English version by Raficq Abdulla Original Language Persian/Farsi He was a soldier with a soldier's pride, This hawk, whose home was by a king's side. He was haughty as his master, all other birds Thought him a disaster, his beak was feared As much as his talons. With hooded eyes (His place on the royal roster was his prize) He stands sentinel on the king's arm, polite And trained meticulously to do what is right And proper with courtly grace. He has no need To see the Simurgh even in a dream, his deeds Are sufficient for him, and no journey could replace The royal command, royal morsel food no disgrace To his way of thinking, he easily satisfies the king. He flies with cutting grace on sinister wing Through valleys and upward into the sky, He has no other wish but so to live and then to die. The hoopoe says: 'You have no sense with your soldier's pride. Do you think that supping with kings, doing their will Is enough to keep you in favour, always at their side? An earthly king may be just but you must beware still For a king's justice is whim pretending to be good. Once there was a king who prized his slave for his beauty. His body's silver sheen fascinated the prince who would Dress him in fine clothes so his looks alone were his duty. The king amused himself by placing on his favourite's head An apple for a bullseye, the poor silver slave would grow Yellow with fear because he knew too well blood is red. His silver hue would be tarnished if the king's bow Was not true; an injured slave would his silver lose To be discarded because the king would not be amused.' [1490.jpg] -- from The Conference of the Birds: The Selected Sufi Poetry of Farid ud-Din Attar, Translated by Raficq Abdulla <
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