by Muhammad Shanazar
Hard, narrow and straight is the route,
Those who are un-backed fall headlong soon,
The devotees face slippery spot at each step,
And go through a trial of strength.
A thing slight may culminate taking up,
Or throw down into the dark bottom of abyss,
Where from if you are not brittle hearted,
Start climbing afresh, with zeal and zest,
Submitting your wills before the Mighty Consent.
A journey long of the distant land allowed me
To have a pause in front of a mosque,
Very small like a turned half globe,
With a minaret in centre of the top.
Divided was its roundity with raised streaks,
As they do divide the soft crust of a melon,
Some invisible masters had made a show of craft,
The trailing branches of roses were laden
With the flowers ever fresh and leaves ever green.
Then I went in and saw the saints four,
Discussing the errors, I had committed
Since I became a traveller of the arduous route.
Came down then I, in the basement I found
The damsels four, standing at the door,
In the dresses red, yellow, pink and blue,
And I was to pass through them unheeded.
When they attracted gesturing with the moves of eyes,
I engrossed in thoughts carnal,
Their sweet beauty cast irresistible spell,
And I forgot the purpose of the distant sojourn,
Ah! Lust that rode on the back defeated me again.
Last updated June 26, 2011