Answer - Question-7
If you direct your eyes towards your heart, You will find your destination within your bosom.
To travel while at rest is: To travel from oneʹs self to oneʹs self.
None knows here where we are, That we look so insignificant in the eyes of moon and stars.
Donʹt seek the end of the journey, for you have no end; As soon as you reach the end, you lose your soul.
Do not look upon us as ripe, for we are raw, At every destination we are perfect and imperfect.
Not to reach the end is life; Immortal life for us lies in constant travelling.
The whole world from the centre of the earth to the moon is within our reach, Time and space are like dust in our path.
Our selves are our centres and pine for manifestation, For we are waves and rise from the bottom of Being.
Lie in constant ambush against the self, Fly from doubt to faith and certainty.
The fire and ardour of love are not subject to extinction; Faith and ʺsightʺ have no end.
The perfection of life consists in seeing the Essence, The way of achieving it is to free oneself from the limits of time and space.
You should enjoy privacy with the Divine Person in such a way, That He sees you and you see Him.
Become illumined by the light of “what you see.” Do not wink, otherwise you will be no more.
In His presence, be strong and self possessed, Donʹt merge yourself in the ocean of His Light.
Bestow that perturbation to the mote, That it may shine in the vicinity of the sun.
So burn amid the splendour of the Beloved That you may illumine yourself in public and Him in privacy.
He who ʺsawʺ is the leader of the world, We and you are imperfect; he alone is perfect.
If you do not find him, rise in search of him; If you find him, attach yourself to him.
Do not allow yourself to be guided by the faqih, shaikh, and mulla, Like fish, do not walk about careless of the hook.
He is a man of the path in matters of State and religion; We are blind and he is a man of insight.
Like the sun of the morning, Wisdom shines from every root of his hair.
The West has set up the rule of democracy, It has untied the rope from the neck of a fiend.
It does not possess sound without plectrum and musical instruments, Without a flying machine it does not possess the power of flying.
A desolate field is better than its garden, A desert is better than its city.
Like a marauding caravan it is active, Its people are ever busy in satisfying their hunger.
Its soul became dormant, and its body awoke; Art, science and religion all became contemptible.
Intellect is nothing but fostering of unbelief, The art of the West is nothing but man killing.
A group lies in ambush against another group, Such a state of affairs is sure to lead to disaster.
Convey my message to the West That the ideal of democracy is a sword out of its sheath:
What a sword that it kills men And does not make a distinction between a believer and an unbeliever!
If it does not remain in the sheath for a little more time, It will kill itself as well as the world.