English
The Tyrant Warden and the Hermit
A wise man in a far corner of Syria
took up his home in the recess of a cave, apart from the world.
In that dark corner he made his place with patience,
his feet settled deep in the treasure of contentment.
I heard his name was Khodadust, God's friend;
an angel in nature, human only in skin.
The great laid their heads at his door,
for he would never bow his head at anyone's door.
The pure, self-sacrificing mystic craves one thing:
to beg from his own soul the abandonment of greed.
For each hour his appetite tells him, 'Give in,'
and drags him from village to village in disgrace.
In the land where this clear-sighted old man lived
there was a cruel border warden.
Whenever he found some helpless person,
he would clench his fist and crush them with his strength.
A world-burner, merciless, killing without cause;
from his bitterness a whole world's face turned sour.
One group fled from that oppression and shame,
and carried his evil name through the towns.
Another group stayed behind, poor and wounded,
and set the wheel of cursing him turning.
Where the hand of tyranny grows long,
you will never see people's lips parted in a smile.
Now and then he came to visit the sheikh,
but Khodadust would not even glance at him.
One time the warden said to him: 'O fortunate one,
do not turn your face away from me in disgust.
You know I mean to be your friend;
why do you hold this enmity against me?
Grant that I am not the leader of the land,
yet in honor I stand no lower than a dervish.
I don't ask you to place me above anyone,
just treat me the way you treat all others.'
The clear-minded worshipper heard these words,
grew stirred, and said: 'O warden, pay attention.
Your very existence is the source of people's misery,
and I do not love the misery of people.
You are the enemy of the very ones I love;
I cannot imagine that you are a friend to me.
Why should I falsely hold you dear,
when I know that God holds you as an enemy?
Do not kiss my hand as though you were my friend;
go instead and love the ones I love.
Even if they tear the skin from Khodadust,
he will never make a friend of his beloved's enemy.
I marvel at the sleep of that hard-hearted man,
when a whole people lie awake sick at heart because of him.'