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Woh Sarwar E Kishware Risalat Jo Arsh Par Jalwagar Hue The(english translation)

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Woh Sarwar E Kishware Risalat Jo Arsh Par Jalwagar Hue The(english translation)

Post  nosheen on Wed Aug 05, 2009 11:18 pm

When the Prophet journeyed to the Divine Throne, special arrangements were made to welcome the Arabian guest.

Like springtime everywhere songs of greetings sung by the Angels in the skies
like nightingales.

In the heavens and the earth were festive celebrations, the dazzling lights smiling and the fragrant perfumes spreading.


His radiant face created a moonlight near the Throne; The night was lit and the mirrors reflected the brightness.

The dressed up Kaabah welcomed the bridegroom with pride; The black stone like a beautiful mole on her pretty face.

The prayer niche lowered her head in delight; The black curtain gracefully moved, saturated with divine light.

The clouds moved and the hearts did a peacock dance;
To honor Him, the Kaabah gazed in a lyrical trance.

The waterspout on the roof of the Kaabah, the golden Meezaab gently moved towards the ear from her forehead; The raindrops gathered like pearls on Hateem’s bed.

The hills smiled and the elegant tops stood out in the space; The shoots of green grass rhythmically moved with grace.

What an exciting moment the angels, pure and wise, gathered around and dressed him as the bridegroom of paradise.

The light from His shinning face so generously distributed; The moon and the Sun begged most eagerly this bright charity.

Gabriel could go no further with the divine guest; The prophet’s stirrup slipped from his hands though he tried to hold it.

His whole, reflected on the Prophets speed suddenly found his mind aflame; All the trees in the woods of intellect started burning with shame.

Near the Divine Throne the Angels sang welcoming back the auspicious feet
to grace as before.

On hearing this, the devotee exclaimed, “Where is my master ?
How lucky that my eyes will again kiss the soles of Allah’s Messenger ?

Allah’s Throne knelt down, the Angels fell into a prostration;
It rubbed his eyes on his feet; They showed their utmost veneration.

Such bright lights shone that all the candles flickered; The lamp felt ashamed when the ‘Sun’ itself appeared.

In this atmosphere the Messenger of Mercy came respectfully to say: “Those ways are open for you today, which were closed for Moses one day.”

“Move forward, O Muhammad! Come nearer, O Ahmad, My beloved.” What a lovely call it was and what a joyful atmosphere it created !

“O Allah, all praise be to You; You are undoubtedly Samad,
Moses yearned here, you became anxious to see.”

Allah gently encouraged him though the pace humbly slow;
Grandeur checked him but grace inspired him steadily to go,
overawed by Divine splendour,
but inspired by the grace.

He advanced hesitantly with respect and humility; Allah led him on this endless journey with an exceptional agility.

At last a barge emerged from the ocean of his personality, as he drew nearer and near to Allah.

The sun revealed the news that Allah Almighty’s beloved Messenger was soon expected to come back after meeting his creator.

The crown of Allah’s light was on his head amidst a blissful prayer; The Angels stood on both sides of his way to present a salute of honour.

Had we been there, we would have sought for some charity; How could that happen, when we were destined to live this life of poverty ?

He hardly sat on the saddle that the journey of salvation ended at a glance; The salvation itself congratulated him and the sins engaged themselves in a dance.

The dust of luminous path rose up like the clouds of light; The space overflowed with rain and the whole way was exceptionally bright.

O Moon! You should have picked up dust from the Prophet’s feet, you would have got rid of your spots by rubbing it on them for a day.

The hoof-prints of the Buraq filled the entire way with flowers; In no time all over the place there were fragrant orchards and bowers.

The mystery of Aqsa prayer unfolded the secrets of the first and last; The prophets of past and present prayed behind them.

As he advanced, his resplendent face shone with splendour, the sky lit up and the stars became dimmer and dimmer.

The ocean of Unity surged forward and washed sands of diversity; Forget the dunes of the sky, just two bubbles were “Allah’s Arsh & the Kursi.”

His sun-like merciful face eclipsed the shinning stars, the moonlight and starlight looked like shadows in his sunshine.

Who could see this ocean’s shore ? It was all speed and surprise;
He leapt like sight and became hidden from his own eyes.

To differentiate between the circumference and the centre was difficult; The arches bowed and the circles felt giddy as a result.

Millions of veils disappeared revealing endless oceans of luminosity; It was a strange Union of Lights, which symbolized diversity in unity.

He is the first and the last; He lives in the absence and the presence; His own hidden light went to see his own visible existence.

Here Allah gave His beloved Messenger a gift of formal and ritual prayers, He also honoured him with garlands of darood and salaam’s regal flowers.

The tongue was anxious to speak and the ear was eagerly to go very near; mysteriously and silently he said what he wanted to say and heard what he wanted to hear.

Then the distinguished guest was taken to paradise; The starts of paradise felt honoured to see the glory of their Arabian moon.

The Arabian moon was accorded a glorious welcome joyfully; All the heavenly flowers became daffodils and the chandeliers shone more brightly.

The spirit of ecstasy edged him on but the sense of
humility checked him modestly;
A real conflict of emotions,
“To advance or just to stay there reverently.”

Allah’s omnipotence be praised!
His truthful moon shone at millions of stations on his way;
Even then he returned home by dawn before starlight faded away.

Take pity on Raza, O our intercessor an Allah’s Messenger of mercy ! Grant him a small share from the gifts distributed during the Miraj journey.

My mission is to praise the Prophet; My aim is to achieve his pleasure;
The poetic rhymes and refrains have no value;
Mustafa’s love is my true pleasure.

nosheen
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