‘My love is for the ocean, but since I –
A bird – must be excluded from the deep,
I haunt the solitary shore and weep.
My beak is dry – not one drop can I drink –
But if the level of the sea should sink
By one drop, jealous rage woud seize my heart.
This love suffices me; how can I start
A journey like the one that you suggest?
I cannot join you in this arduous quest.
The Simorgh’s glory could not comfort me;
My love is fixed entirely on the sea.’
The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe answered him: ‘You do not know
The nature of this sea you love: below
Its surface linger sharks; tempests appear,
Then sudden calms – its course is never clear,
But turbid, varying, in constant stress;
Its water’s taste is salty bitterness.
How many noble ships has it destroyed,
Their crews sucked under in the whirlpool’s void:
The diver plunges and in fear of death
Must struggle to conserve his scanty breath;
The failure is cast up, a broken straw.
Who trusts the sea? Lawlessness is her law;
You will be drowned if you cannot decide
To turn away from her inconstant tide.
She seethes with love herself – that turbulence
Of tumbling waves, that yearning violence,
Are for her Lord, and since she cannot rest,
What peace could you discover in her breast?
She lives for Him – yet you are satisfied
To hear His invitation and to hide.
lines 998–1014
A hermit questions the ocean
A hermit asked the ocean: “Why are you
Clothed in these mourning robes of darkest blue?*
You seem to boil, and yet I see no fire!”
The ocean said: “My feverish desire
Is for the absent Friend. I am too base
For Him; my dark robes indicate disgrace
And lonely pain. Love makes my billows rage;
Love is the fire which nothing can assuage.
My salt lips thirst for Kausar’s† cleansing stream.”
For those pure waters tens of thousands dream
And are prepared to perish; night and day
They search and fall exhausted by the Way.’
The owl’s excuse
The owl approached with his distracted air,
Hooting: ‘Abandoned ruins are my lair,
Because, wherever mortals congregate,
Strife flourishes and unforgiving hate;
A tranquil mind is only to be found
Away from men, in wild, deserted ground.
These ruins are my melancholy pleasure,
Not least because they harbour buried treasure.
Love for such treasure has directed me
To desolate, waste sites; in secrecy
I hide my hopes that one fine day my foot
Will stumble over unprotected loot.
Love for the Simorgh is a childish story;
My love is solely for gold’s buried glory.’
lines 1015–30
The hoopoe answers him
The hoopoe answered him: ‘Besotted fool,
Suppose you get this gold for which you drool –
What could you do but guard it night and day
While life itself – unnoticed – slips away?
The love of gold and jewels is blasphemy;
Our faith is wrecked by such idolatry.
To love gold is to be an infidel,
An idol-worshipper who merits hell.
On Judgement Day the miser’s secret greed
Stares from his face for everyone to read.
The miser who became a mouse
A miser died, leaving a cache of gold;
And in a dream what should the son behold
But his dead father, shaped now like a mouse
That dashed distractedly about the house,
His mouse-eyes filled with tears. The sleeping son
Spoke in his dream: “Why, father, must you run
About our home like this?” The poor mouse said:
“Who guards my store of gold now I am dead?
Has any thief found out its hiding-place ?”
The son asked next about his mouse-like face
And heard his father say: “Learn from my state;
Whoever worships gold, this is his fate –
To haunt the hidden cache for evermore,
An anxious mouse that darts across the floor”.’
The finch’s excuse
The timid finch approached. Her feeble frame
Trembled from head to foot, a nervous flame;
She chirped: ‘I am less sturdy than a hair
And lack the courage that my betters share;
My feathers are too weak to carry me
The distance to the Simorgh’s sanctuary.
lines 1031–50
How could a sickly creature stand alone
Before the glory of the Simorgh’s throne?
The world is full of those who seek His grace,
But I do not deserve to see His face
And cannot join in this delusive race –
Exhaustion would cut short my foolish days,
Or I should turn to ashes in His gaze.
Joseph was hidden in a well and I
Shall seek my loved one in the wells nearby.’
The hoopoe answers her
The hoopoe said: ‘You teasing little bird,
This humble ostentation is absurd!
If all of us are destined for the fire,
Then you too must ascend the burning pyre.
Get ready for the road, you can’t fool me –
Sew up your beak, I loathe hypocrisy!
Though Jacob mourned for Joseph’s absent face,
Do you imagine you could take his place?
Jacob’s dream when Joseph was lost
When Jacob lost his son his eyes grew blind;
Tears flooded for the child he could not find.
His lips repeatedly formed Joseph’s name –
To his despair the angel Gabriel came
And said: “Renounce this word; if you persist,
Your own name will be cancelled from the list
Of prophets close to God.” Since this command
Came from his God, dear Joseph’s name was banned
Henceforth from Jacob’s lips; deep in his soul
He hid the passions he could not control.
But as he slept one night the long-lost child
Appeared before him in a dream, and smiled;
He started up to call him to his side –
And then remembered, struck his breast and sighed.
lines 1051–68
When from his vivid dream the old man woke,
The angel Gabriel came to him, and spoke:
“Though you did not pronounce your lost son’s name,
You sighed – the exhalation meant the same
As if you had renounced your vow; a sigh
Reveals the heart as clearly as a cry”.’
The other birds protest and the hoopoe tells them of their relationship with the Simorgh
The other birds in turn received their chance
To show off their loquacious ignorance.
All made excuses – floods of foolish words
Flowed from these babbling, rumour-loving birds.
Forgive me, reader, if I do not say
All these excuses to avoid the Way;
But in an incoherent rush they came,
And all were inappropriate and lame.
How could they gain the Simorgh? Such a goal
Belongs to those who discipline the soul.
The hoopoe counselled them
: ‘The world holds few
As worthy of the Simorgh’s throne as you,
But you must empty this first glass; the wine
That follows it is love’s devoted sign.
If petty problems keep you back – or none –
How will you seek the treasures of the sun?
In drops you lose yourselves, yet you must dive
Through untold fathoms and remain alive.
This is no journey for the indolent –
Our quest is Truth itself, not just its scent!’
When they had understood the hoopoe’s words,
A clamour of complaint rose from the birds:
‘Although we recognize you as our guide,
You must accept – it cannot be denied –
We are a wretched, flimsy crew at best,
And lack the bare essentials for this quest.
lines 1069–88
Our feathers and our wings, our bodies’ strength
Are quite unequal to the journey’s length;
For one of us to reach the Simorgh’s throne
Would be miraculous, a thing unknown.
At least say what relationship obtains
Between His might and ours; who can take pains
To search for mysteries when he is blind?
If there were some connection we could find,
We would be more prepared to take our chance.
He seems like Solomon, and we like ants;
How can mere ants climb from their darkened pit
Up to the Simorgh’s realm? And is it fit
That beggars try the glory of a king?
How ever could they manage such a thing?’
The hoopoe answered them: ‘How can love thrive
In hearts impoverished and half alive?
“Beggars”, you say – such niggling poverty
Will not encourage truth or charity.
A man whose eyes love opens risks his soul –
His dancing breaks beyond the mind’s control.
When long ago the Simorgh first appeared –
His face like sunlight when the clouds have cleared –
He cast unnumbered shadows on the earth,
On each one fixed his eyes, and each gave birth.
Thus we were born; the birds of every land
Are still his shadows – think, and understand.
If you had known this secret you would see
The link between yourselves and Majesty.
Do not reveal this truth, and God forfend
That you mistake for God Himself God’s friend.
If you become that substance I propound,
You are not God, though in God you are drowned;
Those lost in Him are’not the Deity –
This problem can be argued endlessly.
You are His shadow, and cannot be moved
By thoughts of life or death once this is proved.
lines 1089–1110
If He had kept His majesty concealed,
No earthly shadow would have been revealed,
And where that shadow was directly cast
The race of birds sprang up before it passed.
Your heart is not a mirror bright and clear
If there the Simorgh’s form does not appear;
No one can bear His beauty face to face,
And for this reason, of His perfect grace,
He makes a mirror in our hearts – look there
To see Him, search your hearts with anxious care.
A king who placed mirrors in his palace
There lived a king; his comeliness was such
The world could not acclaim his charm too much.
The world’s wealth seemed a portion of his grace;
It was a miracle to view his face.
If he had rivals, then I know of none;
The earth resounded with this paragon.
When riding through his streets he did not fail
To hide his features with a scarlet veil.
Whoever scanned the veil would lose his head;
Whoever spoke his name was left for dead,
The tongue ripped from his mouth; whoever thrilled
With passion for this king was quickly killed.
A thousand for his love expired each day,
And those who saw his face, in blank dismay
Would rave and grieve and mourn their lives away –
To die for love of that bewitching sight
Was worth a hundred lives without his light.
None could survive his absence patiently,
None could endure this king’s proximity –
How strange it was that men could neither brook
The presence nor the absence of his look!
Since few could bear his sight, they were content
To hear the king in sober argument,
But while they listened they endured such pain
lines 1111–29
As made them long to see their king again.
The king commanded mirrors to be placed
About the palace walls, and when he faced
Their polished surfaces his image shone
With mitigated splendour to the throng.
If you would glimpse the beauty we revere
Look in your heart – its image will appear.
Make of your heart a looking-glass and see
Reflected there the Friend’s nobility;
Your sovereign’s glory will illuminate
The palace where he reigns in proper state.
Search for this king within your heart; His soul
Reveals itself in atoms of the Whole.
The multitude of forms that masquerade
Throughout the world spring from the Simorgh’s shade.
If you catch sight of His magnificence
It is His shadow that beguiles your glance;
The Simorgh’s shadow and Himself are one;
Seek them together, twinned in unison.
But you are lost in vague uncertainty…
Pass beyond shadows to Reality.
How can you reach the Simorgh’s splendid court?
First find its gateway, and the sun, long-sought,
Erupts through clouds; when victory is won,
Your sight knows nothing but the blinding sun.
A story about Alexander the Great
When Alexander, that unconquered lord,
Who subjugated empires with his sword,
Required a lengthy message to be sent
He dressed up as the messenger and went.
“The king gives such an order,” he would say,
And none of those who hurried to obey
Once guessed this messenger’s identity –
They had no knowledge of such majesty,
lines 1130–52
And even if he said: “I am your lord”,
The claim was thought preposterous and ignored.
Deluded natures cannot recognize
The royal way that stands before their eyes.
Ayaz’s sickness
Ayaz, afflicted with the Evil Eye,
Fell ill. For safety he was forced to lie
Sequestered from the court, in loneliness.
The king (who loved him) heard of his distress
And called a servant. “Tell Ayaz,” he said,
“What tears of sympathy I daily shed.
Tell him that I endure his suffering,
And hardly comprehend I am the king;
My soul is with him (though my flesh is here)
And guards his bed solicitous with fear;
Ayaz, what could this Evil Eye not do,
If it destroys such loveliness as you!”
The king was silent; then again he spoke:
“Go quickly as a fire, return like smoke;
Stop nowhere, but outrun the brilliant flash
That lights the world before the thunder’s crash.
Go now; if you s
o much as pause for breath
My anger will pursue you after death.”
The servant scuttled off, consumed with dread,
And like the wind arrived at Ayaz’ bed –
There sat his sovereign, by the patient’s head!
Aghast, the servant trembled for his life
And pictured in his mind the blood-smeared knife.
“My king,” he said, “I swear, I swear indeed,
That I have hurried here with utmost speed –
Although I see you here I cannot see
How in the world you have preceded me;
Believe my innocence, and if I lie
I am a heathen and deserve to die.”
His sovereign answered him: “You could not know
lines 1153–71
The hidden ways by which we lovers go;
I cannot bear my life without his face,
And every minute I am in this place.
The passing world outside is unaware
Of mysteries Ayaz and Mahmoud share;
In public I ask after him, although
Behind the veil of secrecy I know
Whatever news my messengers could give;
I hide my secret and in secret live”.’
The birds question the hoopoe and he advises them
An ancient secret yielded to the birds
When they had understood the hoopoe’s words –
Their kinship with the Simorgh was now plain
And all were eager to set off again.
The homily returned them to the Way
And with one voice the birds were heard to say:
‘Tell us, dear hoopoe, how we should proceed –
Our weakness quails before this glorious deed.’
‘A lover’, said the hoopoe, now their guide,
‘Is one in whom all thoughts of Self have died;
Those who renounce the Self deserve that name;
Righteous or sinful, they are all the same!
Your heart is thwarted by the Self’s control;
Destroy its hold on you and reach your goal.
Give up this hindrance, give up mortal sight,
For only then can you approach the light.
If you are told: “Renounce our Faith”, obey!
The Self and Faith must both be tossed away;
Blasphemers call such action blasphemy –
Tell them that love exceeds mere piety.
Love has no time for blasphemy or faith,
Nor lovers for the Self, that feeble wraith.
They burn all that they own; unmoved they feel
Against their skin the torturer’s sharp steel.
lines 1172–91
Heart’s blood and bitter pain belong to love,
The Conference of the Birds (Penguin) Page 5