On the Death of Amir Fakhr al-Din Abu Bakr, May His Grave Be Blessed

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.