Wisdom
Like the vagrant wind of spring,
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
Like the vagrant wind of spring,Go bang your head on every door and every crack.Like the question on a mute man’s tongue,Your sun will not come out from behind the clouds.You dream that the world is in your hands,Your words run unchecked from your tongue.You are heedless; in truth, the matter is this:It is you who are a captive in the world’s hands.Your ego will not bow its neck, will take no counsel,Morning and evening it weaves its snare of tricks.It never tires of showing itself as good,Declaring the distant destination near.If someone suddenly holds a mirror to your face,You are eager to break his hand.And so that what your ego says may be fulfilled,You are persuading Satan to be your partner.But putting a colorful mask upon your face,You will never admit a single fault or flaw.Making an idol of arrogance’s mountain-like stone,You never stop bowing down to it.The danger over your head grows ever thicker,Though you have learned both French and Arabic by heart,If it has been written on your brow by destinyThat you should meet a mentor like an elder,You have found a sun — glory be to Allah —To trample down the darkness of the world.Now seek refuge in his presence,For the fall of arrogance and the perfection of the heart.But tying a noose around your neck again,You have handed it to Satan, alas.You shout yourself hoarse at everyone, “I am great,”While inside you there is cry upon cry...Akrom MALIK
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