Elegies

This borrowed life is no place to fasten your heart; the very thing that soothed the soul now stings the heart like a blade. When the jewel of the spirit, in the throes of death, rises from this lowly world to the world above, then blame not the tears of one left behind, for longing snatches the reins of reason from his hands. Have you not seen, strange to say, a green tree in the garden snap like a fresh branch the moment its water drained away? How could the night of parting not be bitter when only at the dawn of resurrection can you meet again? The world is set upon water and life upon the wind; how can you trust a seat built on water and wind? Like an army that hears the call to march, Strike the tents! while it has not yet saddled its horse. The bow of a life stretched to forty and fifty years, count it snapped from the thumb by nature's mighty hand. If time hands you honey, do not be fooled, for it will fill your mouth just the same with bitter poison. God the Mighty and Glorious has taken back His servant; you too be patient, you who worship God. The world is a house of illusion, and the ego and desire are demons; God pardon the one who slipped out light of load and free of sin. Whether we accept fate's decree or refuse it, no lion's courage can break free of this snare. What good is it to sit head bowed like a violet, spending grief in vain on those two drunken eyes? If the sun has set, there is still no cause for fear as long as you have the shelter of Abu Bakr Sa'd Zangi.

A grief struck my heart, and my soul's peace was gone; and whoever came into this world left it, alas, in sorrow. The eye of the spring has good reason to weep aloud for the garden, now that its tall cypress is gone. The lovely tree had grown to its full height, then suddenly, to the gardener's grief, it vanished from sight. The world mourned him as it mourned the blood of Siavash; it shed the blood of Siavashes, and its eyes ran with tears. The smoke of my heart rose from the window; no pot's smoke ever rose like this, all the way to the sky. As long as fire exists, no one's harvest has burned like this; beware the fire whose smoke reached the heavens. No one's door and wall have known such a downpour of disaster; on our roof the drainpipe ran with tears of blood. Bitter is the drink of separation's grief, and more bitter still for a cypress-tall youth who left, longing, before his time. So much blood, in truth, flowed from the wound that it drained from the eyes of his loving mother and father. My bleeding heart turned black like the poppy, now that the fresh young cypress has left the garden. We took wounds that drew neither blood nor a cry; ah, what a sting was this, that went straight to the bone. The sober do not reproach the grief-stricken, for his memory will not leave my heart, and the beloved is gone. The light and lamp of his people passed from before our eyes the way a flashing bolt of lightning passes, and so he went. But there is no cure for the deadly wind of death's wrath; many a leaf like this has scattered on the autumn wind. We are all a caravan bound for the next world, out of the land of life; he was a man who set out ahead of the caravan. May the fortune of this noble house and its brothers last forever, though one of the household is gone. O pure soul, may your resting place in the earth be blessed; you were not the only one on whom time's cruelty fell. The wise know for certain that the bird of the soul found its freedom the moment it left this nest. Beware that dark night and that dawn when no word came from you, and only our wailing rose. This was no wound that a salve could heal; what use is medicine for the heart once the soul is gone? Even so, I have not fully told the story of grieving for you; this is but one in a hundred that my grieving heart has spoken. Saadi always bears the burden of parting from him, but this time the reins of patience slipped from his hands. It was the decree of God, a conjunction from the heavens, that came upon the hand and sword of the mighty king. May his life be long, for over the killing of the innocent he once cried regret, but by then the arrow had left the bow.

By this event I've learned: never give your heart to anyone again, given the sorrow this occasion has brought. When the moon of Abu Bakr Sa'd's fortune set, the rising star of his own son's fortune was still fading too. The hope of safety and well-being kept whispering in the heart's ear: long live the fortune of Abu Bakr, son of Sa'd Zangi. The first wound had not yet fully healed when the cruel hand of time branded him with another. Not the kind of grief that ever leaves the heart, not the kind of story that ever slips from memory. The kingdom is a beautiful bride, but this fickle-hearted one keeps no faith with her groom. It is not only Solomon's throne that went with the wind: wherever there is a throne, it too blows away. It is the people who change; otherwise the earth is still the same realm of Kaykhosrow, Tur, and Qobad. We have heard that the world befriends everyone; but no one says it ever kept its promise to a single soul. Like a child it played with all and betrayed all; stranger still, not one of them grew wise from it. Given such betrayal, I do not know why the kingdom is sweet; but what use is that, when Farhad carves only into stone? They came from their mothers with no treasure, kingdom, or retinue, and they leave just as bare as the day they were born. May the pure God, in His grace and generosity, forgive the pure soul of Abu Bakr, son of Sa'd Zangi. He built up all his dwelling in the resting place of the hereafter, for this world's foundation cannot be trusted to last. If a man does not sow his seed in the sowing season, at harvest time he will be a beggar at other people's fields. There is hope that the night of the grave will be bright for him, since he sent his lamp of good deeds on ahead. On the day of reckoning may God, mighty and glorious, reward him well, for he dealt justly and did good. Whatever he did in fairness, he did to his own benefit; measure by the same rule, then, one who acts unjustly. People rule wrongly and imagine that a decree will always keep its force. A thousand kingly fortunes and lordships are slaves to humble servitude and a neck kept free of sin. If the tears of the people of Shiraz were joined together, they would flow like the Tigris through Baghdad. But what use is wailing against the turning of the age? Those who truly know have never cried out against fate. If the autumn wind has scattered one blossoming rosebush, may the swaying cypress endure, and the shade of the boxwood live on. Still the face of safety turns toward the land; still the back of good fortune rests upon the throne. The crown of power and might is not won by strength of arm; destiny can grant a seven-year-old what it denies a seventy-year-old. Great and small bow their heads in obedience to him, in that tribe where even the young are noble in nature. The moon has set and a second dawn has filled the world; his life has ended, may your own life be long. You will prosper if you heed your servant's counsel, for whoever ignored these words never won the world. Listen to the same advice I gave your grandfather: I will not remain, but my words will stay in your memory. Do not needlessly ruin an innocent heart, if you want your house and kingdom to flourish for years.

No garden held a tree to equal his, yet the storm-wind of death tore it up without mercy. Who would trust the friendship of this world? Every face it turns to you has a wandering, faithless eye. By your grace, God, keep his soul at peace; with that eternal life, make him content beyond this one. Sa'd ibn Abu Bakr, son of Zangi, has not truly died, for his hopeful son remains as his shadow on the earth. If the sun has set, the shadow still remains; long life to his household, his kin, and all he loved. May it stay forever green and young in the garden of the realm, that deep-rooted, flourishing tree of fortune. I have offered one prayer for you and one against your enemy; I will speak it, but if it is not good, do not approve it. Whoever sets his foot in the stirrup to oppose you, his horse will return home with no rider on its back.

Who will bind the broken heart again with a healing salve? Who will pull the thorn from the weary orphan's foot? The arrow of grief at his loss lodged so deep in people's chests that its notch sank into their very souls. The pen wanders about like a slaughtered bird with its head cut off, black blood running from its beak. The mouth of the dead still speaks in meaning, even if it no longer has a tongue for words. It warns: never be fooled by the world and its wealth; one day, of necessity, it will make you leave it behind. What good is a golden cup if the drink is poisoned? What a pity, the treasure of eternal life, had it not held this snake. Do not rely too much on the world's fortune lasting, for everyone has tasted its treacherous nature. Look at the state of this lord of faith and rule: may the grace of God's mercy fall on his watchful soul. The sky lifted the royal crown from his head and set upon his grave a cap and turban of dust. Even if base time nurtures you with honey and sugar, it keeps no faith with a friend; do not count on it. No more will the blossom smile in the garden of victory, for blood now flows from the eyes of the trees. How can the poor not grieve at his absence, when sorrow grew greater and the one who eased their sorrow is gone? Set your hope on a being who, when he leaves this world, leaves good marks behind among the people. From the tears the loved ones shed upon the carpet, the courtyard looked like the ground on a day of rain. All his life, with an eye toward a day like this, he kept his midnight prayers and his prayers at dawn. Do not think he is alone in the enclosure of earth; his deeds are companion enough in the grave and at the resurrection. Though his realm, command, treasure, and wealth are gone, the mercy of the forgiving Lord remains for him. When the day of ending deeds comes, it is the decree of eternity; what use then is counting his prayers and his acts? Yet a friend weeps bitterly for a friend, even if the friend does not return for all his weeping. A grief struck the face of the age by fate, a burden that bent even the sky's enduring back double. This was the same wound and sorrow that came to the Emigrants and Helpers when the Prophet passed. The shelter of the poor and the shield of the stranger has gone; Lord, cover him with your forgiveness, you who conceal our faults. Among the household of the cherubim in the holy realm, set him down around the tent of the pure spirits. The enemy who shouted in the crowd that when a friend dies the world falls to ruin, his thinking was mistaken. There was never a single tree in this garden of the kingdom whose birds would scatter after this. The name of Abu Bakr Sa'd ibn Zangi did not die, for his renowned heir, Sa'd Abu Bakr, remains. A lamp from which another lamp is lit may go out, yet its light lives on. The lord of time and earth, Muzaffar al-Din, who stands firm to raise and proclaim the faith. Great God, with glory, fortune, and every desire, grant him a long life of many years. By the good men, guard him from the evil eye; by the upright, keep him safe from the crooked. For until the center point is fixed at the origin, the compass cannot draw its circle true.

It would be right for the sky to weep tears of blood upon the earth, mourning the fall of the reign of al-Musta'sim, Commander of the Faithful. Muhammad, if you would raise your head from the dust on Judgment Day, raise it now and see this Judgment already fallen upon your people. The blood of the ruthlessly slaughtered has poured past the threshold of the sacred court's cherished ones, while our own eyes weep blood into our sleeves. Beware the turning of the world and the reversals of time; no one ever imagined that things so great could come to this. Open your eyes, you who once saw the splendor of the Holy Gate, the Caesars of Rome bowing their heads to its dust, the Khaqans of China too. The blood of the children of the Prophet's kin was spilled upon the very ground where kings once laid their brows in reverence. Oh, if a fly should so much as land on the blood of those pure ones, its mouth would find honey turned bitter until the Day of Judgment. After this we can expect no more comfort from the world; once the gem falls out, only pitch remains in the ring. The Tigris runs with blood now, and if it flows downstream from here, it will knead the soil of the palm groves of Mecca's valley with blood. The face of the sea drew tight at this terrible news; you can see the frown of grief in the wrinkles the waves have raised upon it. Weeping is useless, and it is pointless to try washing away with water the grief branded on a man's heart or the mark seared on a horse's flank. Lament does not befit the graves of martyrs, for the least reward they receive is the highest paradise. Yet out of Muslim brotherhood and along the path of mercy, a kind heart burns with grief at the loss of those dear ones. Wait until tomorrow, when you will see the day of justice and resurrection, and the buried rise from the grave still marked with bloody wounds. The dust their feet had touched was kohl for the eyes; on the Day of Reckoning their blood will be the rouge of the wide-eyed maidens of paradise. What harm if the wounded body rolls in dust and blood, when the pure soul dwells in the shelter of the Lord of the Worlds' grace? One should not lean on the world or set one's heart on it, for the sky is sometimes loving, brother, and sometimes full of spite. The turning wheel of heaven is like two millstones on the ground, and between them, day and night, the hearts of men are ground to flour. The strength of a brave man's arm cannot hold out against death; once fate arrives, no firm resolve or sound counsel avails. The Indian blade will not leave its sheath on the day of battle for the lionhearted man who has death lying in ambush for him. Experience is worthless once fortune turns away; what good is charging forward for one whose saddle has slipped? Men fight like vultures over the carrion of this world; brother, if you are wise, sit apart like the Simurgh. What is the worth of a worldly kingdom? This is my one plea to God: let Him keep for us the realm of faith and certainty. Lord, keep this pillar of Islam in safety, under the protection of the just king, the leader of the realm and the faith. The king of auspicious fortune, refuge of the age, Abu Bakr Sa'd, whose character is admired and whose qualities are the finest. It is wise to trust his clear-sighted judgment; with those who hold the upper hand, one should speak only with gentleness. So over land and sea, well-wishers pray for his fortune: a thousand blessings on your soul from the Soul-Giver. May your days be blessed and your good fortune lasting, your banner victorious, your fate bearing fruit, and your success assured.

The hearts of strangers bleed for you; I don't know how the hearts of your own kin must feel. How can I hold back the reins of weeping when patience has slipped from my grasp? Is the king not coming to the center of his army? For the royal banner lies overturned. No more greenery will sprout at the water's edge, for the rain now falls as floods of blood. The springs run the color of Siyavash's spilled blood; their waters are crimson as red jujube. Do not ask patience of a soul torn from its beloved, for the burden is far beyond this wretched one's strength. I once said, one should stay calm in the burning fire; but calm is also the only cure. For this world is a faithless, bloodthirsty master, and time a loveless, base mother. The cruelty of the age is not new to us; it has run on from Adam's day until now. I don't know what this letter says, but I can see its heading is written in blood. The great ones wait with watching eyes and hearts; the nobles count the hours and the moments. The servants scatter pearls and gems; the maids adorn their arms and wrists. Malik Khan, Miyaq, Badr, and Tarkhan ride out on swift Arabian steeds, to bring the just king Sa'd Abu Bakr into the palace hall of kings. The women of the harem rejoice on the arched roof, ready to shower pearls upon his crown. The earth said, from now on we'll live in delight; the sky replied, only if they let us. They hoped for the crown and royal throne, unaware they would carry in his coffin instead. What has become of the fair faces of the harem, that they cast straw on their heads and dust on their jewels? One should not tear one's clothes or claw one's face, for people are subject to the Creator's command. Yet with a grief this scorching to the heart, it cannot be that they raise no cry. Yes, the bereaved may weep; it is fitting that the wronged should wail. I don't know what this letter says, but I can see its heading is written in blood. That thriving rosebush went with a gust of wind, leaving only regret, an outcry, and a memory. The eye that learns from grief might sleep a while, if only this flood of blood would cease. What can one say to the turning of time? This base age will never raise such nobility again. The wheel of the world will never bring forth again a wise, pure-blooded man like him. The wise ones of old spoke truly: I wish my mother had never given me birth, that my eyes had never existed, so they might not have seen such fire fall upon the world. Those who wished him well had imagined a refuge had come to shore up the state. The time had come for that proud one to set the royal crown upon his head. What a day it was for that renowned tree, which gave the garden its spring and its fruit. But the evil eye lay in ambush, and a fierce wind swept him from his garden. I don't know what this letter says, but I can see its heading is written in blood. After the death of the young, may no rose ever bloom; after the rose is gone, may no nightingale sing in the meadow. No one knows a friend's worth while he lives, may no one ever learn it this way. That fresh flower went into the ground in sorrow; may the morning breeze make roses grow from his bones. He left this sweet world in bitterness; may pure, sweet water be poured into his throat. The days of Sa'd Abu Bakr have ended; may God bring him into His mercy. As the reward for dying thirsty in a strange land, may he receive wine from the Prophet's own hand. In that other world, may God, from the unseen realm, shower His mercy upon his head. Whoever's heart does not burn at this grief, may God set that heart aflame in this same fire. In this world may the just, victorious king, his renowned Muhammad, endure. May fortune grant him the glow of good men, and nurture him in the ways of the righteous. May God lift the soul of Sa'd, with the spirit of Abu Bakr, to the heights of rest and peace. And with his friends content and his fortune triumphant, may he pass many an age to come. I don't know what this letter says, but I can see its heading is written in blood.