*
al Doilea sfetnic al lui
Iblis spune:
Is this uproar of ‘rule of the masses’
(democracy) good, or is it bad?
You are unaware of the novel mischiefs
of this world!
comentariu:
[al doilea sfetnic crede că primul sfetnic nu este suficient de înțelept încât să observe situația corect; el îi spune că nu a luat în considerare apariția democrației, care este adevărata provocare pentru Imperiul lui Iblis]
Primul sfetnic al lui
Iblis spune:
Indeed, I am aware, but I am guided
by my experience of this world,
There is no danger at all in that which
is a mere cloak of monarchy.
comentariu:
[primul sfetnic îl asigură pe al doilea spunându-i că democrația, în esență, nu diferă de imperialism. Nu are nici un motiv să privească democrația ca fiind o amenințare; până la urmă, nu este decât același imperialism înfășurat într-o altă haină atrăgătoare]
When Man grew up to some extent,
began to be aware of himself,
No one else but we disguised monarchy
in the garb of democracy.
The essence of imperialism is quite unique,
It does not depend upon the existence
of any leader or monarch.
Whether it is the peoples’ council or
the court of Parvez (the ruler of Persia),
He who covets the garden of the other,
is indeed the king.
Have you seen the
democratic system of the West?
Its face looks bright, but internally it is
darker than the rule of Chengez (Genghis Khan).
comentariu:
[în aparență, democrația occidentală se arată ca fiind deosebit de benefică și în interesul maselor; dar, la o cercetare atentă, este mai opresivă decât conducerea brutală a lui Genghis Khan, căpetenia mongolă din secolul al XIII-lea care a masacrat milioane de oameni]
*
Jawab-e-Shikwa
Allah’s Answer
A cry from the heart
is always redressed.
It may have no wings,
but still, it can fly.
The plaint genuine
looks up to the sky,
rises from the earth,
seeks fulfilment.
I am all impertinence,
my love, bent upon trouble:
my imprudent song
cleaves an azure sky.
The keeper of the firmaments said:
Someone is somewhere.
The planets looked to
the celestial throne.
The galaxy sensed
some hidden presence.
The moon differed: someone
from the earth, perhaps.
Only Rizwan, at Heavens’ Gate,
could appreciate my grouse.
He saw me for what I am –
son of Adam, ousted from paradise.
Angels too were astounded
by this terrestrial voice,
heavenly beings confounded
by its mysterious lilt.
Could a mere human
aspire to the sky?
An earthman,
who lacks all graces,
how could this
insolent dweller of the dirt,
this speck of dust,
grow wings?
What kind of pride
that he rants against Allah thus?
Is this the same Adam?
before whom angels genuflected?
Knowing this
and that and the other,
yet showing not
the slightest humility.
There is a conceit it men,
in their facility to speak,
yet these boorish ones
know not how to.
The Voice rang out:
Your story is filled with grief,
like a goblet brimming
with unspilled tears.
Your passionate lament
has rent the sky. How silken
is the voice of your besotted heart,
its wily ways
make gripes sound like praise.
Your eloquence
gives supplicants sanction
to speak with their Maker as equals.
Our bounties are abundant,
yet who craves for Us?
To whom
do We show the way?
There are no seekers,
no one is worthy
of this Jeweller’s keen gaze.
This is not the clay
with which We built Adam.
For the deserving,
We have Kai’s splendours
for the righteous, brave new worlds.
Your flesh is weak,
your heart devoid of Us,
the flock is a disgrace
to Our messenger.
Iconoclasts are gone,
makers of idols remain.
Father Abraham is gone,
Azar’s kin sustain.
You have new allies;
it is a new wine you brew.
In your new Ka’aba,
your idols are new, as are you.
Those were the days,
when Our love was to you
sublime. The flower of faith
unfolded in seasons of bloom, a time
when every Muslim
kept his faith in Allah.
He who once loved you
is the One you now call untrue.
Go now; find some deity,
and be enthralled.
Let the community of Muhammad
dwindle to just one place.
How heavy lies the burden
of dawn upon you. When
did you ever love Us?
It is your slumber you pursue.
Even Ramzan is as a penitentiary
for your casual ways.
You tell Us now, is this the mirror
of your constancy?
Only religion can keep you one,
without it you are as nothing.
With neither sentiment nor conviction,
there is no garden, there is no mehfil.
You are layabouts
with no skills useful to this world.
Snuffed out haystacks,
your hearts could never spark.
You couldn’t be bothered
about your homes or abodes,
your livelihood rests
on selling your fathers’ graves.
With fame and wealth
that comes from the trade of tombs,
what can prevent you cashing in
on gods made of stone?
Who erased falsehood
from the pages of time?
Who freed the race of men
from bondage?
Who restored My Ka’aba
with the sweat of their brow?
Who held My Qur’an
dearest to their hearts? Those
were your very forefathers,
but what are you?
Hand-wringers
wasting for a new dawn.
And your lament?
That is the lot of the Muslim
to remain content
with only promises of houris?
Complain if you must,
but at least show restraint.
It has always been Our way
to be just – for if the unbelievers
conduct themselves as good Muslims,
unto them are Our just fruits.
None among you aspire
for the houris of paradise.
Tor’s fire burns brightly,
but where is Moses?
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