O wise men! it is good to have a thirst for knowledge,
But of what use is knowledge that cannot apprehend Reality?
The ultimate end of Art is to attain the warmth of immortal life,
What are a spasm or two of that fire which dies out like a spark?
Without a miracle, it is not possible to arouse nations;
That Art is useless which does not possess the miraculous powers of the Staff of Moses.
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A melody must nourish itself on the madness of love,
It must become like a fire dissolved n the blood of life.
A melody which has no meeting is sterile
Its hear like the fire of dying embers.
The skilled master improves upon nature,
He lays bare her secrets before our eyes,
He creates another Universe
And bestows a new life upon our hearts.
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Philosophical Poetry:

In the West, the Intellect is the source of life,
In the Easi, Love is the basis of life.
Through Love, the Intellect gets acquainted with Reality,
And the Intellect gives stability to the works of Love;
Arise, and lay the foundations of a new world -
By wedding the Intellect to Love!
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Eschew the East and be not bewitched by the wizardry of the West.
As both the ancient and the modern are not worth a grain of barley.
O thou who art in the caravan!
Travels with all but go thine own way.
Thou Cornest shining more brilliantly than the world illumining Sun.
Live so that your radiance may kindle every atom of the universe.
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Lyrical Poetry:

I am not such a fool as to prostrate myself before
Adam like other ethereal creatures.
It is my fire which makes blood course through the veins of creation
Adam is made of clay, I take my origin from fire;
I have the speed of the tempest, the roar of thunder,
Thou hast created the starry spheres: I cause them to move.
I am the heart of the world, the life latent in all things;
I have never asked for prostration from insignificant creatures like men.
I am the Devil without a Hell and the Judge without the Day of Judgment!
Thou givest life to the body, I infuse fire into life!
Thou showest the way to peaceful repose, I incite man to struggle unceasingly.
Man made of perishabIe clay, stupid and short-sighted,
Is born in Thy lap but attainth maturity in mine!
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A life of incessant struggle is better than perpetual peace,
The dove becomes a falcon when struggling to free itself from a snare.
Thou dost not know anything but prostration;
Hold thyself upright like a cypress, O thou who art slow in action!
Dost thou not know that union means the end of desire?
The secret of eternal life lies in incomplete consummation.
How sweet it is to make life a continuous struggle,
To melt with a single breath the heart of the mountain, the forest and the desert!
I am an imperfect burning, I am an all-aching desire.
I abandon certitude for doubt because I am the victim of ceaseless quest.

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O my fleet-footed dromedary,
My gazelle of Tartary;
O my dirham and my dinar,
O my unique treasure,
My rising fortune,
Quicken your step, our destination is not far!
Thou art charming and graceful,
Thou art a proud beauty,
The rival of the huri;
Thou art the envy of Leila.
O thou daughter of the desert,
Quicken your step, our destination is not far!
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Ghazals:

The ray of the world-illumining sun,
Is a spark of your Promethean fire;
In your creative powers lie concealed the germs of another world.
Thou dost not value the paradise given unto you:
Thy true heaven dost not lie anywhere but within thine own Self,
And in the precious gift of thy blood and thy life,
O Thou, Body of earth, behold thy inexpressible reward,
Which crowneth thy tireless efforts; struggle, and behold!
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I have made Venus my slave;
The pearlyMoon adores me;
And I have forged the majestic intellect for mastering and dominating the world.
I have gone deep into the profundities of the earth,
I have come out of it with drunken steps,
And the blue sky has spread out under my burning feet
A precious carpet as soft as velvet,
The grains of earth and the resplendent sun obey me as genii obey the magician.

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When Love imparts self-knowledge to man,
The mysteries of imperialism are laid bare to the slaves;
Whether it be 'Attar, Rumi, Razi or Ghazali
Nothing can be achieved without labour which begins with the sighs of dawn.
O wise guide! although the travellers be slow of foot,

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