Original content

English translation

Seventeen past seven hundred years From the Hijra, suddenly in the month of Shawwal, A messenger with a thousand graces and favors Arrived from the service of the people of Khorasan. A great man who is famous there, In all kinds of arts like the fountain of the sun, The joy of the world and the light of the soul, I mean The Imam of the travelers, Seyyed Hosseini. All the people of Khorasan, from the small and the great, In this era said he is better than everyone. He wrote a letter concerning meaning, And sent it to the masters of meaning. In it, several difficulties of expression, From the difficulties of the people of allusion, He had versified and asked one by one, A world of meaning in a few words. 'From the people of knowledge and masters of meaning, I have a question concerning meaning. Several difficulties from the secrets of truth, I will tell in the presence of every wise one. First, I am bewildered about my own thought: What is that which they call thought? What was the sign of the beginning of thought? What do you call the end of thinking? Which thought is our condition for the path? Why is it sometimes obedience and sometimes a sin? Who am I? Inform me of myself. What is the meaning of "travel into yourself"? How is a traveler, who is the wayfarer? Whom shall I call the perfect man? Who finally became aware of the secret of unity? What did the knower finally recognize? If the known and the knower are the pure essence, What is this passion in the head of this handful of dust? Which point has the boiling of "I am the Truth"? What do you say, was it nonsense or verified? Why is the creature called "united"? How did his journey and path become achieved? What is the union of the possible and the necessary together? What is the discourse of nearness and distance, more and less? What sea is that whose knowledge became the shore? What pearl was obtained from its depths? How does it have a shell? Explain that meaning. Where is the wave of that sea? Show its sign. What part is that which is greater than the whole? How is the way of seeking that part? How did the eternal and the created become separated from each other, That this became the world and the other became God? The two worlds are other than God, without a doubt, The truth became determined for each one. Duality was established, then this is impossible; What place is there for connection and separation? If the world has no existence of itself, Every conversation became an imagination. You establish how this and that are, Otherwise, the affair of the world is inverted. What does the man of meaning want from that expression Which points to the eye and lip? What does he seek from the tip of the tress, the down, and the mole, One who is in the stations and states? What is the meaning of wine, candle, and the beautiful witness? What is the claim, after all, of becoming a ruin-dweller? Idol, Zoroastrian girdle, and Christianity in this street, All is disbelief, or else what is it, speak! What do you say? Did they say all this in vain, Or did they hide the root of a verification in it? When would a verifier deal with metaphor? Do not consider their speech except as the marrow of secrets.' Anyone who solves this problem of mine, I will sacrifice my soul and heart for him. The messenger read that letter suddenly, His condition fell at once into people's mouths. In that assembly, all the dear ones were present, Each one became an observer of this dervish. One who was an experienced man, Had heard this meaning from us a hundred times, Said to me, 'Say an answer at once, So that the people of the world may take benefit from it.' I said to him, 'What need is there? For these questions, I have written many times in epistles.' He said, 'Yes, but in accordance with the questioner, We hope it to be versified by you.' After their persistence, I began The answer to the letter in concise words. In one moment, among the large gathering, I said it all without thought or repetition. Now, out of the grace and favor they have, May they overlook these petty flaws from me. Everyone knows that this person in all his life, Never intended to write poetry. My nature was capable of it, although, But speaking it was only rare. Although he produced many books in prose, He never engaged in versifying a Mathnawi. Prosody and rhyme do not measure meaning, Meaning does not fit inside every vessel. Meanings never come into words, For the Red Sea does not come into a vessel. Since we are in straits from our own words, Why should we add something else to it? This speech is not pride, for it is from the door of gratitude; Near the people of the heart, it is the laying out of an excuse. I myself am not ashamed of being a poet, For in a hundred centuries, one like Attar does not come. Although a hundred worlds of secrets of this style Are but a trace from the shop of Attar. But this is by way of coincidence, Not like the demon eavesdropping on the angel. In short, the answer to the letter in that breath, I wrote one by one, no more, no less. The messenger took that letter with honor, And returned by the same road he had come. Once again, a dear one, an employer of tasks, Said to me, 'Add something to it. Bring into explanation that same meaning you said, From the essence of knowledge to the essence of vision.' I did not see in the times that opportunity, That I should attend to it from the taste of a state, For the description of it by speech is impossible, For the master of the state knows what that state is. But in accordance with the saying of the speaker of religion, I did not reject the question of the seeker of religion. For that, so the secrets might become clearer, The parrot of my nature entered into speech. With the help, grace, and success of the Lord, I said it all in a few hours. When the heart asked the Presence for the name of the letter, The answer came to the heart, 'This is our Rose Garden.' Since the Presence named the letter 'Rose Garden', From it, the eyes of all hearts become bright.