English
Ode 21: In Praise of Sultan Muizz al-Din Uways Jalayiri
The world flourishes by the grace of the triumphant king, the sun that spreads justice, the Jamshid of our age.
Sultan over the four elements, Solomon of the six directions, master of the seven lands, architect of the nine heavens.
He rose so gloriously that the gardens of Eden envy him a hundred thousand times with every breath.
The stars turned favorable, the heavens grew kind, fortune became helpful, and the days agreeable.
Every tyranny has withdrawn from the world like a bent bow, and injustice sits alone in a corner like an earring.
Now no body suffers the cruelty of fate, and no heart carries the dust of the earth's oppression.
Gone are the days when the leopard hunted the deer; now the lion settles peacefully among the wild asses.
Tyranny and injustice hid away in the land of nothingness once the justice of the world's king became manifest.
Sultan Uways, the world-holding king who bestows crowns, that famous son of a king and grandson of a monarch.
A king whose blessed canopy's reflection shames the moon and puts the sun to disgrace.
A Rustam in courage, whose arm and blade in battle recall Heydar the Charging and his sword Zulfiqar.
The horizons were drowning in a flood of turmoil; he lifted them clear of the rising waves of disaster.
What a miracle his sword is: at the heat of its wound the mountain wails in terror and the sea trembles in panic.
What a swift courier his pen is: a thousand times each moment it runs from Zanzibar to China, from China back to Zanzibar.
His sound judgment prevails like destiny; his binding command triumphs like fate itself.
O king, the harvest of the sea and the coin of the mine hold no worth in the eye of your high ambition.
The Artist of creation, to fashion the satin of the nine heavens for your court, made his hand golden-embroidered for you.
Good fortune is a faithful servant at your door, a relic left at your presence by your ancestors.
Prosperity is a loyal ally who, with a sincere heart, has made a firm pact with your triumphant destiny.
A high mountain would speak of patience only after you; a wide-hearted sea would offer royal pearls only after you.
Before your faithfulness the fresh spring seems soiled; before your generosity the wild flood stands ashamed.
The whole purpose of creation is your noble being; O you in whom all creation takes its pride.
On the day when, from the roar of the warriors on the battlefield, the sea boils over and the sky begs for mercy,
that day the heads of the rebellious are trodden underfoot, and the bodies of the brave are laid low in the dust.
The thunder of war drums echoes through the sky, and the lightning of the blade strikes sparks into the hearts of lions.
The tempered arrowhead breaks through the coat of mail; the spear's point passes clean through the armor.
Heads rain down from the air like hail, and blood pours from the hills like a torrent.
On such a day, when the mountain itself shakes in dread of the arrow's wound and the shining sword,
your triumphant arm, at the heart of the battle, raises dust from the champions and wrings screams from the brave.
Your sword, in that hour, from the blood of the fallen champions, heaps mounds of the slain and turns them into fields of red tulips.
My king, Ubayd, who praises you with his whole soul, admits, though, that his tribute falls short.
He holds much hope in your exalted majesty, O you in whom everyone in the world places their hope.
As long as water flows and wind moves along its path, as long as the mountain stands still and the earth holds firm,
and as long as that light-giving orb we call the sun keeps circling around the center of the earth,
may your rank and glory forever increase, may your fortune and your life endure without end.
May good luck ever stand at your right hand, may ease and success forever attend your resolve on the left.