naqshbandijamaati
sunniport user
So kill me now, my faithful friends
For in my killing is my life.
My death would be to live,
My life would be to die.
To me removal of my self
Would be the noblest gift to give
And my survival in my flesh
The ugliest offense, because
My life has tired out my soul
Among its fading artifacts.
So kill me, set aflame
My dried out bones,
And when you pass by my remains
In their deserted grave,
You will perceive the secret of my Friend
In the inmost folds of what survives.
One moment I'm a shaykh
Who holds the highest rank,
And then I am a little child
Dependent on a nurse
Or sleeping in a box
Within the brackish earth.
My mother gave her father birth,
Which was a marvel I perceived,
And my own daughters whom I made
Became my sisters in this way to me,
Not in the world of time
Nor through adulteries.
So gather all the parts together
Of the glowing forms
Or air and fire
And pure water
And sow them in unwatered soil;
Then water it from cups
Of serving maids
And flowing rivulets;
And then, when seven days have passed,
A perfect plant will grow.
(from Al-Hallaj, Herbert W. Mason, Curzon Press, pp. 73-74)