Faith
O you who know nothing of the language of the heart,
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
O you who know nothing of the language of the heart,You who think the beating of the heart is happiness.From the darkness of the world my heart is black blood,If my Lord permits, if I could beat my wings,I would fly away, never to return again.The breath you draw in the clutches of fearIs heavier and gloomier than the embrace of the grave.Understand, after all: the aim is not to liveSinging like a turtledove in the cage of the world!If I give up my soul with my face bright, that is enough...Shall I flee to the desert? Or in the bosom of voiceless, muteCliffs shall I seek refuge?Shall I, repeating its words at dawn, at dusk, by day and night,Laying my head upon the sky's kindly breast,Listen quietly to the whispering of the breezes?Forgive the sorrows that have filled your awareness,My sorrows knew them as strangers.Indeed, your dreams are hungry for living,My dreams have died in my hands,The journey to the Hereafter has bent my frame...To the affairs of the world — forgive me, friends —I cannot give my thought and fancy.Until I go, moaning, before HimAnd stand in rows beneath His judgment,My soul is hurrying to be purified...And yet, having conquered my being, alas,My weakness mercilessly spends my life.If my Lord permits, if I could beat my wings,And my broken heart, rejoicing in reunion,Could begin its eternal life in union.Whatever my secret, it is plain to You, after all,Before You I am dust, lower than dust.My heart is broken. My eyes are tearful. My words half-said,I am coming to You, trembling with fear,Be generous to Your servant, O Allah, the Most Generous!Akrom MALIKJanuary 8, 2021.
Comments
No comments yet. Be the first.