Our desert hath no bound,
Our hearts and souls have no rest.
World in world has ta’ en Form ‘s image ;
Which of these images is ours ?
When thou seest in the pathway a severed head,
Which is rolling toward our field,
Ask of it, ask of it, the secrets of the heart :
For of it thou wilt learn our hidden mystery.
How would it be, if an ear showed itself,
Familiar with the tongues of our songsters ?
How would it be, if a bird took wing,
Bearing the collar of the secret of our Solomon ?
What shall I say, what think ? for this tale
Is too high for our limited and contingent being.
How keep silence, when every moment
Our anguish grows more anguished ?
Partridge and falcon alike are flying together
Mid the air of our mountain-land ;
Mid an air which is the seventh atmosphere,
At the zenith whereof is our Saturn.
Are not the seven heavens below the empyrean ?
Beyond the empyrean is our revolution.
What place here for aspirations toward the empyrean
and the sky ?
Our journey is to the rose-garden of union.
Leave this tale. .Ask not of us,
For our tale is wholly interrupted.
Salahu ‘lhaq u din will declare to thee
The beauty of our Sultan, the King of kings.
Edited and Translated by R. A. Nicholson
