Faith
I had been scattered piece by piece,
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
I had been scattered piece by piece,And you are gathering me speck by speck.I chewed myself, I ate myself in bits,And you come toward me as me.The light of the sun that fills the worldCannot find its way into the hut of the heart.When reason and awareness abandon a person,He only wanders about, brawling like a drunkard.Perhaps the sound that comes from his own lipsHis ear will not catch, his mind will not perceive.Crushing in his claws the bird called the soul,He will never grasp the cause of his torment.From within, the treacherous nafs rebels without end,From without, Satan comes leading his army.In the fortress of the body, the mind and the heartCan only stand frozen in bewilderment, paining the soul.Then suddenly the call to rescue rings out,A cry comes to the soul: “Rise — the iqamah!”As though the dust of strife had suddenly settled,You are born again, safe and sound.You listen for a quiet footstep,Suddenly the attacks from outside fall still.A blue spring washes the mind and the heart,Dark nights begin to bloom like the dawn.Shedding light, a multitude descends from the heavens —Angels holding chains in their hands.A solemn stillness slowly covers the earth,The devils are bound and put in chains.Now only the clamor of the nafs remains,Only the insolent nafs rises in revolt.But with no help coming from outside,The voice of the nafs slowly sinks lower.But there is yet a divine grace, a wondrous one,A weapon is given to break the nafs —Forgoing pleasure all day long, crying “O Truth!”,With fasting you trample the nafs underfoot.The attacks that came night and day, by Allah,Will cease, and your soul will find rest and calm.Now, asking the Truth for salvation and refuge,You may receive His help.I had been scattered piece by piece,Night and day I swallowed blood in clots.Opening your arms wide, you came smiling,You entered my heart with light, Ramadan.O season of mercy, month of grace,Ramadan, where the river of forgiveness overflows!Haven of safety for ailing hearts,Among the twelve months you are the sultan!You make no distinction between kings and beggars,You never drive anyone away from your presence.You light up everyone’s hut alike,You never pass anyone by without a word.If any wretched, helpless one so wishes,You lead him to the door of repentance.If any weeps, his heart and soul bleeding,You never abandon him halfway.Forgive me if I could not honor you,Pardon me if I could not be worthy of your dignity.But be assured that I, a slave, each timeHave come to you stumbling, near to death...My Lord, thanks be to You, countless thanks —You have given a month wrapped in forgiveness.When Your servant grew sick of his own state,You gave this great stream, saying, “Be purified.”Help me, let me prevail over my nafs,Help me, do not withhold Your help for a moment.Longing every moment to behold You,If only the Quran would become my heart...Akrom MALIK
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