If You Know The Mystery Of Her Love – Abdur Rahman’s Corner
Peace, one and all…
If you know the mystery of Her Love
grant your soul to Love and behold the Beloved.
Since no one has ever survived Love
don’t protect your life if you’re a lover.
If you’ve had enough of your life, bravo!
If you’re worried and fearful for your life, beware!
Love is an ocean with concealed depth;
the ocean’s water’s are fire, its waves treasures.
Its jewels are mysteries and each secret
the wayfarer’s guidance towards meaning.
Grow out of both worlds like unruly hair
If you’ve received a whisper of this knowledge.
I was drunk last night and asleep by midnight
as that moon’s attention shone upon my being.
She saw my frail face in the moonlight
She saturated my listless face with tears.
She pitied me and granted me drink;
one by one my veins revived by the sherbet of union.
Although I fell drunk from that wine
one by one my hairs began to see.
Although I was drunk and brainless, I could
discern the two world’s in that sun’s countenance.
Although my soul had much to say on Love
there was no air in my lungs to set off the tongue.
That moon-face tired and intoxicated me.
She indeed abandoned me with no food and no rest.
Sometimes I would die; sometimes I would live;
I’d burn like an early morning candle in between.
Finally a shout arose from my heart;
waves from my heart’s ocean of blood.
As I opened my eyes from that state
I found no sign nor trace of the Beloved.
Pain, remorse, passion, yearning
brought my arms to flap like a dying bird.
A divine voice spoke from a hidden place:
You, from whose grasp the precious bird has fled.
One must become dust in Her wake
until you depart from this bathhouse by the door.
Yield. Don’t beat water in this mortar.
For how long do you plan to grow fat in your cage?
See that you’re without need at your core,
either you imagine yourself a minstrel or a mourner.
This bow was never meant for your arms.
Your soul is burning and stares back dumbfounded.
You’ve remained at the first step, Attar.
When are you able to traverse this valley to the end?
Attar, Fifty Poems of Attar, no. 43
