English
On the Grace of Wakefulness
At dawn the nightingales of the garden raised a cry:
open your eyes and seize the grace of being awake.
Why do you sleep in this cradle of dust, unaware
that the holy ones are searching, asking for you?
How long will you sleep while the spirits watch over you
from the high windows of these seven dusky palaces?
Now that the caravan of grace arrives, rise up;
they may place the banner of leadership in your hand.
Look up at the dome of sky, at the seven planets;
see the fixed stars upon the dusky vault.
Behold the clarity of morning's mirror before
it clouds over with the breath of the oppressed.
How long will you sit frozen? Go and cry out a little;
borrow that lament from the belted bell ringers.
From the restlessness of the heavens you can tell
that they have set out, eager, in search of someone.
The cap of your power would brush against the sky,
if you would lay your head upon this threshold.
The close ones all bow in prostration; shame on you,
why are you heedless of the Almighty's majesty?
In that garden you could pin a flower in your hair,
so why plant no rosebush in this garden of yours?
If those scents of grace should reach your senses,
no wonder you would unseal fragrance richer than Tartar musk.
If you wish to light a gathering like a candle,
give a little laughter and a great deal of weeping.
With tears the color of heart's blood you can stain the page like a pen;
let your robe go, even if it is woven with gold thread.
For the sake of the friend, seek help from no one; and if
you are set on seeking, ask for it from blood weeping love.
A ruin that love has built into a home
laughs at the palace of paradise, and rightly so.
Whoever, by your love, gained sight like Joseph of Egypt
becomes honored, though he suffer humiliation for two days.
In the garden at dawn this song reached my ears
from the nightingales of the old nests in the rose grove:
If this is the safe flight of the garden,
then blessed is love's blame, and blessed its captivity.
A bride of an opening verse from the rose garden of thought
untied the veil from a treacherous, rose red beauty.
All allure, like the silver bodied beauties of Nowshad,
all coquetry, like the moon faced ones of Farkhar.