The Sphere of Jupiter - The Noble spirits of Hallaj, Ghalib and Qurat al-Ain Tahira who disdained to dwell in Paradise, preferring to wander for ever

Let me be a ransom for this demented heart which every instant bestows on me another desert;

whenever I take up a lodging, it says, ‘Rise up!’ The self strong man reckons the sea as but a pool.

Seeing that the signs of God are infinite where, traveller, can the high road end?

The task of science is to see and consume, the work of gnosis is to see and augment;

science weighs in the balance of technology, gnosis weighs in the balance of intuition;

science holds in its hand water and earth, gnosis holds in its hand the pure spirit;

science casts its gaze upon phenomena, gnosis absorbs phenomena into itself.

In quest of continuous manifestations I travel through the skies, lamenting like a reed;

all this is by the grace of a pure born saint whose ardour fell upon my soul.

The caravan of these two scanners of existence presently halted by the shores of Jupiter,

that world, that earth not yet complete, circling about it moons swift of pace;

the glass of its vine was still empty of wine, desire as yet had not sprouted from its soil.

Midnight, a world half day in the moon’s gleam, the air thereof neither chill nor torrid.

As I lifted my gaze towards heaven I saw a star closer to me;

the awful prospect robbed me of my senses— near and far, late and soon became transformed.

I saw before me three pure spirits the fire in whose breasts might melt the world.

They were clad in robes of tulip hue, their faces gleamed with an inner glow;

in fever and fervour since the moment of Alast, intoxicated with the wine of their own melodies.

Rumi said, ‘Do not go out of yourself so, be quickened by the breath of these songs of fire.

You have never seen intrepid passion; behold! You have never seen the power of this wine; behold!

Ghalib and Hallaj and the Lady of Persia have flung tumult into the soul of the sanctuary.

These songs bestow stability on the spirit, their warmth springs from the inmost heart of creation.’

The Song of Hallaj

Seek from your own earth a fire as yet unseen, another’s apparition is unworthy of your demand.

I have so fastened on myself my gaze, that though the beauty of the Beloved fills all the world, I am left no time to contemplate.

I would not give for Jamshid’s realm that verse of Naziri: ‘He who is yet unslain belongs not to our tribe.’

Though reason whose trade is wizardry mustered an army, your heart will not be dismayed, for Love is not alone.

You know not the way and are uninformed of the stage; what melody is there that is not in Sulaima’s lute?

Tell a tale of the hunting and fettering of sharks: do not say, ‘Our skiff knows not the face of the sea.’

I am disciple of the zeal of that wayfarer who never set foot on any high road that ran over mountains, deserts and seas.

Be partner with the ring of wine‐bibbing dissolutes; beware of allegiance to a Master who is not a man of tumult.

The Song of Ghalib

Come, let us change the rule of heaven, let us change fate by revolving a heavy measure of wine;

though the police captain makes trouble, we will not worry, and if the king himself sends a present, we will reject it.

Though Moses converse with us, we will not say a word; though Abraham be our host, we will decline him.

Battling, the tribute‐snatchers of the grove we will turn away from our garden’s gate with empty basket;

peacefully, the birds that flutter their wings at dawn we will send back from the grove to their nests.

You and I are of Hyder, so no wonder would it be if we turn back the sun towards the East.

The Song of Tahira

If ever confronting face to face my glance should alight on you I will describe to you my sorrow for you in minutest detail.

That I may behold your cheek, like the zephyr I have visited house by house, door by door, lane by lane, street by street.

Through separation from you my heart’s blood is flowing from my eyes river by river, sea by sea, fountain by fountain, stream by stream.

My sorrowful heart wove your love into the fabric of my soul thread by thread, thrum by thrum, warp by warp, woof by woof.

Tahira repaired to her own heart, and saw none but you page by page, fold by fold, veil by veil, curtain by curtain.

The ardour and passion of these anguished lovers cast fresh commotions into my soul;

ancient problems reared their heads and made assault upon my mind.

The ocean of my thought was wholly agitated; its shore was devastated by the might of the tempest.

Rumi said, ‘Do not lose any time, you who desire the resolution of every knot;

for long you have been a prisoner in your own thoughts, now pour this tumult out of your breast!’