The Luzumiyat

begin;
Our feet are on the heads of those that pass,
But ever their Graves around our Cradles grin.

XII

And what avails it then that Man be born
To joy or sorrow?⁠—why rejoice or mourn?
The doling doves are calling to the rose;
The dying rose is bleeding o’er the thorn.

XIII29

And he the Messenger, who takes away
The faded garments, purple, white, and gray
Of all our dreams unto the Dyer, will
Bring back new robes to-morrow⁠—so they say.

XIV30

But now the funeral is passing by,
And in its trail, beneath this moaning sky,
The howdaj comes⁠—both vanish into night;
To me are one, the sob, the joyous cry.

XV

With tombs and ruined temples groans the land
In which our forbears in the drifting sand
Arise as dunes upon the track of Time
To mark the cycles of the moving hand

XVI

Of Fate. Alas! and we shall follow soon
Into the night eternal or the noon;
The wayward daughters of the spheres return
Unto the bosom of their sun or moon.

XVII31

And from the last days of Thamud and ʻAd
Up to the first of Hashem’s fearless lad,
Who smashed the idols of his mighty tribe,
What idols and what heroes Death has had!

XVIII32

Tread lightly, for the mighty that have been
Might now be breathing in the dust unseen;
Lightly, the violets beneath thy feet
Spring from the mole of some Arabian queen.

XIX

Many a grave embraces friend and foe
Behind the curtain of this sorry show
Of love and hate inscrutable; alas!
The Fates will always reap the while they sow.

XX33

The silken fibre of the fell Zaqqum,
As warp and woof, is woven on the loom
Of life into a tapestry of dreams
To decorate the chariot-seat of Doom.

XXI

And still we weave, and still we are content
In slaving for the sovereigns who have spent
The savings of the toiling of the mind
Upon the glory of Dismemberment.

XXII

Nor king nor slave the hungry Days will spare;
Between their fangèd Hours alike we fare:
Anon they bound upon us while we play
Unheeding at the threshold of their Lair.

XXIII34

Then Jannat or Jahannam? From the height
Of reason I can see nor fire nor light
That feeds not on the darknesses; we pass
From world to world, like shadows through the night.

XXIV

Or sleep⁠—and shall it be eternal sleep
Somewhither in the bosom of the deep
Infinities of cosmic dust, or here
Where gracile cypresses the vigil keep!

XXV

Upon the threshing-floor of life I burn
Beside the Winnower a word to learn;
And only this: Man’s of the soil and sun,
And to the soil and sun he shall return.

XXVI

And like a spider’s house or sparrow’s nest,
The Sultan’s palace, though upon the crest
Of glory’s mountain, soon or late must go:
Ay, all abodes to ruin are addrest.

XXVII

So, too, the creeds of Man: the one prevails
Until the other comes; and this one fails
When that one triumphs; ay, the lonesome world
Will always want the latest fairy-tales.

XXVIII

Seek not the Tavern of Belief, my friend,
Until the Sakis there their morals mend;
A lie imbibed a thousand lies will breed,
And thou’lt become a Saki in the end.

XXIX35

By fearing whom I trust I find my way
To truth; by trusting wholly I betray
The trust of wisdom; better far is doubt
Which brings the false into the light of day.

XXX

Or wilt thou commerce have with those who make
Rugs of the rainbow, rainbows of the snake,
Snakes of a staff, and other wondrous things?⁠—
The burning thirst a mirage can not slake.

XXXI36

Religion is a maiden veiled in prayer,
Whose bridal gifts and dowry those who care
Can buy in Mutakallim’s shop of words
But I for such, a dirham can not spare.

XXXII

Why linger here, why turn another page?
Oh! seal with doubt the whole book of the age;
Doubt every one, even him, the seeming slave
Of righteousness, and doubt the canting sage.

XXXIII37

Some day the weeping daughters of Hadil
Will say unto the bulbuls: “Let’s appeal
To Allah in behalf of Brother Man
Who’s at the mercy now of Ababil.”

XXXIV

Of Ababil! I would the tale were true⁠—
Would all the birds were such winged furies too;
The scourging and the purging were a boon
For me, O my dear Brothers, and for you.

XXXV

Methinks Allah divides me to complete
His problem, which with Xs is replete;
For I am free and I am too in chains
Groping along the labyrinthine street.

XXXVI

And round the Well how oft my Soul doth grope
Athirst; but lo! my Bucket hath no Rope:
I cry for water, and the deep, dark Well
Echoes my wailing cry, but not my hope.

XXXVII

Ah, many have I seen of those who fell
While drawing, with a swagger, from the Well;
They came with Rope and Bucket, and they went
Empty of hand another tale to tell.

XXXVIII38

The I in me standing upon the brink
Would leap into the Well to get a drink;
But how to rise once in the depth, I cry,
And cowardly behind my logic slink.

XXXIX

And she: “How long must I the burden bear?
How long this tattered garment must I wear?”
And I: “Why wear it? Leave it here, and go
Away without it⁠—little do I care.”

XL

But once when we were quarreling, the door
Was opened by a