the world,
who would have brought us God's message?
Adam's clay was kneaded for forty days for this reason:
so the palace of faith might be completed with the brick of your being.
You whose name the glorious Throne has inscribed
upon the pages of its own existence, for the sake of your name.
What boiling cauldron of the heart do you hold, that in the kitchen
of «I am not like you» they cook you dishes of every kind?
In the procession of your glory, the Holy Spirit fell behind, helpless,
at the station of 'there is no place for him beyond this.'
What gift can we send you from afar?
All we hold in our hands is a blessing upon you, and peace.
Jesus foretold your coming through the ages;
by the blessing of that word, his breath gave life to the dead.
You whose feet's dust rivals the Throne itself,
the sealing of prophethood is sealed upon your perfection.
Because of the loftiness of your rank, your shadow never appeared
on equal terms with the sun in the field of visible things.
The morning breeze girded itself for your victory;
have you seen the wind lend its aid to a lamp?
Gabriel became the diver in the sea of revelation;
the essence is God's word, and your tongue is the jeweler of it.
Out of humility you chose the way of poverty,
yet from your generosity even the sea gained its wealth.
In a single delicate breath, bent on the nearness of two bows' length,
you passed like an arrow beyond the arching heavens.
The sky set a hundred thousand eyes upon your path,
so you would take no step except vanishing from its sight.
The heavens dressed in all their finery and came onto your road,
longing for the chance that you might glance at them.
You passed on, untroubled and free of them all,
to a place where Gabriel did not know the way.
Without any intermediary, into the treasury of your secret heart
came such jewels of grace and tender care for the servants.
In God's presence, just as we in yours,
our tongue of praise is bound fast by its own helplessness.
The proof of your miracle is the divine word,
not like Moses or Jonah, whose signs were snake and fish.
You who raised your banner from the summit of the Lote Tree,
you whose healing is written in the sura beginning 'Alif Lam Mim.'
The flight of your aspiration's bird is in the space of nearness;
the private chamber of your thought is the eternal world.
The arrowhead in your hand is a spring of pure water;
stone and clod, in your eyes, are the world-revealing cup.
You have drawn the sword's edge across the pen,
so the sword's command runs freely at the head of the pen.
You are the light and eye of both worlds; every night
you stand until dawn, steady as a candle on a single foot.
The carpet of prophethood was spread out for you
while Adam had not yet brought his baggage from nonexistence.
In the arena where the fire of your wrath blazed up,
truly not a drop of moisture remained in the sea's mouth.
When the water of your kindness first found its voice, the fire drew nonexistence into its mouth and fell silent.
Angels long for the dust beneath your feet, yet out of pure grace you sat among earthly people.
Your light came before Adam, your shadow after the prophets; that is why light and shadow, first and last, are joined in you.
In fear of your honor on the day of resurrection, the fire turns its back and takes to flight.
You whose lofty spirit makes the sky the ground beneath you, whose first step falls upon the seventh heaven.
If the spirit of God came forth from Mary's sleeve, a hundred Marys lie within the sleeve of your soul.
Whoever followed you became beloved of God; how far a rank, from where to where it reaches!
Destiny weighed itself against your resolve, and the earth proved lighter than a gnat's wing.
You whose eye piercing arrow flies from the bow of «you did not throw», you whose standard leads the marked cavalry of God.
From explaining your words the mouth fills with sugared sweets, and from remembering your character the breath of reason turns to amber.
Your firm resolve, aimed at rightful victory, shattered the army of disbelief and folded it like Chinese silk.
The turquoise sky would never have touched the hand of being, had the name Muhammad not been engraved on that ring.
Adam, whom a single grain drove out of paradise, now gleans from the harvest of your intercession.
You dispel the darkness of the world of souls, for your word is the sun and your breath the true dawn.
Your palm taught pebbles to sing God's praise; your heart made the shadow of the spear a storehouse of sustenance.
In the hour of nurture your very nature is mercy; in the hour of battle the vanguard of your army is dread.
The peacock of the lote tree is but a barnyard bird before your rank; the depths of the divine throne are the sanctuary of your Kaaba of glory.
When the hand of your prophethood struck the drum beneath the cloak, the echo of its sound seized both east and west.
Your miracle working finger, a keen edged sword, split the moon in two with a single stroke.
How far can any creature reach in praising you, when the mighty God has called your character magnificent?
By your nurture you are father to a whole world of people, yet in the tongue of fate you tenderly bear the name orphan.
God shaped your very being in eternity so that, like the path of truth, everything about you came out straight.
He robed your essence with his own attributes: at times generous, at times tender, at times merciful.
There is a secret in the two middle letters of your name, for in seven places the H and M point to it.
Who could stand firm against your army in its charge, when its arsenal is the dust and its champion the breath of the breeze?
You whose enemies' death is like the wasting sickness of the east wind, you whose foes' blindness is the kohl of thin air.
The blazing sun is a mere reflection of the light of your face; the pool of Kawthar is a single drop from the ocean of your grace.
In the gardens of revelation your tongue is the nightingale, and in the seas of the Quran your character is fragrant amber.
Reason cannot grasp the special qualities of your essence, nor can nature guide itself through the subtleties of your law.
By the light of your guidance the swift steed finds its way, and in describing your miracles even the pebble becomes eloquent.
Whoever comes to the door of your law without you is like a lock in hand: baffled to the roots of his teeth, useless as a key without its match.
Like a bud, anyone who catches even a hint of your character becomes smiling, tender of heart, and pleasant company.
Whoever breathes a sweet breath from the fire of his heart glows beneath the hem of your generosity like incense on live coals.
The one your acceptance lifts up is like a sword: though stripped bare, he is rich in worth.
But the one your rejection casts off, like an arrow, is left with a bloodied mouth, hamstrung, and dust on his head.
What use is a water-bright dagger in your grip? The very edge of your blade is water at your enemies' throats.
The world and its people are both worthless to you: one a fistful of dust on the head, the other lowly dust itself.
Where your power reigns, the heavens cannot turn; where your wrath falls, the earth cannot stay still.
Whatever came into your hand you gave away, and more; such generosity belongs to one who feels no shame at poverty.
A mind that is not the dust of your feet brings only headache; a fortune not from you does not endure.
Where your law draws the sword of its command, bare reason has no shield to choose.
Though the count of all the world's people comes from your bounty, in the realm of your giving there is no such thing as counting.
Neither the sent prophets nor Gabriel himself have leave to enter the veiled chamber of your private nearness to God.
So that the babbling of unbelief cannot accuse you of madness, the pen that traces your script does not ride a mere reed.
The prophets themselves have taken refuge in your shade; who is there whose work is not settled beneath the shadow of your glory?
You take pride in your poverty, and all of Adam's line takes pride in living beneath your banner.
The sea of your praise is so vast that the swimmers of speech find no crossing in it.
The moon-faced golden crescents have been slapped by your hand; humble poverty, dark of face, has become your intimate companion.
You, whom God's own grace has praised through God himself: where do we stand, and where does the praise of you stand?
Who are we even to breathe your praise, in the presence of 'By your life,' 'But for you,' and 'By the morning light'?
God's grace gathered all the perfections of creation into one thing and gave them to the mother of Muhammad, the Chosen One.
While Adam had not yet washed his hands of the clay of his making, you were already the master of the house of prophethood.
You are utterly free, yet your emblem is servanthood; you are the king of both worlds, and your royal tent is a simple cloak.
You held the trappings of the universe too paltry, so your resolve gave nothing that fell short of your nobility.
Though all the prophets came before you, like followers they all took you as their leader.
If the honor of your shadow ever fell to earth, the dust beneath you would become healing salve in the sun's eye.
The herald of 'so he drew near' on the night of intimate closeness barred even the Holy Spirit from that innermost privacy.
The marketplace of your mission drove, with the hand of perfection, the nail of abrogation into the door of the prophets' shop.
The pearl-scattering cloud is a pupil of your hand: it goes only where your hand points it.
You have reached the place where there is no place; you have seen what no one else has ever seen.
No prophet can wish to reach the height you have reached, for you arrived at that place of blessedness.
Every seeing eye owes its sight to you, for you rose above them all like the light of the eye itself.
You are mercy itself; it would even be wrong of me to say you were created merely for the sake of mercy to creation.
The four chosen companions you drew close to you are the indispensable pillars of the house of the sacred law.
To Abu Bakr the truthful you offered a portion, sharing every sweet food you tasted in private.
For Umar the discerner, whom no poison could harm, you nurtured an antidote out of your own care.
Until the very edge of the Day of Judgment it trails along, the robe you cut to fit the frame of Uthman.
There was none in the religion's world more clear sighted than Ali, for into both his eyes you breathed your own soul.
From these two lovely earrings, meaning the two he received from you, you hung a ring of gratitude in the ear of the highest heaven.
You whose mercy is the nurse of Adam's children: even if we are worth nothing, buy us all the same.
Though I, your servant, compose verses in your praise, I compose praise that is unworthy of you.
You have no need of praise from a hundred thousand men like me, yet by it I draw a little nearer to your God.
I am making myself great among the people, not truly performing a service for your sake.
I have spoken much idle nonsense for the sake of every kind of person; now I make amends for it by praising you.
For a good name in this world and the next, I make my own great name a beggar at your door.
I am utterly in need and your nature is utterly generous, so I turn my face of longing toward your bounty.
I am helpless in the grip of creditors who wronged me; I come begging at the street of your generosity.
Do not strip me of my honor, for all my life before the people I have claimed to be your servant and devoted to you.
I am ashamed of my sins and stained with wrongdoing, so how can I dare wish to meet your face?
Yet I know I will not be turned away in despair from your kindness, if I seek help by calling on you in prayer.
If the condition for your intercession is that we bring grave sins, then we have plenty of goods of that kind ready at hand.