وَسائِلَةٍ أَيُّ المَذاهِبِ مَذَهَبي

وَهَل كانَ فَرعاً في الدِياناتِ أَم أَصلا

To What Doctrine Do I Belong?

She asks me: which doctrine do I follow?

To what doctrine do I belong, and which of the religions is mine?

Is it a fundamental creed, or merely a branch of faith?

وَأَيُّ نَبِيٍّ مُرسَلٍ أَقتَدي بِهِ

وَأَيُّ كِتابٍ مُنَزَلٍ عِندِيَ الأَغلى

Is it a branch among faiths or is it the root?

And which sent prophet do I emulate?

And which prophet do I follow?

And which revealed scripture do I hold most dear?

فَقُلتُ لَها لا يَقتَني المَرءُ مَذهَباً

وَإِنَ جَلَّ إِلّا كانَ في عُنقِهِ غُلّا

And which revelation do I hold most dear?

I said to her: A man does not adopt a sect,

I said to her: One does not acquire a doctrine

However noble it may be, without it becoming a yoke upon his neck.

فَما مَذهَبُ الإِنسانِ إِلّا زُجاجَةً

تُقَيِّدُهُ خَمراً وَتَضبُطُهُ خَلّا

Unless he bears a yoke around his neck.

For man's doctrine is but a glass vessel,

So the doctrine of a person is but a flask

Containing him whether he be wine or vinegar.

فَإِن كانَ قُبحاً لَم يُبَدِّلهُ لَونُها

جَمالاً وَلا نُبلاً إِذا لَم يَكُن نُبلا

That shackles him, whether it is wine or vinegar.

If he is foul, the vessel’s hue will not transform him

If it was ugly, its color does not turn it into beauty,

Into beauty, nor create nobility where none exists.

أَنا آدَمِيٌّ كانَ يَحسَبُ أَنَّهُ

هُوَ الكائِنُ الأَسمى وَشُرعَتُهُ الفُضلى

Nor into nobility if it had no innate nobility.

I am a human who once believed that he

I am an earthling who thought

Was the supreme being, and his law the most virtuous;

وَأَنَّ لَهُ الدُنيا الَّتي هُوَ بَعضُها

وَأَنَّ لَهُ الأُخرى إِذا صامَ أَو صَلّى

He was the highest creation with the best laws.

That the world, of which he is but a part, belongs to him,

And that this world, of which he is but a part, belongs to him

And the Hereafter is his, if he but fasts or prays.

أَمُنُّ عَلى الصادي إِذا ما سَقيتُهُ

وَأُلزِمُهُ شُكري وَلَستُ أَنا الوَبلا

And the next world too, if he fasted or prayed.

I claim merit over the thirsty when I quench his thirst,

I give thanks when I quench the thirsty,

Demanding his gratitude, though I am not the rain-cloud.

وَأُزهى إِذا أَطعَمتُ جَوعانَ لُقمَةً

كَأَنّي خَلَقتُ الحَبَّ في الحَقلِ وَالحَقلا

As if it was I who created the grain in the field and the field itself.

I swell with pride if I feed the hungry a mere morsel,

For an era, I was apprentice to Man in the course of time,

As if I created both the grain within the field, and the field itself.

تَتَلمَذتُ لِلإِنسانِ في الدَهرتِ حُقبَةً

فَلَقَّنَني غِيّاً وَعَلَّمَني جَهلا

So he taught me deceit and imparted ignorance.

For an epoch, I apprenticed myself to Mankind,

He prohibited me from taking souls, then when

But he tutored me in error and taught me ignorance.

نهاني عَن قَتلِ النُفوسِ وَعِندَما

رَأى غُرَّةً مِنّي تَعَلَّمَ بِيَ القَتلا

He saw some weakness in me, he taught me to kill.

He forbade me from slaying souls, yet when

And he condemned slavery to me, then enslaved me,

He saw me off my guard, he practiced killing upon me.

وَذَمَّ إِلَيَّ الرِقَّ ثُمَّ اُِستَرَقَّني

وَصَوَّرَ ظُلماً فيهِ تَمجيدُهُ عَدلا

And portrayed oppression as if it were justice.

He denounced slavery to me, then made me his slave,

He almost made me see sin in everything I saw

Portraying the injustice that glorified him as justice.

وَكادَ يُريني الإِثمَ في كُلِّ ما أَرى

وَكُلَّ نِظامٍ غَيرَ ما سَنَّ مُختَلّا

And that every system other than what he established was crooked.

He nearly made me see sin in all that I beheld,

So people became to me both an enemy and companion,

And view every system but his own as flawed.

فَصارَ الوَرى عِندي عَدُوّاً وَصاحِباً

وَأَنفُسُهُم صِنفَينِ عَلياءَ أَو سُفلى

And they themselves were either superior or inferior.

So mankind became to me divided: friend and foe,

And I started to see hatred, and I started to see love,

Their souls of two castes: the exalted and the base.

وَصُرتُ أَرى بُغضاً وَصُرتُ أَرى هَوىً

وَصُرتُ أَرى عَبداً وَصُرتُ أَرى مَولى

And I started to see a slave, and I started to see a lord.

I began to see hatred, and I began to see passion,

Oh, the evils that befall the entirely good!

I began to see the slave, and I began to see the master.

وَيا رُبَّ شَرٍّ خِلتَهُ الخَيرَ كُلُّهُ

وَيا رُبَّ خَيرٍ خِلتُهُ نَكبَةً جُلّى

And oh, the goods that befall the entirely evil!

How often did I mistake evil for pure good,

Until I saw a star rise in the darkness

And how often did I deem a blessing a grave disaster.

إِلى أَن رَأَيتُ النَجمَ يَطلَعُ في الدُجى

لِذي مُقلَةٍ حَسرى وَذي مُقلَةٍ جَذلى

For one who despairs, and for one who rejoices.

Until I watched the star rise in the pitch-black night,

And I saw how the river gives its water

Shining for the sorrowful eye and the joyful eye alike.

وَشاهَدتُ كَيفَ النَهرُ يَبذُلُ مائَهُ

فَلا يَبتَغي شُكراً وَلا يَدَّعي فَضلا

Without seeking gratitude or claiming merit.

And I witnessed how the river grants its waters,

And how the dawn adorns itself with roses and wildflowers

Seeking no gratitude, claiming no virtue.

وَكَيفدَ يُزينُ الطَلُّ وَرداً وَعَوسَجاً

وَكَيفَ يُرَوِّ العارِضُ الوَعرَ وَالسَهلا

And how the clouds water the rugged and smooth earth alike.

How the dew adorns both the rose and the thornbush,

And how the earth nourishes the trees of its orchards,

And how the rain-cloud waters the rugged peak and the plain.

وَكَيفَ تُغَذّي الأَرضُ أَلأَمَ نَبتِها

وَأَقبَحَهُ شَكلاً كَأَحسَنَهُ شَكلا

The ugliest and most beautiful in form.

How the earth nourishes the vilest of its weeds,

So my view of life became like nature’s view,

And the most unsightly, just as it feeds the fairest bloom.

فَأَصبَحَ رَأيِ في الحَياةِ كَرَأيِها

وَأَصبَحتُ لي دينٌ سِوى مَذهَبي قَبلا

And I came to have a religion other than my doctrine before.

So my philosophy of life became as nature’s is,

And every mind that sets free became my prophet,

And I embraced a faith unlike the sect I held before.

وَصارَ نَبِيِّ كُلُّ ما يُطلِقُ العَقلا

وَصارَ كِتابي الكَونُ لا صُحُفٌ تُتلا

And my scripture became the universe, not mere pages recited.

My prophet became all that liberates the mind,

So my religion is like the religion of the meadow, fragrant with wildflowers,

And my scripture the Universe, not pages to be recited.

فَديني كَدينِ الرَوضِ يَعبَقُ بِالشَذى

وَلَو لَم يَكُن فيهِ سِوى اللِصُّ مُنسَلّا

Even if the only thing in it was a sneaking thief.

My faith is like the garden’s faith, exuding fragrance,

Its borders are not the borders of Malikism,

Even if none but a thief sneaks through its paths.

فَلَيسَت تُخومُ المالِكِيَّةِ تُخومُهُ

وَإِن لَهُ إِن يَعلَموا غَيرَهُم أَهلا

Even if they did not know others who belonged to it.

Its borders are not defined by property lines,

It welcomed the breeze, the light and guidance,

And it welcomes others more worthy than its owners know.

فَكَم هَشَّ لِلأَنسامِ وَالنورِ وَالهُدى

وَآوى إِلَيهِ الطَيرَ وَالذَرَّ وَالنَملا

And sheltered the birds, the mites and ants.

How often has it smiled for the breezes, the light, and the dawn,

And how much it resuscitated from ruin

And given shelter to the birds, the motes, and the ants.

وَكَم بَعَثَتهُ لِلحَياةِ مِنَ البِلى

قَريحَةُ فَنّانٍ فَأَورَقَ وَاِخضَلّا

By the genius of an artist who made it bloom and turn green!

How often has it been raised to life from decay,

And its specter started to shine in a poem

By an artist's inspiration, blooming verdant and lush.

وَأَصبَحَ يُجلي طَيفُهُ في قَصيدَةٍ

وَفي رُقعَةٍ أَو لَوحَةٍ وَهوَ لا يُجلى

Or painting or panel though it cannot be revealed.

Revealing its spectral beauty in a poem,

And my religion which the brook chose for itself—

Or upon a canvas, though in reality it remains unseen.

وَديني الَّذي اِختارَ الغَديرُ لِنَفسِهِ

وَيا حُسنَ ما اِختارَ الغَديرُ وَما أَحلى

Oh, how excellent is what the brook chose, and how sweet!

And my faith is that which the stream chose for itself,

The birds come to it thirsty and are sated,

How beautiful is the stream’s choice, and how sweet!

تَجيءُ إِلَيهِ الطَيرُ عَطشى فَتَرتَوي

وَإِن وَرَدَتهُ الإِبلُ لَم يَزجُرِ الإِبلا

And if camels stopped by, it would not drive away the camels.

The birds come to it thirsty and drink their fill,

The sinful wolf bathes in its water,

And if camels approach, it does not drive them away.

وَيَغتَسِلُ الذِئبُ الأَثيمُ بِمائِهِ

فَلا إِثمُ ذا يُمحى وَلا طُهرُ ذا يَبلى

So no sin that is erased, and no purity that wears out.

The sinful wolf washes in its waters,

And my religion is like the religion of the stars that appear to a lover,

Yet the wolf’s sin is not erased, nor the water’s purity defiled.

وَديني كَديني الشُهبِ تَبدو لِعاشِقٍ

وَقالٍ وَفيها ما يُحِبُّ وَما يُقلى

A narrator—and it contains what he loves and what revolts him.

My faith is like the stars’, appearing to the lover,

It does not hide in order to lead an astray traveler,

And to the hater alike—containing what is loved and what is loathed.

فَما اِستَتَرَت كَيما يُضِلُّ مُسافِرٌ

وَلا بَزَغَت كَي يَستَنيرَ الَّذي ضَلّا

Nor does it shine in order to illuminate one who has lost his way.

They do not hide themselves to lead a traveler astray,

It cannot prevent people from quenching their thirst,

Nor do they rise solely to guide the one who is lost.

وَلَيسَ لَها أَن تَمنَعَ الناسَ ضَوأَها

وَلَو فَتَلوا مِنهُ لِتَكبيلِها حَبلا

Even if they untie from it the ropes that bind it.

They have no will to withhold their light from mankind,

And my religion is like the religion of rain. When it pours, it does not differentiate

Even if men twisted that light into a rope to bind them.

وَديني كَدينِ الغَيثِ إِن سَحَّ لَم يُبَل

أَرَوّى الأَقاحي أَم سَقى الشَوكَ وَالدِفلى

Between irrigating the lush and watering the thorns and nettles.

My faith is like the rain’s faith: when it pours, it cares not

It does not pick and choose its path in the sky

Whether it waters the daisies or feeds the thorns and oleander.

فَلَم يَتَخَيَّر في الفَضاءِ مَسيرَهُ

وَلَم يَنهَمِر جوداً وَلَم يَنحَبِس بُخلا

Nor cascade in generosity, nor withhold in stinginess.

It does not choose its path through the void,

And if I am not like the meadow, the star and the living,

Neither pouring out of generosity, nor withholding out of greed.

وَإِن لَم أَكُن كَالرَوضِ وَالنَجمِ وَالحَيا

فَحَسبِيَ اِعتِقادي أَنَّ شُطَّتُها المُثلى

It is enough for me to believe that their ideals are the best.

And if I cannot be like the garden, the star, and the rain,

I see bees other than me when I see the bees buzzing,

It suffices that I believe their nature is the ideal.

يَرى النَحلَ غَيري إِذ يَرى النَحلَ حائِماً

وَأُبصِرُ قُرصَ الشَهدِ إِذ أُبصِرُ النَحلا

And I glimpse combs of honey when I glimpse the bees.

Others see only bees when they watch the swarm hovering,

And I notice oases of palm trees in the groves

But I see the honeycomb when I behold the bee.

وَأَلمَحُ واحاتٍ مِنَ النَخلِ في النَوى

إِذا جَرَفَ الإِعصارُ مِن واحَتي النَخلا

When the storm uproots my palm trees from my oasis.

I glimpse oases of palm trees within the date-pit,

And I know when I drink the mirage that I

Even when the hurricane sweeps the palms from my oasis.

وَأَن أَشرَبِ الصَهباءَ أَعلَمُ أَنَّني

شَرِبتُ بَشاشاتِ الزَمانِ الَّذي وَلّى

Have drunk the fleeting times of eras past.

And when I drink the red wine, I know that I

And whatever the wind whispered in the ear of the soil

Am drinking the joys of an age that has passed,

وَما هَمَسَتهُ الريحُ في أُذُنِ الثَرى

وَما ذَرَفَت في اللَيلِ نَجمَتُهُ الثَكلى

And whatever stars shed their tears in the night of bereavement,

And what the wind whispered into the ear of the earth,

And the sips of those who died in despair, yearning—

And the tears shed by the bereaved star in the night.

وَغَصّاتِ مَن ماتوا عَلى اليَأسِ في الهَوى

فَيا شارِبيها هَل لَمَحتُم دَمَ القَتلى

So, imbiber of it, have you sensed the blood of the slain?

And the agony of those who died in despair of love—

And if a child passes me by, I see in him the world

O you who drink, did you glimpse the blood of the slain?

وَإِن مَرَّ بي طِفلٌ رَأَيتُ بِهِ الوَرى

مِنَ المَثَلِ الأَدنى إِلى المَثَلِ الأَعلى

From the lowest ideal to the highest ideal.

If a child passes me by, I see within him all mankind,

Oh, what a world whose good is a part of its evil!

From the basest likeness to the most sublime ideal.

فَيا لَكِ دُنيا حُسنِها بَعضُ قُبحِها

وَيا لَكَ كَوناً قَد حَوى بَعضُهُ الكُلّا

And what a universe that encompasses each other!

O world, whose beauty is but part of its ugliness!

O universe, where a mere fragment contains the whole!