(Asrar-e-Khudi-24-Book-Complete) Dua

An Invocation

O thou that art as the soul in the body of the universe,
Thou art our soul and thou art ever fleeing from us.
Thou breathest music into Lifeʹs lute;
Life envies Death when death is for thy sake.
Once more bring comfort to our sad hearts,
Once more dwell in our breasts!
Once more demand from us the sacrifice of name and fame,
Strengthen our weak love.
We are oft complaining of destiny,
Thou art of great price and we have naught.
Hide not thy fair face from the empty handed!
Sell cheap the love of Salman and Bilal!
Give us the sleepless eye and the passionate heart,
Give us again the nature of quick silver!
Show unto us one of thy manifest signs,
That the necks of our enemies may be bowed!
Make this chaff a mountain crested with fire,
Burn with out fire all that is not God!
When the people of Islam let the thread of
Unity go from their hands,
They fell into a hundred mazes.
We are dispersed like stars in the world;
Though of the same family, we are strange to one another.
Bind again these scattered leaves, Revive the law of love!
Take us back to serve thee as of old,
Commit thy cause to them that love thee!
We are travellers: give us resignation as our goal!
Give us the strong faith of Abraham!
Make us know the meaning of “There is no god,”
Make us acquainted with the mystery of “except Allah”!
I who burn like a candle for the sake of others
Teach myself to weep like that candle.
O God! a tear that is heart‐enkindling,
Passionful, wrung forth by pain, peace consuming,
May I sow in the garden, and may it grow into a fire
That washes away the fire‐brand from the tulipʹs robe!
My heart is with yester‐eve, my eye is on to‐morrow:
Amidst the company I am alone.
“Every one fancies he is my friend,
But none ever sought the secrets within my soul.”
Oh, where in the wide world is my comrade?
I am the Bush of Sinai: where is my Moses?
I am tyrannous, I have done many a wrong to myself,
I have nourished a flame in my bosom,
A flame that burnt to ashes the wares of understanding,
Cast fire on the skirt of discretion,
Lessened with madness the proud reason,
And inflamed the very being of knowledge:
Its blaze enthrones the sun in the sky
And lightnings encircle it with adoration for ever.
Mine eye fell to weeping, like dew,
Since I was entrusted with that hidden fire.
I taught the candle to burn openly,
While I myself burned unseen by the worldʹs eye.
As last flames burst forth from every hair of me,
Fire dropped from the veins of my thought:
My nightingale picked up the grains of spark
And created a fire‐tempered song.
The breast of this age is without a heart,
Majnun quivers with pain because Laylaʹs howdah is empty.
It is not easy for the candle to throb alone:
Ah, is there no moth worthy of me?
How long shall I wait for one to share my grief?
How long must I search for a confidant?
O Thou whose face lends light to the moon and the stars,
Withdraw Thy fire from the soul!
Take back what Thou hast put in my breast,
Remove the stabbing radiance from my mirror,
Or give me one old comrade
To be the mirror of mine all‐burning love!
In the sea wave tosses side by side with wave:
Each hath a partner in its emotion.
In heaven star consorts with star,
And the bright moon lays her head on the knees of Night.
Morning touches Nightʹs dark side,
And To‐day throws itself against To‐morrow.
One river loses its being in another,
A waft of air dies in perfume.
There is dancing in every nook of the wilderness,
Madman dances with madman.
Because in thine essence Thou art single,
Thou hast evolved for Thyself a whole world.
I am as the tulip of the field,
In the midst of a company I am alone.
I beg of Thy grace a sympathising friend,
And adept in the mysteries of my nature,
A friend endowed with madness and wisdom,
One that knoweth not the phantom of vain things,
That I may confide my lament to his soul
And see again my face in his heart.
His image I will mould of mine own clay,
I will be to him both idol and worshipper.

(Asrar-e-Khudi-23) Al-Waqt-e-Saif (Waqt Talwar Hai) - Time is a sword

Time is a sword

Green be the Holy grave of Shafi‘i (Imam Shafi R.A.), Whose vine has cheered a whole world!
His thought plucked a star from heaven: He named time “a cutting sword.”
How shall I say what is the secret of this sword? In its flashing edge there is life.
Its owner is exalted above hope and fear, His hand is whiter than the hand of Moses.
At one stroke thereof water gushes from the rock And the sea becomes land from dearth of moisture.
Moses held this sword in his hand, Therefore he wrought more than man may contrive.
He clove the Red Sea asunder, And made its waters like dry earth.
The arm of Ali (R.A.), the conqueror of Khaibar, Drew its strength from this same sword.
The revolution of the sky is worth seeing, The change of day and night is worth observing.
Look, O thou enthralled by Yesterday and Tomorrow,
Behold another world in thine own heart!
Thou hast sown the seed of darkness in the clay,
Thou hast imagined Time as a line:
Thy thought measures length of Time
With the measure of night and day.
Thou makʹst this line a girdle on thine infidel waist;
Thou art an advertiser of falsehood, like idols.
Thou wert the Elixir, and thou hast become a Peck of dust;
Thou wert born the conscience of Truth, and thou hast become a lie!
Art thou a Muslim? Then cast off this girdle!
Be a candle to the feast of the religion of the free!
Knowing not the origin of Time,
Thou art ignorant of everlasting Life.
How long wilt thou be a thrall of night and day?
Learn the mystery of Time from the words “I have a time with God.”
Phenomena arise from the march of Time,
Life is one of Timeʹs mysteries.
The cause of Time is not the revolution of the sun
Time is everlasting, but the sun does not last for ever.
Time is joy and sorrow, festival and fast,
Time is the secret of moonlight and sunlight.
Thou hast extended Time, like Space,
And distinguished Yesterday from Tomorrow.
Thou hast fled, like a scent, from thine own garden;
Thou hast made thy prison with thine own hand.
Our Time, which has neither beginning nor end,
Blossoms from the flower‐bed of our mind.
To know its root quickens the living with new life:
Its being is more splendid than the dawn.
Life is of Time, and Time is of Life:
“Do not abuse Time!” was the command of the Prophet.
Now I will tell you a point of wisdom as brilliant as a pearl,
That you should realize the difference
between a slave and a free man!
A slave is lost in the magic of days and nights,
But Time, with all its expansion, is lost in the heart of a free man!
A slave weaves the shroud for himself by his times,
And covers himself with the sheet of days and nights!
But a free man keeps himself above the earth
And attacks the world with all his might!
A slave is caught in the snare of days and nights like a bird,
And the pleasure of flight is forbidden to his soul!
But the quick‐breathing breast of a free man
Becomes a cage for the Bird of Time!
To a slave, Nature is a meaningless word,
And there is nothing rare in the impressions of his soul!
Owing to his heaviness and laziness his abode is always the same,
And the cries of his morn and eve are always the same!
But the attempt of a free man creates new things every moment
And his string continuously produces new tunes!
His nature is not obliged to any sort of repetition,
Because his path is not like the circle caused by compasses!
To a slave Time is but a chain,
And he always complains against the fate!
But the courage of a free man gives instructions to his fate
And the great revolutions of the world are caused by his powerful hand!
The past the future are dissolved in his preset
And all the delayed plans are observed by his quick action!
These words of mine are beyond sound, beyond discussion,
For their meaning can’t be understood easily!
Although I have expressed my views about
Time yet my shallow words are ashamed of the meaning;—
And the meaning itself has a complaint:
“What have I to do with the words?”
In fact, a living meaning when expressed in words, dies out;
Your very breaths extinguish its fire!
Nevertheless, the point of Absence and
Presence is in the depth of our heart;
The mystery of Time and its motion is in the depth of our heart!
The musical instrument of Time has its own silent tunes:
Oh, dive deep into your heart that you may realize the secret of Time!
Oh, the memory of those days when Timeʹs sword
Was allied with the strength of our hands!
We sowed the seed of religion in menʹs hearts
And unveiled the face of Truth;
Our nails tore loose the knot of this world,
Our bowing in prayer gave blessings to the earth.
From the jar of Truth we made rosy wine gush forth,
We charged against the ancient taverns.
O thou in whose cup is old wine,
A wine so hot that the glass is well nigh turned to water,
Wilt thou in thy pride and arrogance and self‐conceit
Taunt us with our emptiness?
Our cup, too, hath graced the symposium
Our breast hath owned a spirit.
The new age with all its glories
Hath risen from the dust of our feet.
Our blood hath watered Godʹs harvest,
All worshippers of God are our debtors.
The takbir was our gift to the world,
Ka‘bas were built of our clay.
By means of us God taught the Koran,
From our hand He dispensed His bounty.
Although crown and signet have passed from us.,
Do not look with contempt on our beggarliness!
In thine eyes we are good for nothing,
Thinking old thoughts, despicable.
We have honour from “There is no god but Allah,”
We are the protectors of the universe.
Freed from the vexation of to‐day and tomorrow,
We have pledged ourselves to love One.
We are the conscience hidden in Godʹs heart,
We are the heirs of Moses and Aaron.
Sun and moon are still bright with our radiance,
Lightning‐flashes still lurk in our cloud.
In our essence Divinity is mirrored:
The Muslimʹs being is one of the signs of God.

(Asrar-e-Khudi-22) Andz Meer-e-Nijat Naqshband Almaroof Ba Baba'ay Sehrai Ke...

Precepts written for the Muslims of India by Mir Najat Nakshband, who is generally known as Baba Sahrai

O You that have grown from earth, like a rose,
You too are born of the womb of self!
Do not abandon self! Persist therein!
Be a drop of water and drink up the ocean
Glowing with the light of self as tyou are,
Make self strong, and you wilt endure.
You gettʹst profit from the trade,
You gainʹst riches by preserving this commodity.
You are being, and art you afraid of not‐being?
Dear friend, your understanding is at fault.
Since I am acquainted with the harmony of Life.,
I will tell you what is the secret of Life –
To sink into yourself like the pearl,
Then to emerge from thine inward solitude;
To collect sparks beneath the ashes,
And become a flame and dazzle menʹs eyes.
Go, burn the house of forty yearsʹ tribulation,
Move round yourself! Be a circling flame!
What is Life but to be freed from moving round others
And to regard yourself as the Holy Temple?
Beat your wings and escape from the attraction of Earth:
Like birds, be safe from falling.
Unless you are a bird., you wilt do wisely
Not to build your nest on the top of a cave.
O you that seekest to acquire knowledge,
I say oʹer to you the message of the Sage of Rum:
“Knowledge, if it lie on your skin, is a snake;
Knowledge, if you take it to heart, is a friend.”
Hast you heard how the Master of Rum
Gave lectures on philosophy at Aleppo? –
Fast in the bonds of intellectual proofs,
Drifting oʹer the dark and stormy sea of understanding;
A Moses unillumined by Loveʹs Sinai,
Ignorant of Love and of Loveʹs passion.
He discoursed on Scepticism and Neoplatonism,
And strung many a brilliant pearl of metaphysics.
He unravelled the problems of the Peripatetics,
The light of his thought made clear whatever was obscure.
Heaps of books lay around and in front of him,
And on his lips was the key to all their mysteries.
Shams‐i‐Tabriz, directed by Kamal,
Sought his way to the college of Jalauddin Rumi
And cried out, “What is all this noise and babble?
What are all these syllogisms and judgements and demonstrations?”
“Peace, O fool!” exclaimed the Maulvi,
“Do not laugh at the doctrines of the sages. 

Get you out of my college!
This is argument and discussion; what have you to do with it?
My discourse is beyond your understanding.
It brightens the glass of perception!
These words increased the anger of Shams‐i‐Tabriz
And caused a fire to burst forth from his soul.
The lightning of his look fell on the earth,
And the glow of his breath made the dust spring into flames.
The spiritual fire burned the intellectual stack
And clean consumed the library of the philosopher.
The Maulvi, being a stranger to Loveʹs miracles
And unversed in Loveʹs harmonies,
Cried, “How didst you kindle this fire,
Which hath burned the books of the philosophers?”
The Shaykh answered, “O unbelieving Muslim,
This is vision and ecstasy: what hast you to do with it?
My state is beyond your thought,
My flame is the Alchemistʹs elixir.”

You hast drawn your substance from the snow of philosophy,
The cloud of your thought sheds nothing but hailstones.
Kindle a fire in your rubble,
Foster a flame in your earth!
The Muslimʹs knowledge is perfected by spiritual fervour,
The meaning of Islam is Renounce what shall pass away.
When Abraham escaped from the bondage of “that which sets,”
He sat unhurt in the midst of flames.
You have cast knowledge of God behind you
And squandered your religion for the sake of a loaf.
You are hot in pursuit of antimony,
You are unaware of the blackness of thine own eye.
Seek the Fountain of Life from the swordʹs edge,
And the River of Paradise from the dragon’s mouth,
Demand the Black Stone from the door of the house of idols,
And the musk‐deerʹs bladder from a mad dog,
But do not seek the glow of Love from the knowledge of today,
Do not seek the nature of Truth from this infidelʹs cup!
Long have I been running to and fro,
Learning the secrets of the New Knowledge:
Its gardeners have put me to the trial
And have made me intimate with their roses.
Roses! Tulips, rather, that warn one not to smell them –
Like paper roses, a mirage of perfume.
Since this garden ceased to enthrall me
I have nested on the Paradisal tree.
Modern knowledge is the greatest blind –
Idol‐worshipping, idol‐selling, idol making!
Shackled in the prison of phenomena,
It has not overleaped the limits of the sensible.
It has fallen down in crossing the bridge of Life,
It has laid the knife to its own throat.
Its fire is cold as the flame of the tulip;
Its flames are frozen like hail.
Its nature remains untouched by the glow of Love,
It is ever engaged in joyless search.
Love is the Plato that heals the sicknesses of the mind.
The mindʹs melancholy is cured by its lancet.
The whole world bows in adoration to Love,
Love is the Mahmud that conquers the Somnath of intellect.
Modern science lacks this old wine in its cup,
Its nights are not loud with passionate prayer.
You hast misprized thine own cypress
And deemed tall the cypress of others.
Like the reed, you hast emptied yourself of self
And given thine heart to the music of others.
O you that beggʹst morsels from an otherʹs table,
Wilt you seek thine own kind in anotherʹs shop?
The Muslimʹs assembly‐place is burned up by the lamps of strangers,
His mosque is consumed by the sparks of monasticism.
When the deer fled from the sacred territory of Makkah,
The hunterʹs arrow pierced her side.
The leaves of the rose are scattered like its scent:
O you that has fled from the self, come back to it!
O trustee of the wisdom of the Quran,
Find the lost unity again!
We, who keep the gate of the citadel of Islam,
Have become unbelievers by neglecting the watchword of Islam.
The ancient Sakiʹs bowl is shattered,
The wine‐party of the Hijaz is broken up.
The Kaʹba is filled with our idols,
Infidelity mocks at our Islam.
Our Shaykh hath gambled Islam away for love of idols.
And made a rosary of the zunnar.
Our spiritual directors owe their rank to their white hairs

And are the laughing‐stock of children in the street;
Their hearts bear no impress of the Faith
But house the idols of sensuality.
Every long‐haired fellow wears the garb of a dervish –
Alas for these traffickers in religion!
Day and night they are traveling about with disciples,
Insensible to the great needs of Islam.
Their eyes are without light, like the narcissus,
Their breasts devoid of spiritual wealth.
Preachers and Sufis, all worship worldliness alike;
The prestige of the pure religion is ruined.
Our preacher fixed his eyes on the pagoda
And the mufti of the Faith sold his verdict.
After this, O friends, what are we to do?
Our guide turns his face towards the wine‐house.

(Asrar-e-Khudi-21) Dar Biyan AynKe Maqsad-e-Hayat-e-Muslim Ala'ay Kalima-Ullah Ast Wa Jihad...

Showing that the purpose of the Muslimʹs life is to exalt the word of Allah, and that the jihad (war against unbelievers), if it be prompted by land‐hunger, is unlawful in the religion of Islam

Imbue thine heart With the tincture of Allah, Give honour and glory to Love!

The Muslimʹs nature prevails by means of love:
The Muslim, if he be not loving, is an infidel.
Upon God depends his seeing and not‐seeing,
His eating, drinking, and sleeping.
In his will that which God wills becomes lost–
“How small a man believe this saying?”
He encamps in the field of “There is no god but Allah;”
In the world he is a witness to mankind.
His high estate is attested by the Prophet who was sent to men and Jinn—
The most truthful of witnesses.
Leave words and seek that spiritual state,
Shed the light of God oʹer the darkness of thy deeds!
Albeit clad in kingly robe, live as a dervish,
Live wakeful and meditating on God!
Whatever thou dost, let it be thine aim therein to draw nigh to God,
That his glory may be made manifest by thee.
Peace becomes an evil, if its object be aught else;
War is good if its object is God.
If God be not exalted by our swords,
War dishonours the people.
The holy Shaykh Miyan Mir Wali,
By the light of whose soul every hidden thing was revealed –
His feet were firmly planted on the path of Muhammad,
He was a flute for the impassioned music of love.
His tomb keeps our city safe from harm
And causes the beams of true religion to shine on us.
Heaven stooped its brow to his threshold,
The Emperor of India was one of his disciples.
Now, this monarch had sown the seed of ambition in his heart
And was resolved on conquest.
The flames of vain desire were alight in him,
He was teaching his sword to ask, “Is there any more?”
In the Deccan was a great noise of war,
His army stood on the battle field.
He went to the Shaykh of heaven‐high dignity
That he might receive his blessing:
The Muslim turns from this world to God
And strengthens policy with prayer.
The Shaykh made no answer to the Emperorʹs speech,
The assembly of dervishes was all ears,
Until a disciple, in his hand a silver coin,
Opened his lips and broke the silence‐,
Saying, “Accept this poor offering from me,
O guide of them that have lost the way to God!
My limbs were bathed in sweat of labour
Before I put away a dirhem in my skirt.”
The Shaykh said: “This money ought to be given to our Sultan,
Who is a beggar wearing the raiment of a king.
Though he holds sway over sun, moon and stars,
Our Emperor is the most penniless of mankind.
His eye is fixed on the table of strangers,
The fire of his hunger hath consumed a whole world.
His sword is followed by famine and plague,
His building lays wide land waste.
The folk are crying out because of his indigence,
His empty handedness causes him to plunder the weak.
His power is an enemy to all:
Humankind are the caravan and he the brigand.
In his self‐delusion and ignorance
He calls pillage by the name of empire.
Both the royal troops and those of the enemy
Are cloven in twain by the sword of his hunger.
The beggarʹs hunger consumes his own soul,
But the Sultanʹs hunger destroys state and religion.
Whoso shall draw the sword for anything except Allah,
His sword is sheathed in his own breast.”

(Asrar-e-Khudi-20) Hikayat-e-Sheikh Wa Barhaman Wa Mukalma Ganga Wa Hamala...

Story of the Shaykh and the Brahmin, followed by a conversation between Ganges and Himalaya to the effect that the continuation of social life depends on firm attachment to the characteristic traditions of the community

At Benares lived a venerable Brahmin,
Whose head was deep in the ocean of Being and Not‐being.
He had a large knowledge of philosophy
But was well‐disposed to the seekers after God.
His mind was eager to explore new problems,
His intellect moved on a level with the Pleiades;
His nest was as high as that of the Anka;
Sun and moon were cast, like rue, on the flame of his thought.
For a long time he laboured and sweated,
But philosophy brought no wine to his cup
Although he set many a snare in the gardens of learning,
His snares never caught a glimpse of the Ideal bird;
And notwithstanding that the nails of his thought were dabbled with blood,
The knot of Being and Not‐being remained untied.
The sighs on his lips bore witness to his despair,
His countenance told tales of his distraction.
One day he visited an excellent Shaykh,
A man who bad in his breast a heart of gold.
The Brahmin laid the seal of silence on his lips
And lent his ear to the Sageʹs discourse.
Then said the Shaykh: “O wanderer in the lofty sky!
Pledge thyself to be true, for a little, to the earth;
Thou hast lost thy way in wildernesses of speculation,
Thy fearless thought hath passed beyond Heaven.
Be reconciled with earth, O sky‐traveller!
Do not wander in quest of the essence of the stars!

I do not bid thee abandon thine idols.
Art thou an unbeliever? Then be worthy of the badge of unbelief!
O inheritor of ancient culture,
Turn not thy back on the path thy fathers trod;
If a peopleʹs life is derived from unity,
Unbelief too is source of unity.
Thou that art not even a perfect infidel,
Art unfit to worship at the shrine of the spirit.
We both are far astray from the road of devotion:
Thou art far from Azar, and I from Abraham.
Our Majnun hath not fallen into melancholy for his Laylaʹs sake:
He hath not become perfect in the madness of love.
When the lamp of self expires,
What is the use of heaven surveying imagination?”
Once on a time, laying hold of the skirt of the mountain,
Ganges said to Himalaya:
“O thou mantled in snow since the morn of creation,
Thou whose form is girdled with streams,
God made thee a partner in the secrets of heaven,
But deprived thy foot of graceful gait.
He took away from thee the power to walk:
What avails this sublimity and stateliness?
Life springs from perpetual movement:
Motion constitutes the waveʹs whole existence,”
When the mountain heard this taunt from the river,
He puffed angrily like a sea of fire,
And answered: “Thy wide waters are my looking‐glass;
Within my bosom are a hundred rivers like thee.
This graceful gait of thine is an instrument of death:
Whoso goeth from self is meet to die.
Thou hast no knowledge of thine own case,
Thou exultest in thy misfortune: thou art a fool!
O born of the womb of the revolving sky,
A fallen‐in bank is better than thou!
Thou hast made thine existence an offering to the ocean,
Thou hast thrown the rich purse of thy life to the highway man.
Be self‐contained like the rose in the garden,
Do not go to the florist in order to spread thy perfume!
To live is to grow in thyself
And gather roses from thine own flower‐bed.
Ages have gone by and my foot is fast in earth:
Dost thou fancy that I am far from my goal?
My being grew and reached the sky,
The Pleiades sank to rest under my skirts;
Thy being vanishes in the ocean,
But on my crest the stars bow their heads.
Mine eye sees the mysteries of heaven,
Mine ear is familiar with angels’ wings.
Since I glowed with the heat of unceasing toil,
I amassed rubies, diamonds, and other gems.
I am stone within, and in the stone is fire:
Water cannot pass over my fire!”
Art thou a drop of water? Do not break at.  thine own feet,
But endeavour to surge and wrestle with the sea.
Desire the water of a jewel, become a jewel!
Be an ear‐drop, adorn a beauty!
Oh, expand thyself! Move swiftly!
Be a cloud that shoots lightning and sheds a flood of rain!
Let the ocean sue for thy storms as a beggar,
Let it complain of the straitness of its skirts
Let it deem itself less than a wave
And glide along at thy feet!

(Asrar-e-Khudi-19) Hikayat-e-Almas-o-Zaghal

Story of the diamond and the coal

Now I will open one more gate of Truth,
I will tell thee another tale.
The coal in the mine said to the diamond,
O thou entrusted with splendours eve lasting,
We are comrades, and our being is one;
The source of our existence is the same,
Yet while I die here in the anguish of worthlessness,
Thou art set on the crowns of emperors.

My stuff is so vile that I am valued less than earth,
Whereas the mirrorʹs heart is rent by thy beauty.
My darkness illumines the chafing dish,
Then my substance is incinerated at last.
Every one puts the sole of his foot on my head
And covers my stock of existence with ashes.
My fate must needs be deplored;
Dost thou know what is the gist of my being?
It is a condensed wavelet of smoke,
Endowed with a single spark;
Both in feature and nature thou art star‐like,
Splendours rise from every side of thee.
Now thou becomeʹst the light of a monarchʹs eye,
Now thou adornest the haft of a dagger.”
“O sagacious friend!” said the diamond,
“Dark earth, when hardened, becomes in dignity as a bezel.
Having been at strife with its environment,
It is ripened by the struggle and grows hard like a stone.
ʹTis this ripeness that has endowed my form with light
And filled my bosom with radiance.
Because thy being is immature, thou hast become abased;
Because thy body is soft, thou art burnt.
Be void of fear, grief, and anxiety;
Be hard as a stone, be a diamond!
Whosoever strives hard and grips tight,
The two worlds are illumined by him.
A little earth is the origin of the Black Stone
Which puts forth its head in the Ka‘bah:
Its rank is higher than Sinai,
It is kissed by the swarthy and the fair.
In solidity consists the glory of Life;
Weakness is worthlessness and immaturity.”

(Asrar-e-Khudi-18) Hikayat Tairay Ke Az Tashnagi Betab Bood

Story of the bird that was faint with thirst

A bird was faint with thirst,
The breath in his body was heaving like waves of smoke.
He saw a diamond in the garden:
Thirst created a vision of water.
Deceived by the sun bright stone
The foolish bird fancied that it was water.
He got no moisture from the gem:
He pecked it with his beak, but it did not wet his palate.
“O thrall of vain desire,” said the diamond,
Thou hast sharpened thy greedy beak on me;
But I am not a dew drop, I give no drink,
I do not live for the sake of others.
Wouldst thou hurt me? Thou art mad!
A life that reveals the self is strange to thee.
My water will shiver the beaks of birds
And break the jewel of man’s life.”
The bird won not his heartʹs wish from the diamond
And turned away from the sparkling stone.
Disappointment swelled in his breast,
The song in his throat became a wail.
Upon a rose‐twig a drop of dew
Gleamed like the tear in a nightingaleʹs eye:
All its glitter was owing to the sun,
It was trembling in fear of the sun—
A restless sky born star
That had stopped for a moment, from desire to be seen;
Oft deceived by bud and flower,
It had gained nothing from Life.
There it hung, ready to drop,
Like a tear on the eyelashes of a lover who hath lost his heart.
The sorely distressed bird hopped under the rose‐bush,
The dewdrop trickled into his mouth.
O thou that wouldst deliver thy soul from enemies.
I ask thee – “Art thou a drop of water or a gem?”
When the bird melted in the fire of thirst,
It appropriated the life of another.
The drop was not solid and gem‐like;
The diamond had a being, the drop had none.
Never for an instant neglect self‐preservation:
Be a diamond, not a dewdrop!
Be massive in nature, like mountains,
And bear on thy crest a hundred clouds laden with floods of rain!
Save thyself by affirmation of self,
Compress thy quick silver into silver ore!
Produce a melody from the string of self,
Make manifest the secrets of self!

(Asrar-e-Khudi-17) Hikayat-e-Nujawane Az Maro Ke Paish Hazrat Makhdoom Ali Hajveri (R.A.)...

Story of a young man of Merv who came to the saint Ali Hajwiri (god have mercy on him) and complained that he was oppressed by his enemies

The saint of Hajwir was venerated by the peoples,
And Pir‐i‐Sanjar visited his tomb as a pilgrim.
With ease he broke down the mountain barriers
And sowed the seed of Islam in India.
The age of Omar was restored by his godliness,
The fame of the Truth was exalted by his words,
He was a guardian of the honour of the Koran.
The house of Falsehood fell in ruins at his gaze.
The dust of the Punjab was brought to life by his breath,
Our dawn was made splendid by his sun.
He was a lover, and withal, a courier of Love:
The secrets of Love shone forth from his brow.
I will tell a story of his perfection
And enclose a whole rose‐bed in a single bud.
A young man, cypress‐tall,
Came from the town of Merv to Lahore.
He went to see the venerable saint,
That the sun might dispel his darkness.
“I am hammed in,” he said, “by foes;
I am as a glass in the midst of stones.
Do thou teach me, O sire of heavenly rank,
How to lead my life amongst enemies!”
The wise Director, in whose nature
Love had allied beauty with majesty,
Answered: “Thou art unread in Lifeʹs lore,
Careless of its end and its beginning.
Be without fear of others!
Thou art a sleeping force: awake!
When the stone thought itself to be glass,
It became glass and got into the way of breaking.
If the traveller thinks himself weak,
He delivers his soul unto the brigand.
How long wilt thou regard thyself as water
and clay?
Create from thy clay a flaming Sinai!
Why be angry with mighty men?
Why complain of enemies?
I will declare the truth: thine enemy is thy friend;
His existence crowns thee with glory.
Whosoever knows the states of the self
Considers a powerful enemy to be a blessing from God.
To the seed of Man the enemy is as a rain‐cloud:
He awakens its potentialities.
If thy spirit be strong, the stones in thy way are as water:
What wrecks the torrent of the ups and downs of the road?
The sword of resolution is whetted by the stones in the way
And put to proof by traversing stage after stage.
What is the use of eating and sleeping like a beast?
What is the use of being, unless thou have strength in thyself?
When thou makʹst thyself strong with self,
Thou wilt destroy the world at thy pleasure.
If thou wouldst pass away, become free of self;
If thou wouldst live, become full of self!
What is death? To become oblivious to self.
Why imagine that it is the parting of soul and body?
Abide in self, like Joseph!
Advance from captivity to empire!
Think of self and be a man of action!
Be a man of God, bear mysteries within!”
I will explain the matter by means of stories,
I will open the bud by the power of my breath.
“ʹTis better that a loverʹs secret should be told by the lips of others.”

(Asrar-e-Khudi-16) Dar Sharah Asrar-e-Isma'ay Ali Murtaza (R.A.)

Setting forth the inner meaning of the names of Ali (R.A.)

Ali is the first Muslim and the King of men,
In Loveʹs eyes Ali is the treasure of the Faith.
Devotion to his family inspires me with life
So that I am as a shining pearl.
Like the narcissus, I am enraptured with gazing:
Like perfume, I am straying through his pleasure garden.
If holy water gushes from my earth, he is the source;
If wine pours from my grapes, he is the cause.
I am dust, but his sun hath made me as a mirror:
Song can be seen in my breast.
From Aliʹs face the Prophet drew many a fair omen,
By his majesty the true religion is glorified
His commandments are the strength of Islam:
All things pay allegiance to his House.
The Apostle of God gave him the name Bu Turab;
God in the Koran called him “the Hand of Allah.”
Every one that is acquainted with Lifeʹs mysteries
Knows what is the inner meaning of the names of Ali.
The dark clay, whose name is the body—
Our reason is ever bemoaning its iniquity.
On account of it our sky‐reaching thought plods over the earth;
It makes our eyes blind and our ears deaf.
It hath in its hand a two‐edged sword of lust:
Travelersʹ hearts are broken by this brigand.
Ali, the Lion of God, subdued the bodyʹs clay
And transmuted this dark earth to gold.
Murtaza, by whose sword the splendour of Truth was revealed,
Is named Bu Turab from his conquest of the body.
Man wins territory by prowess in battle,
But his brightest jewel is mastery of himself.
Whosoever in the world becomes a Bu Turab
Turns back the sun from the west;
Whosoever saddles tightly the seed of the body
Sits like the bezel on the seal of sovereignty:
Here the might of Khyber is under his feet,
And hereafter his hand will distribute the water of Kauthar.
Through self‐knowledge, he acts as Godʹs Hand,
And in virtue of being Godʹs Hand he reigns over all.
His person is the gate of the city of the sciences:
Arabia, China, and Greece are subject to him.
If thou wouldst drink clear wine from thine own grapes,
Thou must needs wield authority over thine own earth.
To become earth is the creed of a moth:
Be a conqueror of earth; that alone is worthy of a man.
Thou art soft as a rose. Become hard as a stone,
That thou mayst be the foundation of the wall of the garden!
Build thy clay into a Man,
Build thy Man into a World!
Unless from thine own earth thou build thine own wall or door,
Someone else will make bricks of thine earth.
O thou who complainest of the cruelty of Heaven,
Thou whose glass cries out against the injustice of the stone,
How long this wailing and crying and lamentation?
How long this perpetual beating of thy breast?
The pith of Life is contained in action,
To delight in creation is the law of Life.
Arise and create a new world!
Wrap thyself in flames, be an Abraham!
To comply with this world which does not favour thy purposes
Is to fling away thy buckler on the field of battle.
The man of strong character who is master of himself
Will find Fortune complaisant.
If the world does not comply with his humour,
He will try the hazard of war with Heaven;
He will dig up the foundations of the universe
And cast its atoms into a new mould.
He will subvert the course of Time
And wreck the azure firmament.
By his own strength he will produce
A new world which will do his pleasure.
If one cannot live in the world as beseems a man,
Then it is better to die like the brave.
He that hath a sound heart
Will prove his strength by great enterprises.
ʹTis sweet to use love in hard tasks
And, like Abraham, to gather roses from flames.
The potentialities of men of action
Are displayed in willing acceptance of what is difficult.
Mean spirits have no weapon but resentment.
Life has only one law.
Life is power made manifest,
And its mainspring is the desire for victory.
Mercy out of season is a chilling of Lifeʹs blood,
A break in the rhythm of Lifeʹs music.
Whoever is sunk in the depths of ignominy
Calls his weakness contentment.
Weakness is the plunderer of Life,
Its womb is teeming with fears and lies.
Its soul is empty of virtues,
Vices fatten on its milk.
O man of sound judgment, beware!
This spoiler is lurking in ambush
Be not its dupe, if thou art wise:
Chameleon‐like, it changes colour every moment.
Even by keen observers its form is not discerned:
Veils are thrown over its face.
Now it is muffled in pity and gentleness,
Now it wears the cloak of humanity.
Some times it is disguised as compulsion, Sometimes as excusability.
It appears in the shape of self‐indulgence
And robs the strong manʹs heart of courage.
Strength is the twin of Truth;
If thou knowest thyself, strength is the Truth‐revealing glass.
Life is the seed, and power the crop:
Power explains the mystery of truth and falsehood.
A claimant, if he be possessed of power,
Needs no argument for his claim.
Falsehood derives from power the authority of truth,
And by falsifying truth deems itself true.
Its creative word transforms poison into nectar;
It says to good, “Thou art bad,” and Good becomes Evil.
O thou that art heedless of the trust committed to thee,
Esteem thyself superior to both worlds!
Gain knowledge of Lifeʹs mysteries!
Be a tyrant! Ignore all except God!
O man of understanding, open thine eyes, ears, and lips!
If then thou seest not the Way of Truth, laugh at me!

(Asrar-e-Khudi-15) Marhala Soyem: Nayabat-e-Elahi

3. Divine Vicegerency

If thou canst rule thy camel, thou wilt rule the world
And wear on thine head the crown of Solomon.
Thou wilt be the glory of the world whilst the world lasts,
And thou wilt reign in the kingdom incorruptible.
’Tis sweet to be God's vicegerent in the world
And exercise sway over the elements.
God's vicegerent is as the soul of the universe,
His being is the shadow of the Greatest Name.

He knows the mysteries of part and whole,
He executes the command of Allah in the world.
When he pitches his tent in the wide world,
He rolls up this ancient carpet.
His genius abounds with life and desires to manifest itself:
He will bring another world into existence.
A hundred worlds like this world of parts and wholes
Spring up, like roses, from the seed of his imagination.
He makes every raw nature ripe,
He puts the idols out of the sanctuary.
Heart-strings give forth music at his touch,
He wakes and sleeps for God alone.
He teaches age the melody of youth
And endows every thing with the radiance of youth.
To the human race he brings both a glad message and a warning,
He comes both as a soldier and as a marshal and prince.

He is the final cause of “God taught Adam the names of all things,”

He is the inmost sense of “Glory to Him that transported His servant by night.”

His white hand is strengthened by the staff,

His knowledge is twined with the power of a perfect man.

When that bold cavalier seizes the reins,

The steed of Time gallops faster.

His awful mien makes the Red Sea dry,

He leads lsrael out of Egypt.

At his cry, “Arise,” the dead spirits

Rise in their bodily tomb, like pines in the field.

His person is an atonement for all the world,

By his grandeur the world is saved.

His protecting shadow makes the mote familiar with the sun,
His rich substance makes precious all that exists.
He bestows life by his miraculous actions,
He renovates old ways of life.
Splendid visions rise from the print of his foot,
Many a Moses is entranced by his Sinai.
He gives a new explanation of Life,
A new interpretation of this dream.
His hidden life is being Life’s mystery,
The unheard music of Life’s harp.

Nature travels in blood for generations
To compose the harmony of his personality.
Our handful of earth has reach the zenith,
For that champion will come forth from this dust!
There sleeps amidst the ashes, of our To-day
The flame of a world-consuming morrow.
Our bed enfolds a garden of roses,
Our eyes are bright with to-morrow's dawn.
Appear, O rider of Destiny!
Appear, O light of the dark realm of Change!
Illumine the scene of existence,
Dwell in the blackness of our eyes!
Silence the noise of the nations,
Imparadise our ears with thy music!

Arise and tune the harp of brotherhood,
Give us back the cup of the wine of love!
Bring once more days of peace to the world,
Give a message of peace to them that seek battle!
Mankind are the cornfield and thou the harvest,
Thou art the goal of Life's caravan.
The leaves are scattered by Autumn's fury:
Oh, do thou pass over our gardens as the Spring!
Receive from our downcast brows
The homage of little children and of young men and old!
It is to thee that we owe our dignity
And silently undergo the pains of life.