English
In Praise of Shah Sheikh Abu Ishaq
When God first raised the curved arch of this sky, He set within it the homes of Venus, Mercury, and Saturn.
With the hand of His power He made command the polo mallet and the sphere its ball, spinning it across the field of His craft.
He placed the sun's flame in the treasury of night, and lit the lamp of the moon from the lantern of the sun.
He cast the dice of time upon the six directions and set the seat of growth within the four pillars of the elements.
His will, by grace, gave the body a soul; His purpose, by generosity, taught the dust to speak.
For the grand procession of events, His decree hid a thousand branching paths within creation.
From the dawn of eternity to the end of all time, He placed the reins of the realm at the command of the king of Iran.
The young and fortunate world-conqueror, Sheikh Abu Ishaq, whom heaven itself named king and sultan.
A man of fate's own majesty and might, whose command puts destiny itself to the test.
Beneath the shade of his generosity, the blessed dome of his rank shelters both the shining moon and the radiant sun.
In no age has the eye of the sky seen such a crown-bestowing king, though it has circled the dust of the world for long.
Anyone who set his heart on the world-guarding king became as safe as game within a sanctuary.
When his hand entrusted the world's good and evil to his sharp swift sword and his musk-scattering pen,
Every matter that seemed hard turned easy, and every affair that was difficult became simple.
By the king's justice, whoever ruined even an ant's home through cruelty found his own head crushed like a snake's.
The tale of Khosrow Parviz is like this: a demon coveting the throne of Solomon.
Look at the sultan's very miracle: whoever claimed rebellion or plotted ingratitude against him,
Before his foot even reached the stirrup of pride, he was spurred straight into hell, his stirrup in torment.
Refuge of the world, good fortune has, until the day of reckoning, sworn its pact with you like your own servants.
From the moment your bow became the backer of justice, oppression fled to the wilderness like straggling vagrants.
When your wrath and your grace left their mark on all creation, in that very time when God laid the world's foundation,
Fate made a hell from the flame of your wrath, and destiny drew the water of eternal life from a single drop of your grace.
In the age of your justice, only one remains in twists and torment: the one who, like the curls of the beautiful, keeps a heart in disarray.
Wherever your lofty name has traveled, it has won praise; your generous soul has shown kindness to everyone alive.
May the world be to your liking and the friends of your glory thrive, for the arrow of the heavens has sacrificed your enemies.
May your life endure so long, until the day of reckoning, that one hundredth of it could never be counted.