| WHEN the world-illuming sun rushed, upon Night like a brigand, |
|
| My weeping bedewed the face of the rose. |
| My tears washed away sleep from the eye of the narcissus, |
| My passion wakened the grass and made it grow. |
| The Gardener tried the power of my song, |
5 |
| He sowed my verse and reaped a sword. |
| In the soil he planted only the seed of my tears |
| And wove my lament with the garden, as warp and woof. |
| Tho' I am but a mote, the radiant sun is mine: |
| Within my bosom are a hundred dawns. |
10 |
| My dust is brighter than Jamshid's cup-23 |
| It knows things that are yet unborn in the world. |
| My thought hunted down and slung from the saddle a deer. |
| That has not yet leaped forth from the covert of non-existence. |
| Fair is my garden ere yet the leaves are green: |
15 |
| Unborn roses are hidden in the skirt of my garment. |
| I struck dumb the musicians where they were gathered together, |
| I smote the heart-string of the universe, |
| Because the lute of my genius hath a rare melody: |
| Even to comrades my song is strange. |
20 |
| I am born in the world as a new sun, |
| I have not learned the ways and fashions of the sky |
| Not yet have the stars fled before my splendour, |
| Not yet is my quicksilver astir; |
| Untouched is the sea by my dancing rays, |
25 |
| Untouched are the mountains by my crimson hue. |
| The eye of existence is not familiar with me; |
| I rise trembling, afraid to show myself. |
| From the East my dawn arrived and routed Night, |
| A fresh dew settled on the rose of the world. |
30 |
| I am waiting for the votaries that rise at dawn; |
| Oh, happy they who shall worship my fire! |
| I have no need of the ear of To-day, |
| I am the voice of the poet of To-morrow |
| My own age does not understand my deep meanings, |
35 |
| My Joseph is not for this market. |
| I despair of my old companions, |
| My Sinai burns forsake of the Moses who is coming. |
| Their sea is silent, like dew, |
| But my dew is storm-ridden, like the ocean. |
40 |
| My song is of another world than theirs: |
| This bell calls other travellers to take the road, |
| Many a poet was born after his death, |
| Opened our eyes when his own were closed., |
| And journeyed forth again from nothingness, |
45 |
| Like roses blossoming o'er the earth of his grave. |
| Albeit caravans have passed through this desert, |
| They passed, as a camel steps, with little sound. |
| But I am a lover: loud crying is my faith |
| The clamour of Judgment Day is one of my minions. |
50 |
| My song exceeds the range of the chord, |
| Yet I do not fear that my lute will break. |
| Twere better for the water drop not to know my torrent, |
| Whose fury should rather madden the sea. |
| No river will contain my Oman:24 |
55 |
| My flood requires whole seas to hold it. |
| Unless the bud expand into a bed of roses, |
| It is unworthy of my spring-cloud's bounty. |
| Lightnings slumber within my soul, |
| I sweep over mountain and plain. |
60 |
| Wrestle with my sea, if thou art a plain; |
| Receive my lightning if thou art a Sinai. |
| The Fountain of Life hath been given me to drink. |
| I have been made an adept of the mystery of Life. |
| The speck of dust was vitalised by my burning song: |
65 |
| It unfolded wings-and became a firefiy. |
| No one hath. told the secret which I will tell |
| Or threaded a pearl of thought like mine |
| Come, if thou would'st know the secret of everlasting life |
| Come, if thou would'st win both earth and heaven. |
70 |
| Heaven taught me this lore, |
| I cannot hide it from comrades. |
| O Saqi arise and pour wine into the cup! |
| Clear the vexation of Time from my heart |
| The sparkling liquor that flows from Zemzen25 |
75 |
| Were a beggar to worship it, he would become a king. |
| It makes thought more sober and wise, it makes the keen eye keener, |
| it gives to a straw the weight of a mountain, |
| And to foxes the strength of lions. |
80 |
| It causes dust to soar to the Pleiades |
| And a drop of waters well to the breadth of the sea. |
| it turns silence Into the din of Judgment Day, |
| it makes the foot of the partridge red |
| with blood of the hawk. |
| Arise and pour pure wine into my cup, |
85 |
| Pour moon beams into the dark night of my thought, |
| That I may lead home the wanderer |
| And imbue the idle looker on with rest less impatience; |
| And advance hotly on a new quest |
| And become known as the champion of a new spirit: |
90 |
| And be to people of insight as the pupil to the eye, |
| And sink into the ear of the world, like a voice; |
| And exalt the worth of Poesy |
| And sprinkle the dry herbs with my tears."26 |
| Inspired by the genius of the Master of Rum.27 |
95 |
| I reherarse the sealed book of secret lore. |
| His soul is the flaming furnace, |
| I am but as the spark that gleams for a moment. |
| His burning candle consumed me, I the moth; |
| His wine overwhelmed my goblet. |
100 |
| The master of Rum transmuted my earth to gold |
| And set my ashes aflame. |
| The grain of sand set forth from the desert, |
| That it might win the radiance of the sun. |
| I am a wave and I will come to rest in his sea, |
105 |
| That I may make the glistening pearl mine own. |
| I who am drunken with the wine of his song. |
| Draw life from the breath of his words, |
| 'Twas night my heart would fain lament. |
| The silence was filled with my cries to God. |
110 |
| I was complaining of the sorrows of the world. |
| And bewailing the emptiness of my cup. |
| At last mine eye could endure no more, |
| Broken with fatigue it went to sleep. |
| There appeared the Master, formed in the mould of Truth, |
115 |
| Who wrote the Koran in Persian.28 |
| He said, "O frenzied lover, |
| Take a draught of love's pure wine. |
| Strike29 the chords of thine heart and rouse a tumultuous strain. |
| Dash thine head against the goblet and thine eye against the lancet! |
120 |
| Make thy laughter the source of a hundred sighs. |
| Make the hearts of men bleed with thy tears |
| How long wilt thou be silent, like a bud? |
| Sell thy fragrance cheap, like the rose! |
| Tongue-tied, thou art in pain: |
125 |
| Cast thyself upon the fire, like rue! |
| Like the bell, break silence at last, and from every limb. |
| Utter forth a lamentation! |
| Thou art fire: fill the world with thy glow! |
| Make others burn with thy burning! |
130 |
| Proclaim the secrets of the old wine seller;30 |
| Be thou a surge of wine, and the crystal cup thy robe! |
| Shatter the mirror of fear, |
| Break the bottles in the bazaar |
| Like the reed-flute, bring a message from the reed-bed |
135 |
| Give to Majnun a message from the tribe of Laila!31 |
| Create a new style for thy song, |
| Enrich the assembly with thy piercing strains |
| Up, and re-inspire every living soul |
| Say 'Arise !' and by that word quicken the living |
140 |
| Up, and set thy feet on another path |
| Put aside the passionate melancholy of old ! |
| Become familiar with the delight of singing; bell of the caravan, awake!" |
| At these words my bosom was enkindled |
145 |
| And swelled with emotion like the flute; |
| I rose like music from the string |
| To prepare a Paradise for the ear. |
| I unveiled the mystery of the Self |
| And disclosed its wondrous secret. |
150 |
| My being was an unfinished statue, |
| Uncomely, worthless, good for nothing. |
| Love chiselled me: I became a man. |
| And gained knowledge of the nature of the universe. |
| I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky. |
155 |
| And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon. |
| Many a night I wept for Man's sake |
| That I might tear the veil from Life's mysteries. |
| And extract the secret of Life's constitution |
| From the laboratory of phenomena. |
160 |
| I who give beauty to this night, like the moon, |
| Am as dust in devotion to the pure Faith (Islam) |
| A Faith renowned in hill and dale. |
| Which kindles in men's hearts a flame of undying song: |
| It sowed an atom and reaped a sun, |
165 |
| It harvested a hundred poets like Rumi and Attar. |
| I am a sigh: I will mount to the heavens; |
| I am but smoke, yet am I sprung of fire. |
| Driven onward by high thoughts, my pen |
| Cast abroad the secret behind this veil, |
170 |
| That the drop may become co-equal with the sea |
| And the grain of sand grow into a Sahara. |
| Poetising is not the aim of this Masnavi. |
| Beauty-worshipping and love-making is not its aim. |
| I am of India: Persian is not my native tongue; |
175 |
| I am like the crescent moon: my cup is not full. |
| Do not seek from me charm of style in exposition. |
| Do not seek not from me Khansar and Isfahan.32 |
| Although the language of Hind is sweet as sugar, |
| Yet sweeter is the fashion of Persian speech. |
180 |
| My mind was enchanted by its loveliness. |
| My pen became as a twig of the Burning Bush. |
| Because of the loftiness of my thoughts, |
| Persian alone is suitable to them. |
| O Reader I do not find fault with the wine-cup. |
185 |
| But consider attentively the taste of the wine. |
