The Opening

One night I burned the oil of thought, lighting the lamp of eloquence. A scattered talker heard my words and found no path but to say 'well done.' But he laced it with a kind of malice, the sort that forces a cry of pain. He said: his thought is sharp, his judgment high in this manner of piety, empty talk, and advice, but not in wielding brick and club and heavy mace; that art is sealed off, left to other men. He does not know that I have no taste for war, or else my room for speech would not be narrow. I could draw the blade of my tongue and strike through a whole world of speech with my pen. Come then, let us clash in this manner, and make a stone the pillow for the enemy's head. Good fortune comes by the Judge's grace, not in the grip and arm of the strong. When the high heavens grant no wealth, it is not caught by sheer manliness. No harm comes to the ant from its weakness, nor do lions eat by claw and force alone. Since you cannot raise a hand against the skies, you must make peace with how they turn. If a long life is written for you, no snake will sting you, no sword, no lion. But if no share of life is left to you, even the healing balm will kill you like poison. When Rustam had eaten his last portion of days, didn't Shaghad wipe him from existence?