![]() Who can put it together for me, who can make it last? He destroyed it utterly, as if He had not built it. Placing therein a noble spirit, putting it to the trial. I wonder at the house He has built and shaped, Read more in the article “Two Poems from the Diwan” How then can I possibly hope for any rest, dwelling as I do in such a place and state? My Lord it is who says that He has created me in a state of suffering and loss. Like a bow have I grown, and my true posture is as my rib. ![]() This flesh of mine is as pure silver, while my inner reality is as pure gold. ![]() Thus am I constrained to submit to the rule of parting, so that my hand is now empty and contains nothing.īound to this moment we are in, caught between the yesterday that has gone and the tomorrow that is yet to come. With my very own hands I laid my little daughter to rest because she is of my very flesh, SellsĪnd at a Shore that did not have an ocean Īnd at a Night that was without daybreak Īnd at an azure Dome raised over the earth,Ĭirculating ’round its center – Compulsion Īnd at a rich Earth without o’er-arching vaultĪnd no specific location, the Secret concealed…įrom the Kitāb ‘Anqā’ mughrib, one of the earliest surviving works by Ibn Arabi. ![]() ![]() Wherever its caravan turns along the way,įrom Poem 11 of the Tarjuman al-ashwaq, translation by Michael A. ![]()
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