A Tale

Someone called a dark-skinned man ugly, and got a reply that left him stunned: I did not shape my own face, so why blame me as if I did wrong? What does my ugly face have to do with you? After all, I am not the one who paints beauty and ugliness. I am exactly what you wrote for me from the start; I added nothing, took away nothing, O nurturer of your servants. You know well that I have no power; you are the absolute Almighty, and who am I? If you show me the way, I reach safety; if you let me lose it, I am stranded from the journey. If the Creator of the world does not help, how can a servant ever live in piety? How well the poor, empty-handed man put it: he repented at night and broke the vow by dawn. If He grants the repentance, it will hold firm, for our own promise is unsteady and weak. By your truth, seal my eyes against falsehood; by your light, do not burn me in the fire tomorrow. In my wretchedness my face fell to the dust, while the dust of my sin rose to the heavens. O cloud of mercy, rain down just once, for before the rain no dust can last. My sin leaves me no standing in this kingdom, yet there is no road to any other realm. You know the secrets of the tongue-tied; you lay the balm on wounded hearts.