masjid-e-qurtaba

8/14/2019 masjid-e-qurtaba

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Chain of days and nights-artificer of all eventsChain of days and nights fountain of life and of death!

Chain of days and nights=thread of two-colored silkOf which the Being makes the robe of His Attributes!

Chain of days and nights-sigh of eternitys music

Where He of all possibility sounds the height and depth!

Thee it puts to test and me it puts to test,Day and night in procession, testers of all this world.

If thou art of less value and it I am of less value,Find in death our reward and in dissolution our wage.

Of your day and night what other meaning but this-One long current time, devoid of dawn and sunset?

All those masterpieces of Art, transitory andimpermanent;All in this world is of sand, all in this world is of sand!

Death the beginning and end, death to the visible andhidden;New be the pattern or old, its final halting-place isdeath.


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Yet in this design of things, something unendingendures,Wrought by some man of God into perfectionsmould;

Some high mortal whose work shines with thelight of love,Love is the essence of life, death to which isforbidden.

Long current of Time, string and swift though it

is,Love itself is a tide, stemming all oppositewaves;

In the almanac of Love, apart from the presenttime,Other ages exist, ages which have no name.

Love is the breath of Gabriel, Love is theProphets heart,Love the envoy of God, Love the utterance ofGod;

Under the ecstasy of Love our moral clay is

bright,Love is an unripe wine, Love is a cup for thenoble.

Love is the legist of Harem, Love is thecommander of hosts,

Love is the son of travel, countless itshabitations;

Love is the plectrum that plucks songs from thechords of life,Love is the brightness of life, Love is the fire oflife.


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Oh shrine of Cordova, thou owes; existence tolove.Deathless in all its being, stranger to Past andPresent.

Color or brick and stone, speech or music orsong,Only the hearts warm blood feeds thecraftsman/s design;

One drop of hearts blood lends marble a

heating heart,Out of the hearts blood flow out warmth, musicand mirth.

Thine the soul-quickening air, mine the soul-quickening verse,From thee the pervasion of mens hearts, fromme the opening of mens hearts.

Inferior to the Heaven of Heavens, by no meansthe human breast is,Handful of dust though it be, hemmed in the

azure sky.

What if prostration be the lot of the heavenlyhost?Warmth and depth of prostration they do notever feel.

I a heathen of Ind, behold my fervour and my

ardour,Salat! And Duroodfill my soul, Salatad Darood

are on my lips!

Fervently sounds my voice, ardently sounds mylute,

Allah Hu, like a song, thrilling through everyvein!


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Thou, in beauty and dignity, man of Gods witness,He is the beautiful and dignified, thou art beautifuland dignified.

Firm are thy foundations, numberless are thypillars,Soaring like ranks of palms over the Syrian desert.

Light of the Valley of Peace gleams on thy walls and

roof,On thy minarets height Gabriel stands in glory.

The Muslim shall not perish for by hisAzan,The secret of Moses and Abraham is revealed.

Limitless in his world, boundless his long horizon,Tigris and Danube and Nile but a wave in his sea.

His times are wondrous, his legends are strange,To the ages outworn he gave the command to

depart.

Saqiof men of taste, horseman of the realm ofdesire,Pure and unmixed his wine, tempered and glittering

his steel.

Warrior armed in the mail ofLa Ilah,Under the shadow of swords succored by La Ilah.


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Behold is thy stones are all the Believers secrets,Fire of passionate days, rapture of melting nights.

High is his station and great his thoughts are,Ecstasy, burning desire, self-abasement and pride.

The hand of the Momin is the Hand of Allah-Dominant, resourceful, creative, ensuring success.

Fashioned of dust and light, slave with the Mastersattribute.His heart is indifferent to the riches of the worlds.

His earthly hopes are few, his aims are high.Courtesy in his men, gaining all hearts with his glance;

He is soft of speech but fierce in the hour of pursuit,

In war and in peace, pure in thoughts and in art.

The point of Gods great compass the Believers firmfaith,All this universe else-shadow, illusion, deceit.

He is the goal of love, he is the end of Love,He, in the circle of the firmament, sets all spirits aglow.


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Shrine of the seekers art! Glory of the manifest Faith!Thou Andalusias soil sacred as Mecca hast made,

If there is underneath the sky beauty equal to thine,

Nowhere shall it be found but in the Muslims heart.

Ah those champions of Right, those fearless horsemen ofArabia,Bearers of high morality, knights of the truth and faith!

By their rule this strange secret to all was revealed,Men of pure hearts hold away, not to enslave but to serve.

East and West by their eyes gained instructions,In the darkness of Europe their minds showed the path.

Even today Andalusia, rich with their blood, is seen,Gay and friendly of heart, simple and bright of face;

Even today in this land, eyes like the soft gazelles,

Dart their glances, giving pleasure to the hearts;

Even today in its breeze fragrance of Yemen endures,Even today in its song echoes subsist of Hejaz.


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Thy land is like the heavens in the sight of thestars For ages, alas, thy atmosphere has remainedbereft of the Azan.

In what dale and glen, in what stage of thejourney,Loves undaunted caravan now happens to be?

Germany saw, long ago, Change and Revolution-Obliterating the old ways, sweeping away everytrace;

Holiness of the Pope fast became an erroneousword,Thought in its fragile boat launched on itsdangerous course;

The eye of France, also, has seen Revolution rage,

That overturned the world, the Westerners hadknown;

The Roman nation, old and tired with ancienttraditions,With the joy of Rejuvenation discovered again heryouth

Now that tempest has seized even the soul ofIslam,A Divine secret it is whose meaning cannot be toldby the tongue.

Watch! from the surface of this ocean whatportents finally emerge,

What new turn the blue revolving dome takes!


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Drowned in the twilight is the cloud in the mountain gorge;The sun has left behind heaps of the rubies of Badakhshan,

Running water of Guadalquiver! on your bank is a stranger,Lost in his thoughts, dreams of another age,

Behind the Destinys curtain the new world is yetconcealed,

But to mine eyes its dawn already stands unveiled.

Were, I to lift the veil from the face of my thoughts,Europe could not endure the burning heat of my songs.

Death, not life, is the life in which no revolution takesplace,Strife and revolt are the sustenance of nations souls.

Keen as a sword that nation is in the hand of Fate,Which at every moment takes account of its works and

deeds.

Works of creation are incomplete without the hearts warmblood,Music, an immature frenzy, without the hearts warm blood.

Love illumines every act of the men divinely inspired:Love is the essence of life-, love

dies not, but death.Though the tide of' time rises With mountain waves,Love itself' is atorrent, and resists all heaving storms.In the almanac of love, besides the time that

passes,Are myriad other ages, untold and unnamed.Love is Gabriel's breath; love is the

Prophet's spirit;Love is the apostle of God; love is the Word of God.It is the passion of

love that brightens the rose's colour;Love is the purest wine; love is the drink ofsaints.Love is the law for the holy; love is the guide for the layman;Love is the heart's

pilgrim, that visits in a thousand ways.Love is the lyre that strikes the vibrant chord of

life;Love is the light of life; love is the flame of life.O Holy Qartaba! Thou wastconceived in loveLove that ever defies the laws of change and death.Be it canvas,

stone or bronze, harp or song or the Muse,It is life-blood that nourishes marvels in the

world of art.It is life-blood that melts unmolten hearts of' flint;It is life-blood that turnsthe voice into ecstasy.Thine is the beauty of light, mine is the song of fire.Thy beauty


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exalts the heart; my song inspires the soul.Man's heart can reach the heights of the great

empyrean,Though his handful of dust cannot aspire beyond the skies.What if the angels

bright bow in eternal prayer?They bow not with man's passion, they bow not with hisyearningThough born of heathen stock, I have a fiery faith,With prayer and durood in my

heart, prayer and durood on my lips.

masjid-e-qurtaba

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