The Luzumiyat

Visitor who bore
Both Rope and Pail; he offered them and said:
“Drink, if you will, but once, and nevermore.”

XLI

One draught, more bitter than the Zaqqum tree,
Brought us unto the land of mystery
Where rising Sand and Dust and Flame conceal
The door of every Caravanseri.

XLII

We reach a door and there the legend find.
“To all the Pilgrims of the Human Mind:
Knock and pass on!” We knock and knock and knock;
But no one answers save the moaning wind.

XLIII

How like a door the knowledge we attain,
Which door is on the bourne of the Inane;
It opens and our nothingness is closed⁠—
It closes and in darkness we remain.

XLIV

Hither we come unknowing, hence we go;
Unknowing we are messaged to and fro;
And yet we think we know all things of earth
And sky⁠—the suns and stars we think we know.

XLV

Apply thy wit, O Brother, here and there
Upon this and upon that; but beware
Lest in the end⁠—ah, better at the start
Go to the Tinker for a slight repair.

XLVI

And why so much ado, and wherefore lay
The burden of the years upon the day
Of thy vain dreams? Who polishes his sword
Morning and eve will polish it away.

XLVII

I heard it whispered in the cryptic streets
Where every sage the same dumb shadow meets:
“We are but words fallen from the lips of Time
Which God, that we might understand, repeats.”

XLVIII39

Another said: “The creeping worm hath shown,
In her discourse on human flesh and bone,
That Man was once the bed on which she slept⁠—
The walking dust was once a thing of stone.”

XLIX40

And still another: “We are coins which fade
In circulation, coins which Allah made
To cheat Iblis: the good and bad alike
Are spent by Fate upon a passing shade.”

L41

And in the pottery the potter cried,
As on his work shone all the master’s pride⁠—
“How is it, Rabbi, I, thy slave, can make
Such vessels as nobody dare deride?”

LI

The Earth then spake: “My children silent be;
Same are to God the camel and the flea:
He makes a mess of me to nourish you,
Then makes a mess of you to nourish me.”

LII

Now, I believe the Potter will essay
Once more the Wheel, and from a better clay
Will make a better Vessel, and perchance
A masterpiece which will endure for aye.

LIII

With better skill he even will remould
The scattered potsherds of the New and Old;
Then you and I will not disdain to buy,
Though in the mart of Iblis they be sold.

LIV

Sooth I have told the masters of the mart
Of rusty creeds and Babylonian art
Of magic. Now the truth about myself⁠—
Here is the secret of my wincing heart.

LV

I muse, but in my musings I recall
The days of my iniquity; we’re all⁠—
An arrow shot across the wilderness,
Somewhither, in the wilderness must fall.

LVI42

I laugh, but in my laughter-cup I pour
The tears of scorn and melancholy sore;
I who am shattered by the hand of Doubt,
Like glass to be remoulded nevermore.

LVII43

I wheedle, too, even like my slave Zeidun,
Who robs at dawn his brother, and at noon
Prostrates himself in prayer⁠—ah, let us pray
That Night might blot us and our sins, and soon.

LVIII44

But in the fatal coils, without intent,
We sin; wherefore a future punishment?
They say the metal dead a deadly steel
Becomes with Allah’s knowledge and consent.

LIX45

And even the repentant sinner’s tear
Falling into Jahannam’s very ear,
Goes to its heart, extinguishes its fire
For ever and forever⁠—so I hear.

LX

Between the white and purple Words of Time
In motley garb with Destiny I rhyme:
The colored glasses to the water give
The colors of a symbolry sublime.

LXI

How oft, when young, my brothers I would shun
If their religious feelings were not spun
Of my own cobweb, which I find was but
A spider’s revelation of the sun.

LXII46

Now, mosques and churches⁠—even a Kaaba Stone,
Korans and Bibles⁠—even a martyr’s bone⁠—
All these and more my heart can tolerate,
For my religion ’s love, and love alone.

LXIII

To humankind, O Brother, consecrate
Thy heart, and shun the hundred Sects that prate
About the things they little know about⁠—
Let all receive thy pity, none thy hate.

LXIV

The tavern and the temple also shun,
For sheikh and libertine in sooth are one;
And when the pious knave begins to pule,
The knave in purple breaks his vow anon.

LXV

“The wine’s forbidden,” say these honest folk,
But for themselves the law they will revoke;
The snivelling sheikh says he’s without a garb,
When in the tap-house he had pawned his cloak,

LXVI

Or in the house of lust. The priestly name
And priestly turban once were those of Shame⁠—
And Shame is preaching in the pulpit now⁠—
If pulpits tumble down, I’m not to blame.

LXVII

For after she declaims upon the vows
Of Faith, she pusillanimously bows
Before the Sultan’s wine-empurpled throne,
While he and all his courtesans carouse.

LXVIII

Carouse, ye sovereign lords! The wheel will roll
Forever to confound and to console:
Who sips today the golden cup will drink
Mayhap to-morrow in a wooden bowl⁠—

LXIX

And silent drink. The tumult of our mirth
Is worse than our mad welcoming of birth:⁠—
The thunder hath a grandeur, but the rains,
Without the thunder, quench the thirst of Earth.

LXX

The Prophets, too, among us come to