The Mosque Of Cordoba

The succession of day and night

Is the architect of events.

The succession of day and night

Is the fountain-head of life and death.

The succession of day and night

Is a two-tone silken twine,

With which the Divine Essence

Prepares Its apparel of Attributes.

The succession of day and night

Is the reverberation of the symphony of

Creation.

Through its modulations, the Infinite

demonstrates

The parameters of possibilities.

The succession of day and night

Is the touchstone of the universe;

Now sitting in judgement on you,

Now setting a value on me.

But what if you are found wanting.

What if I am found wanting.

Death is your ultimate destiny.

Death is my ultimate destiny.

What else is the reality of your days

and nights,

Besides a surge in the river of time,

Sans day, sans night.

Frail and evanescent, all miracles of

ingenuity,

Transient, all temporal attainments;

Ephemeral, all worldly accomplishments.

Annihilation is the end of all

beginnings.

Annihilation is the end of all ends.

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Extinction, the fate of everything;

Hidden or manifest, old or new.

Yet in this very scenario

Indelible is the stamp of permanence

On the deeds of the good and godly.

Deeds of the godly radiate with Love,

The essence of life,

Which death is forbidden to touch.

Fast and free flows the tide of time,

But Love itself is a tide that stems all tides.

In the chronicle of Love there are times

Other than the past, the present and the

future;

Times for which no names have yet

been coined.

Love is the breath of Gabriel.

Love is the heart of Mustafa.

Love is the messenger of God.

Love is the Word of God.

Love is ecstasy lends luster to earthly

forms.

Love is the heady wine,

Love is the grand goblet.

Love is the commander of marching troops.

Love is a wayfarer with many a way-side

abode.

Love is the plectrum that brings

Music to the string of life.

Love is the light of life.

Love is the fire of life.

To Love, you owe your being,

O, Harem of Cordoba,

To Love, that is eternal;

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Never waning, never fading.

Just the media these pigments, bricks

and stones;

This harp, these words and sounds, just

the media.

The miracle of art springs from the

lifeblood of the artist!

A droplet of the lifeblood

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