In the day’s chirping and night—like silence;

In night’s silence, in the sky’s tumults;

Waking eyes in the dusk of sleep;

In the imagination of sleep, a torment of gratefulness;

Day and night, caravans of thought pass by,

Day and night, we console ourselves:

Where are we? What are we? Who are we? Why are we?

The chain of questions never ends.

.

In this scripture of knowledge is the stream of guidance;

In the masterpieces of art is the lamp of Gnosis;

Favours are given in the palaces of those

Who still squander their wisdom for free,

From which friends and foes receive light on Life’s battleground,

Which helped so many dim—sighted people 

With their difficulties on the road of action.

.

We’ve frequently called these lamps, these voices,

To our bedrooms; we have told them the whole tale

Of our longings,

The secret of our heart’s wounds.

But after going a few paces, new scars emerged;

Again, the interminable void, again the same darkness,

As if our sight sulked from every lamp,

As if our loneliness overpowered every voice.

.

        1960

.

From: Nayā ʻahdnāmah (New Testament). ʻAlīgaṛh: ʻAlīgaṛh Buk Hāʼūs, 1965. pp. 123 – 24