Listen to the sheikh, beloved of the divine,
Detached from the world, in God’s love he aligns.
His passion was aiding the humble and frail,
Even saving an ant from a path that could ail.
For years, the sheikh’s fate was kind and bright,
But fortune deserted him suddenly, out of sight.
In an accident, his hearing, he lost,
Deprived of sound, his life bore the cost.
Such was his favor in God’s purview,
His character, noble and just, in view.
The Creator, in wisdom, offered solace profound,
Opening a wellspring of knowledge, abound.
One night, he dreamt as the dawn’s light spread,
He heard the objects, conversing, widespread.
He saw all things in praise and song,
No power exists save from Him all along.
Let us skip the sheikh’s celestial tale,
And focus instead on the main detail.
One day the sheikh, on his wife’s insistence,
To the bustling market, traveled with persistence,
To buy hooks and nails and a strong rope,
Raisins, matches, grapes, and rosewater’s scope.
He found a shop packed full of ropes around,
So he halted there, profound.
Suddenly, each silent rope began to speak,
Imploring the shop owner, tired and weak:
“A calamity is heading your way, I sense,
Keep this one away, at any expense.
None of us should be sold into his hand,
Until he’s far from this land.
For years he wronged us, this unfaithful soul,
He marred our name with this foul show.
Once we had dignity and worth,
Serving till nothing kept us from dearth.
In pits or broken paths, help we extended,
Our praise flowed from souls befriended.
Yet, he raised his head while trampling ours,
Robbed us of our noble powers.
Countless stately cypresses he felled with his hate,
In terror, hearts for us had state.
In his grasp, veins were squeezed tight,
Underfoot towns lost their light.
Withered a blooming bud, shame devoured,
He guzzled our modesty, respect soured.
O Lord of ropes, who is this sheikh, I demand?
Isn’t it a waste, from your hand?”
The sheikh then spoke, “Be calm, O rope, unwind,
Break free from your illusions unkind.
Not all that glitters turns to gold, they say,
Not every circle has the roundness to display.
Remember that night, with danger astir,
A devil donned our garment in a blur.
He wore our guise, fault lay at his toes,
Before your eyes, our worth he froze.
Our wages with you were unpaid, unearned,
That breach was a thief’s, not ours, so discerned.”
The sheikh’s voice, filled with thunderous woe,
Yet no rain of healing did it bestow.
Either the sheikh’s words could not suffice,
Or the rope remained firm in its preoccupations, concise.
“Where can I find a sheikh, honest and true?”
“In which sheikh can trust I imbue?”
“How do I differentiate you from the beast?
Or the devils and demons, upon my quest?”
Thus, the rope’s reason concludes, devoid of gloom,
Avoid all sheikhs, and heed this axiom’s room.
Find peace and end the endless debate,
Dress yourself well, and to silence, translate.