In Praise of Shah Shoja Jalal al-Din

The breeze arrived and spread the scent of roses through the world, and the nightingale, from longing, filled the garden with its cry. The spring wind unclosed the heart of every bud, and the willow cast its shadow over the running water. Longing for the bright dark of the rose set a fresh fire once more in the weeping nightingale's wounded soul. Like a Sufi, the blossom danced to the nightingale's song, then threw its robe toward the gardener. See how the color of the cupbearer's cheek and the glow of the wine's ray cast their reflection on the rose and the redbud. The freeborn lily, though it has ten tongues, stood amazed, wondering who tied the seal of silence upon its tongue. Since the proud cypress has shown off its wealth again, one gladly lays down heads at its feet in delight. The drunken narcissus set the golden cup on its head, once it opened its eyes and cast a glance upon the world. The spring wind, the coming of Nowruz, and the scent of roses stirred the tumult of joy in old and young alike. When the bud opened its lips to praise the king of kings, the cloud dropped a thousand pearls into its mouth. To scatter as an offering, the rose gathered gold in its skirt and cast itself into the fortunate king's assembly. Sultan Jalal al-Din, whose bread, in a time of giving, sends a shivering fever through the nature of sea and mine. That lion charging king, whose command threw the lasso of authority around the neck of sky, earth, and time. As soon as he girded his waist for rule upon the royal throne, fortune tossed its cap of joy up to the heavens. He entrusted his planning to the hand of good fortune, and left the ordering of the realm to shrewd, subtle wisdom. The specks of dust boasted over moon and sun, once he raised the parasol of his shade above this dusty world. Today the fame of the king's generosity has cast the name of Hatim of Tay onto every tongue. My king, by the blessing of praising you, every pearl the sea of my mind casts ashore turns fit for royalty. Whoever did not become the dust beneath your feet, the hand of misfortune flung into the pit of shame, weakness, and disgrace. When my speech tried to describe the grandeur of your rank, it made the heavens doubt their very existence. Obeyd will no longer complain of the cruelty of the age, since good fortune has cast him upon this threshold. He had been drowning in the rising waves of a sea of grief; your kindness carried him to the shore of safety and peace. May the span of your life be everlasting, for the age has laid the foundation of your reign to endure forever.