Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 42
Listen to this story how in Baghdad
A flag and a curtain fell into dispute.
Travel stained, dusty and fatigued, the flag
Said to the curtain by way of reproach:
‘I and thou, we are both fellow servants,
Slaves of the sultan’s palace.
Not a moment had I rest from service
In season and out of season I travelled about.
Thou hast suffered neither toil nor siege,
Not from the desert, wind, nor dust and dirt.
My step in the march is more advancing.
Then why is thy honour exceeding mine?
Thou art upon moon-faced servants
Or jessamine scented slave girls.
I have fallen into prentice hands.
I travel with foot in fetters and head fluttering.’
The curtain said: ‘My head is on the threshold
Not like thine in the heavens.
Who carelessly lifts up his neck
Throws himself upon his neck.’
Related quotes
Wouldest Thou!
THY SERVANTS CLAIM THAT ALL POWERS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH BELONGS TO YOU!
THY SCRIPTURES HAS IT WRITTEN! AND I QUOTE!
GO YE TO MY SERVANT JOB! DESTROY ALL HE HAS, BUT TOUCH NOT HIS LIFE!
THY SERVANTS SAY THIS TO ME!
IN EVERYTHING, GIVE THANKS UNTO GOD!
WOULDEST THOU GIVE THANKS UNTO ME IF I WERE GOD AND YOU WERE ME?
WOULDEST THOU WORSHIP ME IF I HAD DONE ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME BY THE DOINGS OF THINE SERVANTS?
THY SCRIPTURES HAST PROVEN THAT THE DOINGS OF THE DEVIL BE BY THY BIDDENS!
HOW THEN CAN THOU AND THINE HOUSEHOLD BE CALLED THE GOOD?
HOW THEN CANST THOU AND THINE HOUSEHOLD BE INNOCENT?
FOR ALL EVIL BY ALL POWERS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH BE OF THEE!
FOR ALL POWERS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH BELONGS TO YOU! THEY CLAIM!
WOULDEST THOU RESPECT ME IF I DID UNTO YOU BY THE HANDS OF MINE SERVANTS ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME BY THE HANDS OF THINE SERVANTS?
WOULDEST THOU?
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To a Light Houskeeper
(Who hitches laundering articles to the curtain
string and pastes them on the pane.)
Lady, thou that livest
Just across the way,
If a hang thou givest
What the people say,
If a cuss thou carest
What a poet thinks-
Hearken, if thou darest,
Most immodest minx!
Though thy gloves thou tiest,
To the curtain string,
Though the things thou driest
Gird me while I sing,
Hankies and inventions
Of the lacy tribe-
Things I may not mention,
Let alone describe.
These I mutely stand for
Though the sight offend,
THIS I reprimand for;
Take it from a friend:
Cease to pin thy tresses
To the window sill,
Or I'll tell the presses-
Honestly, I will.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All This Is That
I am that, thou art that, and all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
This is that
Oooo
Daybreak and I take a glide
Into the pool of peace inside
(two waves travel by)
To waves and I both travel by
(and that makes all the difference to me)
Life supporting waves of bliss
Mother divines precious kiss
Brings with love the light of wisdom
And the gift of eternal freedom
To waves and I both travel by
(... and the nature of man...)
And that makes all the difference to me
(krishna...)
All this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
This is that
This is that
Dusk time the shadows fall
Into the timeless time of all
To waves and I both travel by
Golden auras glow around you
Omnipresent love surrounds you
Wisdom warming as the sun
You and I are truly one
To waves and I both travel by
And that makes all the difference to me
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
Jai guru dev
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai guru dev
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
Jai guru dev
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
Jai
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai guru dev
Jai
Jai guru dev
Jai
Jai guru dev
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Admonition 19
Ask not a dervish in poor circumstances, and in the distress of a year of famine, how he feels, unless thou art ready to apply a salve to his wound or to provide him with a maintenance.
When thou seest an ass, fallen in mud with his load,
Have mercy in thy heart and step not on his head.
But when thou hast gone and asked him how he fell,
Gird thy loins and take hold of his tail like a man.
Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 02
I saw a dervish who placed his head upon the threshold of the Ka’bah, groaned, and said: ‘O forgiving, 0 merciful one, thou knowest what an unrighteous, ignorant man can offer to thee.’
I have craved pardon for the deficiency of my service
Because I can implore no reward for my obedience.
Sinners repent of their transgressions.
Arifs ask forgiveness for their imperfect worship.
Devotees desire a reward for their obedience and merchants the price of their wares but I, who am a worshipper, have brought hope and not obedience. I have come to beg and not to trade. Deal with me as thou deemest fit.
Whether thou killest me or forgivest my crime,
my face and head are on thy threshold.
A slave has nothing to command; whatever thou commandest I obey.
I saw a mendicant at the door of the Ka’bah Who said this and wept abundantly:
‘I ask not for the acceptance of my service
But for drawing the pen of pardon over my sins.’
Come not when I am dead
Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.
Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.
Pass on, weak heart, and leave to where I lie:
Go by, go by.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
O, Curtain Boy...my Curtain Boy!
i'm the stage
i'm the setting
i'm the play
i'm the actor
i'm the green room, too
but how's it you kept
the command ove the
curtain in your hands?
o, curtain boy!
my curtain boy...
don't you see
the stage's developing cracks?
the setting's getting ruined?
the lines're getting broken?
the actor's growing weary?
the greenroom floor is all smudged
with the colours of spent out emotions?
o, curtain boy...
my curtain boy!
30aug2009
00.40hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not Worth the toil!
NOT all the sum of earthly happiness
Is worth the bowed head of a moment's pain,
And if I sell for wine my dervish dress,
Worth more than what I sell is what I gain!
Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me
Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil,
Not worth the journey over land and sea,
Not worth the toil!
Down in the quarter where they sell red wine,
My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup
How brave a pledge of piety is mine,
Which is not worth a goblet foaming up!
Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said
'Forth from the tavern gate!' Why am I thrust
From off the threshold? is my fallen head
Not worth the dust?
Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine!
Where word and deed alike one colour bear,
The grape's fair purple garment shall outshine
Thy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.
Full easy seemed the sorrow of the sea
Lightened by hope of gain--hope flew too fast
A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,
Not worth the blast.
The Sultan's crown, with priceless jewels set,
Encircles fear of death and constant dread
It is a head-dress much desired--and yet
Art sure 'tis worth the danger to the head?
'Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those
That long for thee; the Conqueror's reward
Is never worth the army's long-drawn woes,
Worth fire and sword.
Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest
And store it in the treasury of Ease;
Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,
Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!
Ah, scorn, like Hafiz, the delights of earth,
Ask not one grain of favour from the base,
Two hundred sacks of jewels were not worth
Thy soul's disgrace
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psalm 08
Aug. 14. 1653.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth?
So as above the Heavens thy praise to set
Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou
Hast founded strength because of all thy foes
To stint th'enemy, and slack th'avengers brow
That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.
When I behold thy Heavens, thy Fingers art,
The Moon and Starrs which thou so bright hast set,
In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,
O What is man that thou remembrest yet,
And think'st upon him; or of man begot
That him thou visit'st and of him art found;
Scarce to be less then Gods, thou mad'st his lot,
With honour and with state thou hast him crown'd.
O're the works of thy hand thou mad'st him Lord,
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet,
All Flocks, and Herds, by thy commanding word,
All beasts that in the field or forrest meet.
Fowl of the Heavens, and Fish that through the wet
Sea-paths in shoals do slide. And know no dearth.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth.
poem by John Milton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Curtain Of Desperation
They stood in the curtain of desperation
with cold eyes narrowed on one another.
Their hearts beating quicker as moments ticked by
and the dust that curled around their boots,
where one within would eventually lie.
They stood facing one another
on the lonely dusty street with no heart.
Their hands hovered nervously
over the guns they wore on their hips.
Each waited for the others move,
and slowly the hands moved closer
to the marking of one’s time.
Within seconds, it was over
as two cracks of thunder broke the silence
with smoke mixed with dust concealing momentarily
the lonely dusty street with no heart.
When it cleared, only one was standing,
the other lay in the dust cold and silent.
The curtain of desperation that was ripped apart
in the thunder, smoke and dust.
Now it cleared to the only one
who would walk away to face
the curtain of desperation
again on another day.
1 July 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lay not reproach at the drunkard's door
LAY not reproach at the drunkard's door
Oh Fanatic, thou that art pure of soul;
Not thine on the page of life to enrol
The faults of others! Or less or more
I have swerved from my path--keep thou to thine own
For every man when he reaches the goal
Shall reap the harvest his hands have sown.
Leave me the hope of a former grace--
Till the curtain is lifted none can tell
Whether in Heaven or deepest Hell,
Fair or vile, shall appear his face.
Alike the drunk and the strict of fare
For his mistress yearns--in the mosque Love doth dwell
And the church, for his lodging is everywhere.
If without the house of devotion I stand,
I am not the first to throw wide the door
My father opened it long before,
The eternal Paradise slipped from his hand.
All you that misconstrue my words' intent,
I lie on the bricks of the tavern floor,
And a brick shall serve me for argument.
Heaven's garden future treasures may yield--
Ah, make the most of earth's treasury!
The flickering shade of the willow-tree,
And the grass-grown lip of the fruitful field.
Trust not in deeds--the Eternal Day
Shall reveal the Creator's sentence on thee;
But till then, what His finger has writ, who can say.
Bring the cup in thine hand to the Judgment-seat;
Thou shalt rise, oh Hafiz, to Heaven's gate
From the tavern where thou hast tarried late.
And if thou hast worshipped wine, thou shalt meet
The reward that the Faithful attain;
If such thy life, then fear not thy fate,
Thou shalt not have lived and worshipped in vain.
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To the Nile
Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
We call thee fruitful, and that very while
A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew
Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste
The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,
And to the sea as happily dost haste.
poem by John Keats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet To The Nile
Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
We call thee fruitful, and that very while
A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew
Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste
The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,
And to the sea as happily dost haste.
poem by John Keats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CIV
THE SAME CONTINUED
O world, in very truth thou art too young,
They gave thee love who measured out thy skies,
And, when they found for thee another star,
Who made a festival and straightway hung
The jewel on thy neck. O merry world,
Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes
Which first looked love in thine? Thou hast not furled
One banner of thy bridal car for them.
O world, in very truth thou art too young.
There was a voice which sang about thy Spring,
Till Winter froze the sweetness of his lips,
And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue
Before thy nightingales were come again.
O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing?
Say, has thy merriment no secret pain
No sudden weariness that thou art young?
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Olney Hymn 26: On Opening A Place For Social Prayer
Jesus! where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy seat;
Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground.
For Thou, within no walls confined,
Inhabitest the humble mind;
Such ever bring Thee where they come
And going, take Thee to their home.
Dear Shepherd of Thy chosen few!
Thy former mercies here renew;
Her to our waiting hearts proclaim
The sweetness of Thy saving name.
Here may we prove the power of prayer,
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care;
To teach our faint desires to rise,
And bring all Heaven before our eyes.
Behold, at Thy commanding word
We stretch the curtain and the cord;
Come Thou, and fill this wider space,
And bless us with a large increase.
Lord, we are few, but Thou art near:
Nor short Thine arm, nor deaf Thine ear;
Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down,
And make a thousand hearts Thine own.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Opening a Place for Social Prayer
Jesus! where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy seat;
Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground.
For Thou, within no walls confined,
Inhabitest the humble mind;
Such ever bring Thee where they come
And going, take Thee to their home.
Dear Shepherd of Thy chosen few!
Thy former mercies here renew;
Her to our waiting hearts proclaim
The sweetness of Thy saving name.
Here may we prove the power of prayer,
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care;
To teach our faint desires to rise,
And bring all Heaven before our eyes.
Behold, at Thy commanding word
We stretch the curtain and the cord;
Come Thou, and fill this wider space,
And bless us with a large increase.
Lord, we are few, but Thou art near:
Nor short Thine arm, nor deaf Thine ear;
Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down,
And make a thousand hearts Thine own.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Man
My God, I heard this day,
That none doth build a stately habitation,
But he that means to dwell therein.
What house more stately hath there been,
Or can be, than is Man? to whose creation
All things are in decay.
For Man is ev'ry thing,
And more:
He is a tree, yet bears no fruit;
A beast, yet is, or should be more:
Reason and speech we only bring.
Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute,
They go upon the score.
Man is all symmetry,
Full of proportions, one limb to another,
And all to all the world besides:
Each part may call the farthest brother:
For head with foot hath private amity,
And both with moons and tides.
Nothing hath got so far,
But Man hath caught and kept it, as his prey.
His eyes dismount the highest star:
He is in little all the sphere.
Herbs gladly cure our flesh; because that they
Find their acquaintance there.
For us the winds do blow,
The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow.
Nothing we see, but means our good,
As our delight, or as our treasure:
The whole is, either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.
The stars have us to bed;
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;
Music and light attend our head.
All things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being; to our mind
In their ascent and cause.
Each thing is full of duty:
Waters united are our navigation;
Distinguished, our habitation;
Below, our drink; above, our meat;
Both are our cleanliness.
Hath one such beauty?
Then how are all things neat?
More servants wait on Man,
Than he'll take notice of: in ev'ry path
He treads down that which doth befriend him,
When sickness makes him pale and wan.
Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him.
Since then, my God, thou hast
So brave a palace built; O dwell in it,
That it may dwell with thee at last!
Till then, afford us so much wit;
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,
And both thy servants be.
poem by George Herbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hell Yeah
Alright now boys and girls we've got another story for you now!
We want to introduce to you another friend of the Bible!
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
If I were God there would be no explicit sex on T.V.
Like little Opie eating pie when he made it with Aunt Bea
If I were God thou shall not worship false Billy Idols
And thou shall add the Book Of Flavor Flav to the Bible
Thou shall make fun of Hindus thou shall not make a "Speed 2"
If I were God that's what I'd do Heavens no
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
If I were God I'd get a bunch of slaves to do everything
Norwegian lesbians that feed me grapes and know how to sing
If I were God thou shall not wear tube socks with Flip-Flops
Thou shall sit and thou shall spin thou shall even wife swap
Thou shall resist the Olsen Twins
song performed by by Bloodhound Gang from Hooray For Boobies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lamentations of Jeremiah V: A Prayer for Mercy
1 Remember, O LORD, what is come upon us:
consider, and behold our reproach.
2 Our inheritance is turned to strangers,
our houses to aliens.
3 We are orphans and fatherless,
our mothers are as widows.
4 We have drunken our water for money;
our wood is sold unto us.
5 Our necks are under persecution:
we labor, and have no rest.
6 We have given the hand to the Egyptians, and to the Assyrians,
to be satisfied with bread.
7 Our fathers have sinned, and are not;
and we have borne their iniquities.
8 Servants have ruled over us:
there is none that doth deliver us out of their hand.
9 We gat our bread with the peril of our lives,
because of the sword of the wilderness.
10 Our skin was black like an oven,
because of the terrible famine.
11 They ravished the women in Zion,
and the maids in the cities of Judah.
12 Princes are hanged up by their hand:
the faces of elders were not honored.
13 They took the young men to grind,
and the children fell under the wood.
14 The elders have ceased from the gate,
the young men from their music.
15 The joy of our heart is ceased;
our dance is turned into mourning.
16 The crown is fallen from our head:
woe unto us, that we have sinned!
17 For this our heart is faint;
for these things our eyes are dim.
18 Because of the mountain of Zion, which is desolate,
the foxes walk upon it.
19 Thou, O LORD, remainest for ever;
thy throne from generation to generation.
20 Wherefore dost thou forget us for ever,
and forsake us so long time?
21 Turn thou us unto thee, O LORD, and we shall be turned;
renew our days as of old.
22 But thou hast utterly rejected us;
thou art very wroth against us.
poem by Prophet Jeremiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ambition and Art
Ambition
I am the maid of the lustrous eyes
Of great fruition,
Whom the sons of men that are over-wise
Have called Ambition.
And the world's success is the only goal
I have within me;
The meanest man with the smallest soul
May woo and win me.
For the lust of power and the pride of place
To all I proffer.
Wilt thou take thy part in the crowded race
For what I offer?
The choice is thine, and the world is wide --
Thy path is lonely.
I may not lead and I may not guide --
I urge thee only.
I am just a whip and a spur that smites
To fierce endeavour.
In the restless days and the sleepless nights
I urge thee ever.
Thou shalt wake from sleep with a startled cry,
In fright unleaping
At a rival's step as it passes by
Whilst thou art sleeping.
Honour and truth shall be overthrown
In fierce desire;
Thou shalt use thy friend as a stepping-stone
To mount thee higher.
When the curtain falls on the sordid strife
That seemed so splendid,
Thou shalt look with pain on the wasted life
That thou hast ended.
Thou hast sold thy life for a guerdon small
In fitful flashes;
There has been reward -- but the end of all
Is dust and ashes.
For the night has come and it brings to naught
Thy projects cherished,
And thine epitaph shall in brass be wrought --
"He lived, and perished."
Art
I wait for thee at the outer gate,
My love, mine only;
Wherefore tarriest thou so late
While I am lonely?
Thou shalt seek my side with a footstep swift;
In thee implanted
Is the love of Art and the greatest gift
That God has granted.
And the world's concerns with its rights and wrongs
Shall seem but small things --
Poet or painter, or singer of songs,
Thine art is all things.
For the wine of life is a woman's love
To keep beside thee;
But the love of Art is a thing above --
A star to guide thee.
As the years go by with the love of Art
All undiminished,
Thou shalt end thy days with a quiet geart --
Thy work is finished.
So the painter fashions a picture strong
That fadeth never,
And the singer singeth a wondrous song
That lives for ever.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!