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“Ask Naught of Me but the |
From Rumi and Iqbal (Tr. Asif Iftikhar)
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Withered mind, withered nerves, withered body Whence doth the Friend’s Voice come unto me?
Sound of the Bamboo Fife
Hear the bamboo fife, what tale in its tone? Which separation it doth bemoan? “When severed was I from bamboo mine Wept man and woman at wails mine Aye, for a bosom torn with holes I long That sing I may my love-ached song The soul that is from its essence away Longeth to return one day Secret of voice mine, not far from its wail But no light, that ear or eye know the tale Fire, this song o fife; nay, not a breeze One devoid of it, to exist may cease
Befriendeth fife one that from Friend didst part Tear our heart’s veil, its tunes apart Who knoweth such poison, such cure! A friend as the fife or a love so pure! Of a gory path doth the fife tell Majnun’s story, his love-spell! Not every ear heareth a song pure Not every bird doth the fig lure.” Ecstatic this age in the song without soul* Faithless, unconnected, unstable in goal The secret, how this age can ever comprehend?* Knoweth it not the Friend, the Sound of Friend Ah the West, progress ‘n glitter that must* Its song pulleth it to the dust!! Silver, white and new may it appear The hand and clothes doth it smear In every hand incompetent shalt thou be indisposed Unto thine Origin return, that thy soul be reposed! Knowledge for the body doth only kill Knowledge for soul doth the heart fill Knowledge and wisdom from honest bread Love and feeling come from honest bread For truth, break the emblem by truth owned A friend’s mirror for friend be stoned!! The noble, with endeavour obtain light The lowly, in shame eschew the fight! Of what use the words, if no pain of love in thy heart?* If the lamb** thou wilt not be, let thy torment too part! Without sacrificial blood, all expression incomplete* Without sacrificial blood, the song never sweet!! If true to Muhammad thou art, thine shall I be* Thine shall be the Pen, thine the Destiny!!! |