English
In Praise of Shah Sheikh Jamal al-Din Abu Ishaq Inju
Happy is the lover who spends a moment with his beloved; joyful the heart whose sweetheart eases its sorrow.
I am drowning in the blood of my own heart, while another has her at his side as his companion.
A lover may travel to strangers' cities, but not like me, whose whole desire settles nowhere, for she is his city and homeland.
For anyone wounded and torn from his beloved, whatever king approaches, she alone is his true king.
Ask my eyes for the image of her stature, for that graceful cypress grows along the banks of my tears.
I am the breeze that longs to drift toward her; I am the dust of the road she walks upon.
Many an uproar has risen from the figures of beauties, but none like this turmoil she stirs in our age.
When will my heart return to my wounded breast? The poor captive is bound in her musk-scented chains.
How could the name of Obayd ever leave the minds of the tender-hearted, when his delicate verses remain his legacy?
How could the quarrelsome heavens do him wrong, when after all his lord and king protects him?
The king of the world, a second Alexander, Jamal al-Din, whose dagger-wielding servant is the very sun.
Master of the seven realms and sultan of the six directions; these nine heavens rest within his power.
At his threshold shines fortune and faith; and beside him stands the court of victory and triumph.
What you call a star is but the surge of his army; what you address as the sky is only his curtain-keeper.
From whatever side his banner appears, it seems victory sits there awaiting him.
Lightning leapt out from the flash of his dagger, for its own brilliance was ashamed before that gem.
The sea seems narrow and the mountain light in weight where his ocean of giving and mountain of dignity stand.
This heaven, which the ninth firmament sets as its dome, is but a pillar of his generosity, and Sirius one of his emblems.
O king whose pen pours out such abundance that this sevenfold sea is only a vapor of his oceans.
Your sword said, 'I will cut out the roots of your enemies'; and reason confessed, 'This is indeed his work.'
The turning sky, which once held people under its protection, today lies captive under his protection like a prisoner.
Your fortune is a heaven whose celestial bodies obey it; your fortune is a hunting hawk with the whole world as its prey.
With a single splendor your judgment opened the seven realms of the world, a judgment before which sun and sky stand ashamed.
Lord, may the heavens turn forever to your wish and will, as long as they orbit around the center of the earth.
May your life be so long that the ancient scribe of nature says his ledger holds countless lifetimes for you.