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He Is, There Is Nothing but He

Since Hu never displayed His visage to anyone,

          nobody ever spoke about Hu.

The God of the hidden and the revealed

          declared this from His Essence to His friends:

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


I passed by the tavern,

          free from the chatter of strangers.

An intoxicated wise one was drunkenly singing,

          “There is nothing in our goblet but Him.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


Like a mystic, I searched in the temple

          and saw a fire burning within.

The master of the holy fire eased my concern by saying,

          “He is the goal; fire and smoke are just pretexts.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


I passed next to the prayer niche of the mosque

          to seek an answer about Him from the imam.

“Leave behind both right and wrong,” he replied,

          “Then you will witness directly.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


I went to the priest in the church

          to ask him to explain the riddle of the trinity.

“Do not sting this already wounded heart,

          for only the One is intended by three,” he said.

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


An idol worshiper, bewildered at the idol’s foot,

          hands crossed on his breast and heart filled with cries,

was admitting openly as tears poured from his eyes,

          “You are but a symbol; He is the object of worship.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


A lover set afire by the plundering of love,

          his face awestruck by love’s royal game,

his body gaunt due to love’s soul-consuming flames —

          these were his only words: “Everything other than Him is false.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


A brazen beauty had taken harp in hand

          and drunkenly played upon its strings.

I asked, “How do you think of Him?”

          She struck up a tune and answered,

                    “He is, there is nothing but He.”


Bewildered, a philosopher sat in a corner

          pondering the mystery of life and death.

When I questioned him about some subtle point,

          he replied, “All thought about Him is useless.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


I found a mystic whose heart was enlightened

          and asked him to speak of the Friend.

“Rise and look to the meadow’s edge,” he said,

          “Both rose and nightingale have opened their lips in song.”

                    He is, there is nothing but He.


Oneness is His sign,

          Unicity is His explanation,

“Say, He is Allah” is His language.

          Because of Him the lord of love is the bestower of light.

                    He is, there is nothing but He.

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