The Diwan of Abu’l-Ala

I Abandon worship in the mosque and shrink From idle prayer, from sacrificial sheep, For Destiny will bring the bowl of sleep Or bowl of tribulation——you shall drink. II The scarlet eyes of Morning are pursued By Night, who growls along the narrow lane; But as they crash upon our world the twain Devour us and are strengthened for the feud. III Vain are your dreams of marvellous emprise, Vainly you sail among uncharted spaces, Vainly seek harbour in this world of faces If it has been determined otherwise. p. 35 IV Behold, my friends, there is reserved for me The splendour of our traffic with the sky: You pay your court to Saturn, whereas I Am slain by One far mightier than he. V You that must travel with a weary load Along this darkling, labyrinthine street—— Have men with torches at your head and feet If you would pass the dangers of the road. VI So shall you find all armour incomplete And open to the whips of circumstance, That so shall you be girdled of mischance Till you be folded in the winding-sheet. VII Have conversation with the wind that goes Bearing a pack of loveliness and pain: The golden exultation of the grain And the last, sacred whisper of the rose VIII But if in some enchanted garden bloom The rose imperial that will not fade, Ah! shall I go with desecrating spade

Ah! shall I go with desecrating spade And underneath her glories build a tomb? p. 36 IX Shall I that am as dust upon the plain Think with unloosened hurricanes to fight? Or shall I that was ravished from the night Fall on the bosom of the night again? X Endure! and if you rashly would unfold That manuscript whereon our lives are traced, Recall the stream which carols thro’ the waste And in the dark is rich with alien gold. XI Myself did linger by the ragged beach, Whereat wave after wave did rise and curl; And as they fell, they fell—I saw them hurl A message far more eloquent than speech: XII We that with song our pilgrimage beguile, With purple islands which a sunset bore, We, sunk upon the sacrilegious shore, May parley with oblivion awhile. XIII I would not have you keep nor idly flaunt What may be gathered from the gracious land, But I would have you sow with sleepless hand The virtues that will balance your account. p. 37 XIV The days are dressing all of us in white, For him who will suspend us in a row. But for the sun there is no death. I know The centuries are morsels of the night. XV A deed magnanimous, a noble thought Are as the music singing thro’ the years When surly Time the tyrant domineers Against the lute whereoutof it was wrought. XVI Now to the Master of the World resign Whatever touches you, what is prepared, For many sons of wisdom are ensnared And many fools in happiness recline.

And many fools in happiness recline. XVII Long have I tarried where the waters roll From undeciphered caverns of the main, And I have searched, and I have searched in vain, Where I could drown the sorrows of my soul. XVIII If I have harboured love within my breast, ’Twas for my comrades of the dusty day, Who with me watched the loitering stars at play, Who bore the burden of the same unrest, p. 38 XIX For once the witcheries a maiden flung—— Then afterwards I knew she was the bride Of Death; and as he came, so tender-eyed, I—I rebuked him roundly, being young. XX Yet if all things that vanish in their noon Are but the part of some eternal scheme, Of what the nightingale may chance to dream Or what the lotus murmurs to the moon ! XXI Have I not heard sagacious ones repeat An irresistibly grim argument: That we for all our blustering content Are as the silent shadows at our feet. XXII Aye, when the torch is low and we prepare Beyond the notes of revelry to pass—— Old Silence will keep watch upon the grass, The solemn shadows will assemble there. XXIII No Sultan at his pleasure shall erect A dwelling less obedient to decay Than I, whom all the mysteries obey, Build with the twilight for an architect, p. 39 XXIV Dark leans to dark! the passions of a man Are twined about all transitory things, For verily the child of wisdom clings More unto dreamland than Arabistan. XXV Death leans to death! nor shall your vigilance

Death leans to death! nor shall your vigilance Prevent him from whate’er he would possess, Nor, brother, shall unfilial peevishness Prevent you from the grand inheritance. XXVI Farewell, my soul!—bird in the narrow jail Who cannot sing. The door is opened! Fly! Ah, soon you stop, and looking down you cry The saddest song of all, poor nightingale. XXVII Our fortune is like mariners to float Amid the perils of dim waterways; Shall then our seamanship have aught of praise If the great anchor drags behind the boat? XXVIII Ah! let the burial of yesterday, Of yesterday be ruthlessly decreed, And, if you will, refuse the mourner’s reed, And, if you will, plant cypress in the way. p. 40 XXIX As little shall it serve you in the fight If you remonstrate with the storming seas, As if you querulously sigh to these Of some imagined haven of delight. XXX Steed of my soul! when you and I were young We lived to cleave as arrows thro’ the night,—— Now there is ta’en from me the last of light, And wheresoe’er I gaze a veil is hung. XXXI No longer as a wreck shall I be hurled Where beacons lure the fascinated helm, For I have been admitted to the realm Of darkness that encompasses the world. XXXII Man has been thought superior to the swarm Of ruminating cows, of witless foals Who, crouching when the voice of thunder rolls, Are banqueted upon a thunderstorm. XXXIII But shall the fearing eyes of humankind

But shall the fearing eyes of humankind Have peeped beyond the curtain and excel The boldness of a wondering gazelle Or of a bird imprisoned in the wind? p. 41 XXXIV Ah! never may we hope to win release Before we that unripeness overthrow,—— So must the corn in agitation grow Before the sickle sings the songs of peace. XXXV Lo! there are many ways and many traps And many guides, and which of them is lord? For verily Mahomet has the sword, And he may have the truth—perhaps! perhaps! XXXVI Now this religion happens to prevail Until by that religion overthrown,— Because men dare not live with men alone, But always with another fairy-tale. XXXVII Religion is a charming girl, I say; But over this poor threshold will not pass, For I may not unveil her, and alas! The bridal gift I can’t afford to pay. XXXVIII I have imagined that our welfare is Required to rise triumphant from defeat; And so the musk, which as the more you beat, Gives ever more delightful fragrancies. p. 42 XXXIX For as a gate of sorrow-land unbars The region of unfaltering delight, So may you gather from the fields of night That harvest of diviner thought, the stars. XL Send into banishment whatever blows Across the waves of your tempestuous heart; Let every wish save Allah’s wish depart, And you will have ineffable repose. XLI My faith it is that all the wanton pack Of living shall be—hush, poor heart!—withdrawn, As even to the camel comes a dawn

As even to the camel comes a dawn Without a burden for his wounded back. XLII If there should be some truth in what they teach Of unrelenting Monkar and Nakyr, Before whose throne all buried men appear—— Then give me to the vultures, I beseech. XLIII Some yellow sand all hunger shall assuage And for my thirst no cloud have need to roll, And ah! the drooping bird which is my soul No longer shall be prisoned in the cage. p. 43 XLIV Life is a flame that flickers in the wind, A bird that crouches in the fowler’s net— Nor may between her flutterings forget That hour the dreams of youth were unconfined. XLV There was a time when I was fain to guess The riddles of our life, when I would soar Against the cruel secrets of the door, So that I fell to deeper loneliness. XLVI One is behind the draperies of life, One who will tear these tanglements away— No dark assassin, for the dawn of day Leaps out, as leapeth laughter, from the knife. XLVII If you will do some deed before you die, Remember not this caravan of death, But have belief that every little breath Will stay with you for an eternity. XLVIII Astrologers!—give ear to what they say! "The stars be words; they float on heaven’s breath And faithfully reveal the days of death, And surely will reveal that longer day." p. 44 XLIX I shook the trees of knowledge. Ah! the fruit Was fair upon the bleakness of the soil. I filled a hundred vessels with my spoil,

I filled a hundred vessels with my spoil, And then I rested from the grand pursuit. L Alas! I took me servants: I was proud Of prose and of the neat, the cunning rhyme, But all their inclination was the crime Of scattering my treasure to the crowd. LI And yet—and yet this very seed I throw May rise aloft, a brother of the bird, Uncaring if his melodies are heard—— Or shall I not hear anything below? LII The glazier out of sounding Erzerûm, Frequented us and softly would conspire Upon our broken glass with blue-red fire, As one might lift a pale thing from the tomb. LIII He was the glazier out of Erzerûm, Whose wizardry would make the children cry—— There will be no such wizardry when I Am broken by the chariot-wheels of Doom. p. 45 LIV The chariot-wheels of Doom! Now, hear them roll Across the desert and the noisy mart, Across the silent places of your heart—— Smile on the driver you will not cajole. LV I never look upon the placid plain But I must think of those who lived before And gave their quantities of sweat and gore, And went and will not travel back again. LVI Aye! verily, the fields of blandishment Where shepherds meditate among their cattle, Those are the direst of the fields of battle, For in the victor’s train there is no tent. LVII Where are the doctors who were nobly fired And loved their toil because we ventured not, Who spent their lives in searching for the spot

Who spent their lives in searching for the spot To which the generations have retired? LVIII "Great is your soul,"—these are the words they preach,— "It passes from your framework to the frame Of others, and upon this road of shame Turns purer and more pure."—Oh, let them teach! p. 46 LIX I look on men as I would look on trees, That may be writing in the purple dome Romantic lines of black, and are at home Where lie the little garden hostelries. LX Live well! Be wary of this life, I say; Do not o’erload yourself with righteousness. Behold! the sword we polish in excess, We gradually polish it away. LXI God who created metal is the same Who will devour it. As the warriors ride With iron horses and with iron pride—— Come, let us laugh into the merry flame. LXII But for the grandest flame our God prepares The breast of man, which is the grandest urn; Yet is that flame so powerless to burn Those butterflies, the swarm of little cares. LXIII And if you find a solitary sage Who teaches what is truth—ah, then you find The lord of men, the guardian of the wind, The victor of all armies and of age. p. 47 LXIV See that procession passing down the street, The black and white procession of the days—— Far better dance along and bawl your praise Than if you follow with unwilling feet. LXV But in the noisy ranks you will forget What is the flag. Oh, comrade, fall aside And think a little moment of the pride

And think a little moment of the pride Of yonder sun, think of the twilight’s net. LXVI The songs we fashion from our new delight Are echoes. When the first of men sang out, He shuddered, hearing not alone the shout Of hills but of the peoples in the night. LXVII And all the marvels that our eyes behold Are pictures. There has happened some event For each of them, and this they represent—— Our lives are like a tale that has been told. LXVIII There is a palace, and the ruined wall Divides the sand, a very home of tears, And where love whispered of a thousand years The silken-footed caterpillars crawl. p. 48 LXIX And where the Prince commanded, now the shriek Of wind is flying through the court of state: "Here," it proclaims, "there dwelt a potentate Who could not hear the sobbing of the weak." LXX Beneath our palaces the corner-stone Is quaking. What of noble we possess, In love or courage or in tenderness, Can rise from our infirmities alone. LXXI We suffer—that we know, and that is all Our knowledge. If we recklessly should strain To sweep aside the solid rocks of pain, Then would the domes of love and courage fall. LXXII But there is one who trembles at the touch Of sorrow less than all of you, for he Has got the care of no big treasury, And with regard to wits not overmuch. LXXIII I think our world is not a place of rest, But where a man may take his little ease, Until the landlord whom he never sees

Until the landlord whom he never sees Gives that apartment to another guest. p. 49 LXXIV Say that you come to life as ’twere a feast, Prepared to pay whatever is the bill Of death or tears or——surely, friend, you wilt Not shrink at death, which is among the least? LXXV Rise up against your troubles, cast away What is too great for mortal man to bear. But seize no foolish arms against the share Which you the piteous mortal have to pay. LXXVI Be gracious to the King. You canot feign That nobody was tyrant, that the sword Of justice always gave the just award Before these Ghassanites began to reign. LXXVII You cultivate the ranks of golden grain, He cultivates the cavaliers. They go With him careering on some other foe, And your battalions will be staunch again. LXXVIII The good law and the bad law disappear Below the flood of custom, or they float And, like the wonderful Sar’aby coat, They captivate us for a little year. p. 50 LXXIX God pities him who pities. Ah, pursue No longer now the children of the wood; Or have you not, poor huntsman, understood That somebody is overtaking you? LXXX God is above. We never shall attain Our liberty from hands that overshroud; Or can we shake aside this heavy cloud More than a slave can shake aside the chain? LXXXI "There is no God save Allah!"—that is true, Nor is there any prophet save the mind Of man who wanders through the dark to find The Paradise that is in me and you.

The Paradise that is in me and you. LXXXII The rolling, ever-rolling years of time Are as a diwan of Arabian song; The poet, headstrong and supremely strong, Refuses to repeat a single rhyme. LXXXIII An archer took an arrow in his hand; So fair he sent it singing to the sky That he brought justice down from—ah, so high! He was an archer in the morning land. p. 51 LXXXIV The man who shot his arrow from the west Made empty roads of air; yet have I thought Our life was happier until we brought This cold one of the skies to rule the nest. LXXXV Run! follow, follow happiness, the maid Whose laughter is the laughing waterfall; Run! call to her—but if no maiden call, ’Tis something to have loved the flying shade. LXXXVI You strut in piety the while you take That pilgrimage to Mecca. Now beware, For starving relatives befoul the air, And curse, O fool, the threshold you forsake. LXXXVII How man is made! He staggers at the voice, The little voice that leads you to the land Of virtue; but, on hearing the command To lead a giant army, will rejoice. LXXXVIII Behold the cup whereon your slave has trod; That is what every cup is falling to. Your slave—remember that he lives by you, While in the form of him we bow to God. p. 52 LXXXIX The lowliest of the people is the lord Who knows not where each day to make his bed, Whose crown is kept upon the royal head By that poor naked minister, the sword.

By that poor naked minister, the sword. XC Which is the tyrant? say you. Well, ’tis he That has the vine-leaf strewn among his hair And will deliver countries to the care Of courtesans——but I am vague, you see. XCI The dwellers of the city will oppress Your days: the lion, a fight-thirsty fool, The fox who wears the robe of men that rule—— So run with me towards the wilderness. XCII Our wilderness will be the laughing land, Where nuts are hung for us, where nodding peas Are wild enough to press about our knees, And water fills the hollow of our hand. XCIII My village is the loneliness, and I Am as the travellers through the Syrian sand, That for a moment see the warning hand Of one who breasted up the rock, their spy. p. 53 XCIV Where is the valiance of the folk who sing These valiant stories of the world to come? Which they describe, forsooth! as if it swum In air and anchored with a yard of string. XCV Two merchantmen decided they would battle, To prove at last who sold the finest wares; And while Mahomet shrieked his call to prayers, The true Messiah waved his wooden rattle. XCVI Perchance the world is nothing, is a dream, And every noise the dreamland people say We sedulously note, and we and they May be the shadows flung by what we seem. XCVII Zohair the poet sang of loveliness Which is the flight of things. Oh, meditate Upon the sorrows of our earthly state, For what is lovely we may not possess.

For what is lovely we may not possess. XCVIII Heigho! the splendid air is full of wings, And they will take us to the——friend, be wise For if you navigate among the skies You too may reach the subterranean kings. p. 54 XCIX Now fear the rose! You travel to the gloom Of which the roses sing and sing so fair, And, but for them, you’d have a certain share In life: your name be read upon the tomb. C There is a tower of silence, and the bell Moves up—another man is made to be. For certain years they move in company, But you, when fails your song do fail as well. CI No sword will summon Death, and he will stay For neither helm nor shield his falling rod. We are the crooked alphabet of God, And He will read us ere he wipes away. CII How strange that we, perambulating dust, Should be the vessels of eternal fire, That such unfading passion of desire Should be within our fading bodies thrust. CIII Deep in a silent chamber of the rose There was a fattened worm. He looked around, Espied a relative and spoke at him: It seems to me this world is very good. p. 55 CIV A most unlovely world, said brother worm, For all of us are piteous prisoners. And if, declared the first, your thought is true, And this a prison be, melikes it well. CV So well that I shall weave a song of praise And thankfulness because the world was wrought For us and with such providential care—— My brother, I will shame you into singing.

CVI Then, cried the second, I shall raise a voice And see what poor apologies are made. And so they sang, these two, for many days, And while they sang the rose was beautiful. CVII But this affected not the songful ones, And evermore in beauty lived the rose. And when the worms were old and wiser too, They fell to silence and humility. CVIII A night of silence! ’Twas the swinging sea And this our world of darkness. And the twain Rolled on below the stars; they flung a chain Around the silences which are in me. p. 56 CIX The shadows come, and they will come to bless Their brother and his dwelling and his fame, When I shall soil no more with any blame Or any praise the silence I possess.