Thy beauty flashes like a sword
Serene and keen and merciless;
But great as is thy cruelty,
Even greater is thy loveliness.
It is the gift of God to thee,
This beauty rare and exquisite;
Why dost thou hide it thus from me?
I shall not steal nor sully it.
And as thy beauty shines, in Heaven
There climbs upon its path of fire
The star that lights my rival’s way,
And with it mounts his heart’s desire.
Even in thy house is jealousy,
Thy youth demands the lover’s praise
Over thy beauty, which itself
Is jealous of thy gracious ways.
I died with joy when winningly
I heard the Well-Beloved call—
Zahir, where is my beauty gone?
Thou must have robbed me after all.
Zahir.
I shall not try to flee the sword of Death,
Nor, fearing it, a watchful vigil keep;
It will be nothing but a sigh, a breath,
A turning on the other side to sleep.
Through all the close entanglements of earth
My spirit shaking off its bonds shall fare
And pass, and rise in new unfettered birth,
Escaping from this labyrinth of care.
Within the mortal caravanserai
No rest and no abiding place I know;
I linger here for but a fleeting day,
And at the morrow’s summoning I go.
What are these bonds that try to shackle me?
Through all their intricate chains my way I find;
I travel like a wandering melody
That floats untamed, untaken, on the wind.