From that timeless abyss,
When no one, no thing,
By decree or by command,
Or from the depths of an eternal spark,
Unfurled the veil of existence,
Drawing the world forth from nothingness,
Or severing the eternal from its boundless course.
Many have come,
Many have gone,
Filling halls with gold,
And prisons with sorrow.
They adorned the obedient,
And bound every melody in chains.
Scars of torment marked fragile bodies,
Shoulders broke under the weight of whips,
Until at last,
Names were buried in nameless dust,
Wrapped in shame, lost to oblivion.
From the first dawn,
To this endless now,
What endured,
Was the hand that struck Farhad’s brow,
The fate that led the mad Sheikh San’an,
Preacher of virtue,
To the solitude of love’s heresy.
What remained,
Was Leili sinking into dust,
And Rabia drowning in blood.
It was the breath of that same fire,
That rose from the lips of the Keeper of Secrets,
Setting the ocean of poetry ablaze.
It wailed through the reed-flute of Rumi,
Echoed in the silent goblet of Khayyam,
And stormed the heavens with a cry of defiance.
A bitter taste of ancient wine,
Bubbling in the veins of creation,
Coloring the world with life,
And with the blood of lovers,
Unleashing a battle cry
Against the tyranny of grief.
No decree was sent,
No legend whispered from tongue to tongue,
Only a chance revelation,
And so it came to pass—
Love emerged,
And set the whole world on fire.
Arsalan – Tehran
18th Esfand, 1403
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