محبت

The locks of the bride of night’s hair were still unbent. The sky’s stars were unacquainted with the taste of running.

The moon in its new attire was looking a little strange: Was not familiar with the established laws of revolution.

The earth had just emanated from possibility’s dark recesses. Life’s taste was still concealed from the expanse of space.

Perfection of the order of existence was just starting. The gem’s longing was apparent from the ring’s eye.

It is said that there was an alchemist in the spiritual world; the dust of whose feet was clearer than the Jam’s wine cup.

A recipe for an Iksir was written on the leg of Arsh, which was hidden jealously by angels from Adam’s eye.

But the alchemist’s attention was ever concentrated on it. He considered that recipe greater than Ism-i-A‘zam.

He advanced to the Arsh under pretense of doxology: Inner longing was at last achieved by constant effort.

He was roaming in the world in search of components; nothing could be concealed from the knower of God’s Audience.*

He procured brightness from the star, spot from the moon.* He stole a little darkness from the night’s uncombed hair.

He obtained restlessness from thunder, chastity from Hoor.* He took warmth from the breath of Masih son of Maryam.

Then he took a little grandeur of Beniyazi from the Divinity. He took humility from the angel, humbleness from dew’s destiny.

Then dissolved these components in Chashmah-i-Haiv’an’s water. The compound was given the name of ‘Love’ by the Grand Arsh.

The alchemist sprinkled this water at the newly created existence; with skill’s help he opened the knot of the world’s secrets.

Movement appeared, the elements gave up sleep; getting up each started embracing its companion.

The suns and the stars learnt elegant movements. Flower buds learnt blooming poppies got their spots11