Original content

English translation

He who is the supporter of the kingdom, He is the bringer of good tidings of goodness to the people. The world of piety and the heaven of security, The source and mother of the result of the soul. He has become the bringer of good news of goodness to the people, He has become the supporter for the entire kingdom. The commander over the pillars of the kingdom, Chosen by the king for every task. The trusted place of the income and expenditure of the world, Having memorized all the scrolls of the world. Consider his beautiful handwriting the delight of the soul, No one can attribute a fault to his letters. Becoming visible one by one from the scroll, Like the constellation of Gemini. The intellect lost due to its lofty shapes, The soul bewildered by its wondrous patterns. If that writing is not the Artang of Mani, Why did the writings of Muqla become discarded? With his writing, the writing of the treasurer and the gatekeeper, Is like a mirage compared to clear water. The intimacy of the soul is the dots of his writing, When he reveals the pearls from his face. May the evil eye be far, it is very meaningful, It is like the Artang of Mani's pen. Word and meaning are coupled together, Thus the intellect is agitated by his writing. When he takes up the pen, The crown of the throne becomes like a footstep before him. The paper of the letter is like a garden of light, The form of the letter is like a lock of hair on a Houri's face. In eloquence, due to the speed of his pen, His breath became a fire-kindling water. The flawless wind is the product of his heart, The justice without cruelty is the window of his heart. Religion and the world are submitted to his breath, Because the heart is his honored Kaaba. Those arriving and departing, seeking bounty, Have come running to him from every direction. A world is comforted by his bounty, Having found whatever was in their hearts. His sanctuary is respected like the Kaaba, How is his house any less than the Kaaba itself? A pearl shell in the divine world, Is his heart on the path of Islam. In the midst of the sanctuary of his honor, For the sake of increasing his glory. When his hand becomes a companion with the pen, He rides upon the meanings of speech. Water, pearls, and the soul are his purity, Clouds, sea, and mine are his generosity. He is the king's confidant at the time of secrets, In all affairs, he is his assistant. He is the keeper of the secrets of the monarch and king, Hence he is aware of the secrets of his kingdom. Every word that came from the king's tongue, Found refuge in the heart of his master. The secrets of the kingdom have become known to him, The secret of the Sultan is entirely understood by him. There is no visible shore to his generosity, Like his bounty, there are no clouds or sea. The wind of his grace has blown over the country, The fire of his wrath has turned seas into sparks. His palm surpassed the clouds, And made the sea pay a hundred thousand fines. For the wheel of heaven, his connection is ancient, For time, his awe is immense. There is not a single person like him in the kingdom, At the time of administration, judgment, and speech. Aware of the secret of the king in his heart, In his heart the secret of the kingdom is attained. For months and years, from the coming and going of visitors, It has become like a sanctuary for the young and old. All have become companions with their heart's desire, All have attained gear, horses, and saddles. His prudence, like his writing, is of majesty, His magic, like his wealth, is lawful. If he puts his hidden abilities to work, He grants substance to the whole world. Outer knowledge has made him manifest like a smile, Inner secrets have spoken him hidden like a wink. His writing was the shape of the Houri's tress, Whatever is a flaw was averse to him. The light of his face is the garden of skill, Every line of his writing is the enclosure of truth. His writing is the territory of virgin meanings, His name is the book of the foundations of remembrance. When his pen stirs up meanings, It mixes the painter of exaltations. His writing and meaning, from darkness and light, Are like the tress of a Houri on the face of a Houri. Every blackness from him is the whiteness of the kingdom, Every whiteness from him is the blackness of the sky. From his black and white, for the sake of reward, The intellect of all the trustworthy ones has become a thief. He is both the preserver of origin, grace, and generosity, And the keeper of the secret of religion and the sanctuary. He protects secrets as he would his own head, He passes the path like a venomous snake. He leaves behind treasure like hardship, He guards the secret like religion. Because he knows that with the perfection of existence, Generosity does not come nicely except in its proper place. Because the sea, the clouds, and the mine in their granting, Make mistakes from the path of generosity. When did whoever digs a mine see rubies? Where did whoever struggles find gold? At the moment when he is sweet-tongued, His words are like a soul to the ear. His astuteness emerges to build, Like an ant from the middle of the house of secrets. The sky seeks bounty from his generosity, The secret speaks with his judgment. He is a secret-keeper, his honor is due to that, He is the treasurer of the secret and the guard of the soul. His heart has seen the events of the times, His heart has chosen whatever is better from it. His imagination, like the moisture of the air from the rose, Brings forth what is in the heart. Every moment he brings forth Zamzam and the Nile, His hand is like the foot of Ishmael. The cycle of the intellect's eras is his garment, The path of men is like the lightning of his pen. His deed is the book of John, His pen is like the breath of Jesus. His resolve and prudence are better than his judgment, Becoming his helper in affairs. He has become awake in the affairs of state and religion, Religion and the state have increased in value from him. He is the king's aid in managing the kingdom, Making the kingdom known through his judgment. From that good belief and firm judgment, The kingdom of Ghazni has become like paradise. At the time of the movement and turning of his pen, His letter is made like the face of a Houri. That writing is a talisman and amulet for the Houri, For you will not find that structure and style. When he dips the head of the pen into the inkwell, Vision writes a draft to hearing. That I, in this way, as long as I have existed, Neither have you seen nor have I heard. You would say truly that it is the letter of John, Or at the time of healing, the breath of Jesus. Until the veil of miracles was torn, No one heard a miracle of that quality. His pen is more generous than Kawthar, His appearance is more beautiful than his report. His pen, in the commerce of the world, Has brought together the sea, the ship, and the wind. His place of safety and source is the result of the soul, His appearance and report is the window of the soul. His pure soul is mixed with his speech, The new servant of his old times. As long as the world exists and there is night and day, May he be endowed with writing and knowledge. For the world, from his knowledge, night and day, Dey is more pleasant than Nowruz. May religion and the world be subjected to him, May the leader of the world be his brother.