A Perfume Without Aroma

The confessional ode of Nasir-i Khusraw.

Who was I before the month of Ramadan, and who have I become, now that it has come to a close? I’d like to think that, after swimming in the sea of God’s Mercy, I’ve become a better person. But if I’m going to be honest, the improvement was not nearly enough. Not as much as it should’ve been. Not as much as it needed to be.

Poetry has a unique way of capturing this feeling of inadequacy, the disdain for our past selves, the aching in regret over our past follies and indiscretions. And the world has a unique way of ensuring you collide head-on with the poetry that makes you feel this way.

I recently came across the Qasīdah Iʿtirāfiyyah (Confessional Ode) of Nasir-i Khusraw, one of the most fascinating characters in the history of Islamic civilization. There is much to be said about him — and much that will in a future post and podcast episode — but I wanted to dedicate this post to his Confessional Ode. Although the Confessional Ode ends on a positive note, it is the earlier part of the poem that particularly resonated with me. Some excerpts are shared below (translation courtesy of Peter Lamborn Wilson):

The burial site of Nasir-i Khusraw.

O widely read, O globally travelled one,
(still earth-bound, still caught beneath the sky),
what value would the spheres yet hold for you
were you to catch a glimpse of hidden knowledge?
Will your flesh luxuriate forever
in the boons and blessings of the world? Why not
for a little while enjoy as well the fruits
of knowledge with the tongue of the Spirit?
The dreamer's banquets cannot profit him;
only the waking know the taste of gain
and loss. What does the dreamer know of stars
and turquoise dome, or things the Almighty brings
to pass upon this dusty sphere?

. . . Wake up from this charming vision, 
you who have slept and dreamt
for forty years, and see that of all the friends
of your youth not one remains. No one is left
to share your drowse and supper but the beasts . . .
and that which donkeys eat is not a blessing
any more than that which Caesar conquers
is a kingdom!

'In the Book it is clear that Ahmad is the Messenger
of Good News, and the Warner, luminous as light.
If the unbelievers wished to blow it out
God would light it again in spite of them.
How is it that today no one is left
of that Community? Surely the word
of the Universal Judge cannot be false!
Whose hand should we grasp, where should we take an oath
that even we men of latter times might enjoy
the justice of heaven? Why should it be our fault
not to be born in that era? Why should we
be deprived of the Prophet, afflicted and distressed?'
My face grew pale as a yellow blossom in
the pain of ignorance, I bowed in the wind
of doubt like an aging cypress. The learned man
is like a pomander, his knowledge a halo of musk;
or like a mountain concealing its vein of gold;
but ore without gold, perfume without aroma
are worth no more than dust.