Collect your mind’s fragments
that you may fill yourself
bit by bit with Meaning:
the slave who meditates
on the mysteries of Creation
for sixty minutes
gains more merit
than from sixty years
of fasting and prayer.
Meditation:
high-soaring hawk
of Intellect’s wrist
resting at last
on the flowering branch
of the Heart:
this world and the next
are hidden beneath
its folded wing.
Now perched before
the mud hut
which is Earth
now clasping with its talons
a branch of the Tree
of Paradise
soaring here
striking there — each moment
fresh prey
gobbling a mouthful of moonlight
wheeling away
beyond the sun
darting between the Great Wheel’s
star-set spokes, it rips to shreds
the Footstool and the Throne
a Pigeon’s feather
in its beak —
or a comet —
till finally free of everything
it alights, silent
on a topmost bough.
Hunting is king’s sport,
not just anyone’s
pastime
but you?
you’ve hooded the falcon
— what can I say? —
clipped its pinions
broken its wings…
alas.
by Hakim Sanai
English version by Peter Lamborn Wilson and Nasrollah Pourjavady
Original Language Persian/Farsi
