MATHNAWÍ Verses 1330-1358

Self-Delusion & Dissonance

The Foundation of Blindness

Delusion stands as this world’s pillar strong, We chase our fortune, but we chase it wrong— We run and run until the beating comes, Like donkeys dying where the desert drums.

When you embrace a task with fervent mind, Its hidden flaws you’ll never hope to find, For God conceals what’s broken from your sight, So you may labor through the day and night.

Each passion burning hot within your chest Contains a flaw you cannot see or test— The very heat that makes your spirit race Has drawn a veil across your eager face.

The Mercy of the Veil

If all the shame and fault were laid out bare, Your soul would flee beyond compare— From east to west it would escape in fear, Never to let that wretched work draw near.

That state of mind where you at last repent— If felt at first, how differently time’s spent! You’d never run toward what you now regret, You’d turn away before the trap was set.

So divine laws hide the truth from mortal eyes, That we might walk the path that agency supplies— The veil lifts only when the deed is done, And then repentance comes for everyone.


The Cycle of Repentance

When destiny unfolds its grand design, The eye springs open—now you see the sign, Repentance rushes in like morning tide, But this regret is destiny’s own guide.

This very sorrow is God’s will made known— Now drop this repentance, worship God alone! For even penitence is Heaven’s decree, Let go the guilt and simply let it be.

The Prison of Regret

If you make habit of your contrite days, And wander lost in repentance’s maze, This constant sorrow breeds still more remorse— You’ll ride regret like some unending horse.

One half your life will scatter in distraction, The other half consumed by guilt’s reaction— A pendulum that swings from sin to shame, While both the poles remain essentially the same.

Release this anxious thought, this endless cycle! Seek better spiritual work, a nobler rival— Find higher ground, a friend, a sacred task, Instead of wearing penitence’s mask.

And if no better work awaits your hand, Then for what missing deed do you withstand? What labor lost deserves your ceaseless grief? What phantom crime denies your soul relief?

If you know well the good, then worship pure— If goodness stays obscure, then how are you sure That this dark path you walk is truly wrong? You cannot know the false without the song.


The Paradox of Knowing

You cannot know what evil truly means Until you’ve glimpsed what good is in between— Only by contraries can truth be found, O youth, one half reveals the other’s ground.

You say you’re powerless to leave this thought, Yet powerless to sin as well, you’re caught— If impotence kept you from going astray, Then why repent for crimes you couldn’t pay?

Ask this: from where does impotence arise? By whose great pull does weakness rule the wise? No soul has seen a powerless state alone— Without true power, weakness can’t be known.

And so with every longing that you hold, Its hidden flaws remain forever cold— You’re barred from seeing what the desire conceals, The veil descends before the truth reveals.

The Prayer for Vision

If that desire’s viciousness were shown, Your soul would recoil, abandoned and alone— It would retreat from what it sought before, And never seek to gratify once more.

Had God revealed the faultiness in store, No force could drag you toward that door— You’d turn away without a moment’s thought, Refusing what temptation’s net had caught.

And that other work from which you flee? Its faults are clear for all to see— The reason for your deep aversion’s plain: The broken nature causes all your pain.

O God who knows the secrets that we hide, Whose gracious speech becomes our trusted guide— Don’t veil from us what evil work contains, Show us the poison, spare us future pains!

But shield from us the good work’s every flaw, Lest we grow cold and break the sacred law— Lest we become disgusted and turn back, Distracted from the spiritual track.

Solomon’s Vision

According to this habit well-rehearsed, Great Solomon arose at morning’s first— Into the Mosque he walked at break of day, To see what new plants lined the sacred way.

The king maintained his daily rule and rite, Observing growth that bloomed within his sight— But not the plants that common eyes can see, He sought the herbs of deeper mystery.

The heart that holds that pure and perfect eye Perceives the growth the vulgar can’t descry— It sees in secret, in the hidden way, The spiritual herbs that bloom beyond the day.

Sources