(AD 1742–1834; AH 1155–1250)
Shah Niaz was a Sufi saint in the Naqshbandi order whose poetry reflects the idea of Wahdatul Wujud (Unity of Being) of Mohyuddin Ibn ‘Arabi.
Born in Sirhind in Punjab, Shah Niaz wrote poetry in Persian, Urdu and Hindi and he is a very popular poet amongst the Sufis of the South Asian subcontinent. Even today, his poems are often sung in sama or qawwali gatherings all over India and Pakistan.
The face of each beauty is the reflection of His face;
The fragrance and colour of each garden are His.
In every heart and soul, the search for Him alone;
Every tongue and every mind, His thought adorns.
The goal of every creed and religion is His abode;
He is the ultimate aim of every sect and nation.
In the Kaaba, in the church and in the temple,
The worshippers are entranced by His eyes.
Though I’m buried in the dust
I yearn for the Beloved, as I must;
Love has gone, yet its pain still hurts.
The spark of Love did my being set afire,
The ashes smoulder still with Your desire!
Everything is but illusion, like a mirage;
I know I do not exist, yet the doubt persists.
I need none to say a prayer at my grave;
After me, my Love is there to pray.
I drank from the Saqi’s wine-filled eyes,
Bid goodbye to name and fame,
Reason and sanity the ultimate price!
Cast my purity, my chastity,
At that beloved idol’s feet;
My religion is love,
Drunkenness, passion sweet.
To serve the Pir, my guide,
Is my duty and my pride;
I am but a mere slave
Amongst his many attendant slaves!
I saw my Beloved in every guise,
Sometimes hidden, sometimes apparent,
Sometimes as a possibility, others as a certainty,
Sometimes as passing, sometimes eternal,
Sometimes he called out, ‘Am I not?’
Sometimes a slave, others a Lord,
Sometimes he was indifferent, distant,
Sometimes like a close friend,
Sometimes he appeared as a king on his throne,
Sometimes a beggar without a home.
Sometimes he was a puritan and chaste,
Sometimes like a drunk in tavern sat,
Sometimes he was a dancer or a singer,
Sometimes an instrument playing a tune,
Sometimes he came in the guise of a Beloved,
Enticing, beautiful and proud.
Sometimes like the Lover, Niaz,
I saw him wretched and forlorn!
Not-being is being, friends;
And existence is nothing, friends.
Selflessness is drunkenness
And drunkenness is nothing, friends.
Nothing is everything and everything nothing, friends.
Real worship of Truth is to be nothing
And this nothing is the real Truth!