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Tarjiband

av Shah Nimatullah

I

Ah, by Your Love,
     ruined hearts are rebuilt,
And from Your sorrow
     miserable souls are made happy.

In the arch of Your eyebrow,
     Khosrow found the Qiblih of his prayers,
And in Your enchanting eyes,
     Farhad, his seduction.

Your ruby lips grant life
     its gratification,
And the tip of Your curl
     opens the know of aspiration.

Who can ever become
     a professor of Your Love
Who was never a student
     of Your sadness?

We’ve abandoned
     our own desires.
On the Path of the Friend,
     let whatever happens, happen.

Last night,
     in the height of my intoxication,
I stumbled down
     by the doorway of the mosque.

Praises of His stature
     were being sung by a minstrel there.
Whoever came round
     stood by, listening happily.

I followed
     that assembly
To see if I could grasp
     their litany.

Suddenly he appeared,
     their spiritual leader;
He mounted the pulpit
     and cried out:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
      cast from the face of the Friend.

II

A handsome man
     from the wine-seller’s shop
Was drunk and out walking
     on the road last night

He had placed in his ear,
     like the pearl of a lover,
The ring of slavery
     to the master of the fire temple.

He had a goblet in one hand
     and a cloak over his shoulders
And, like a Christian, had wrapped
     a girdle about his waist.

I said,
     “O raiser of the sober,
From where have you come
     so drunk and beyond your senses?”

He gave me the goblet
     which reveals the world
And said “Here,
     take a drink of this wine.”

I asked, “Whose cask
     did you draw this from?”
He bit his lip and said in reply,
     “Shh…silence.

“If you want to be
     a confidant
Of the tavern of ruin,
     make sure you keep the secret.”

So I questioned the master, asking of him,
     “From whom comes all this passion?”
Nobody would part their lips to speak,
      but suddenly the harp sounded forth:

That everything throughout the world,
      everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

III

Chief of Beauty’s dominion,
     that tall and ravishing
Capricious Turk,
     genies and men enraptured.

Enthralled by his lovely face,
     men and women
Run amuck, crazy
     from his disturbance.

His splendor was the moon
     in the constellation of Goodness.
His height was a cypress,
     towering in the garden of Elegance.

As he strolled out the monastery door,
     everyone who saw him went crazy.
Upon me, worn-out, cast down in a frenzy,
     he suddenly glanced in grace.

“Lover,” he said,
     “lover, so dismayed,
There is no love
     without disgrace.

“If you really want to join us
     and enter our circle,
How long will you endure
     solitude and separation?”

“Cast away faith and blasphemy
     on the Path of the Friend.
Come into the tavern of ruin and drink,
     drink the wine!”

And when I abandoned
     my imitating ways,
He taught me
     in the way of knowledge:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

IV

When that drunken Turk
     took up the bow,
Whoever saw him
     instantly drew his heart from his soul.

I was in doubt
     over reflection on his waist,
But my suspicions abandoned me
     when he girded his loins.

“O Khosrow of all
     who possess faith and fidelity,
Come, let us go for a walk,”
     I cried.

“Let us travel together
     through the ‘garden of roses’
So that I, who’ve become heartless,
     can also lose my soul.”

He went into the garden
     and bloomed like a flower,
Assuming a beautiful
     purple-like hue.

The cupbearer,
     when he got drunk,
Took the seal
     from the lip of the bottle.

From polishing its face,
     the wine became warm,
And the rust was erased
     from the mirror of the soul.

The heaviness caused
     by the pain in the heart
Was removed by the dregs
     of the wine.

From the purified neck
     of the bottle
The wine began to sigh,
     and cried:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

V

The insolent glance
     of that capricious idol,
Left and right, slays human beings
     with its teasing and flirting.

Behind a curtain
     a harp is playing,
And that incense-burning minstrel
     is striking his lute.

He is the King of Kings
     of the dominion of Goodness,
We are but beggars
     at the door of supplication.

Sometimes He’s like wine,
     nourishing the soul,
Sometimes like a hangover,
     consuming the spirit.

He is the aim
     of the synagogue’s congregation,
He is the goal
     of the Meccan pilgrims.

If He slays, He is a King,
     enjoying His pleasure
And if He spares, He is a King,
     kind to His slave.

O heart, if you want
     this secret to be revealed
Stroll by the way of the wine-house
     until you see the Truth distinct from allegory.

From end to end,
     the sufis, spiritually,
Are crying out in chorus:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

VI

O, this sadness from You is the king
     of the country of the heart,
And this flirtatious glance form Your drunken eye
     is the heart’s guide.

When You scatter
     Your hyacinth curls
The country of the heart
     becomes torn to pieces.

We’ve tried it so often, breath by breath,
     and still our souls
Don’t complain of the sadness
     at the threshold of the heart.

Though this cloak of ours
     is worth millions,
It is this mountain of sadness
     that rests upon the heart.

Make my heart alive
     with Your pure wine!
For it’s a drink freshly poured
     into the goblet of the heart.

At dawn
     that nymph-like Beauty came
And struck the ring
     upon the door of the heart.

I opened the door
     and She sat there, drunkenly,
Face to face
     with the heart.

And when I descended
     into the book of the heart,
I saw these words
     inscribed:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

VII

O cupbearer,
     where has the night’s wine gone?
Bring wine,
     for in the circle, it’s our turn.

Bring us
     the world-revealing goblet
Where the wine of God
     is apparent.

Ah! make me totally unconscious
     of my own being
So I can tell you
     where the Beloved is.

Yes, we’ll go beggar-like
     to the Friend’s door
For the whole world’s desire
     is there.

The cupbearer,
     when he heard me talk like this,
Turned to the master and said,
     “Where is the righteousness in this?”

But that ever-faithful,
     wine-drinking master replied
As he was preparing
     that wine gathering,

“Whoever sits down
     with the Friend
Must give up holding
     his own opinion.”

Eventually with the eyes
     of pure intuition, you can see
That left and right and everywhere
     there’s Ni’matullah, the wealth of Allah.

Then whatever is hidden
     or revealed in this world
Will materialize before the ears
     of your soul and declare:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

VIII

Ah! We’re prisoners
     in the shackles of an immense passion,
Afflicted and tormented
     with manacles on our ankles.

We are the miserable ones
     in the desert of Love,
Skilled in the field
     of riot and revolution.

Sometimes we’re thunder,
     sometimes a bolt of lighting.
Sometimes we’re clouds,
     sometimes sea.

Sometimes we’re intellectuals,
     sometimes we’re crazy.
Ah! We’re bewildered, bewildered,
     headless and footless!

Sometimes we have nothing in our pockets,
     sometimes we’re worthless drunkards.
Sometimes we’re revealed,
     and sometimes concealed.

Sometimes earth-like,
     we’re abased and debased.
Sometimes sky-like,
     we’re exalted and transcendent.

In the tavern of ruin,
     like “Sayyid”, we’ve fallen down,
Beyond all religion or infidelity
     after draining cup after cup of wine.

Anybody who sat with us
     became a devoted believer;
We rubbed from his heart
     the rut of infidelity.

Then when his soul
     was cleared by the wine,
We showed to it
     all there is:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

IX

From the Hidden World, last night,
     the master of the world of Love
Taught me these words
     out of the breath of Love.

O beggar of all who quaff
     the wine, drink from that goblet
Until you become
     “The King of Love”.

I myself abandoned
     the men of the intellect
For the purity
     of the people of Love.

I put on the pilgrim’s clothese and travlled
     on the highway to the Ka’aba of the soul.
I did my ablutions with water drawn
     from Hajar’s well of Love.

Then, when I reached
     the direction of Mt. Arafat,
I saw spinning in the air
     of the world of Love

An intense drunken furor,
     multiplying, increasing in the heart,
Breath by breath
     from the continual inhalation of Love,

The whole world
     and everything in it
Drowned before
     a drop of Love.

I then saw “Ni’matullah”
     and with certainty
It became established for me
     that he’s a confidant of Love.

When the page of loverhood
     was opened to me,
There words were inscribed
     over the Great Chapter of Love:

That everything throughout the world,
     everywhere, end to end,
Is but a reflection of a ray
     cast from the face of the Friend.

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• Tarjiband

  Ah, genom Din kärlek, blir krossade hjärtan läkta, och av din sorg eländiga själar blir lyckliga. I din ögönbrynsbåge, fann Khosrow sitt Qiblih för sina böner, och i Dina förtrollande ögon, blev Farhad förförd.
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