When the old man saw the stump of a fallen minaret on the heights across the valley the reins slipped from his hand and he looked down the line of camels for a sign from the merchant that he too had seen it, but if the merchant had he did not intend to stop. So the old man left the caravan and walked slowly towards the cliff edge. He was tired, but was sure that this was the place and that a journey which had lasted the whole of his life was finally over; the traveler had arrived.

Standing close to the cliff edge he squinted as he scanned the gentle curve of the horizon.

In the distance, across the vast and shimmering sand;

Was that a bird, he wondered, or an eagle circling,

so far from any land?

And the minaret that cracked and fell

and crumbled into dust,

when a far and distant heaven

betrayed a muezzin’s trust.

And the shadow that lurked around his feet,

as it hid from the burning sun,

not a breath would cool the scorching air

until this day was done.                                                 

I told you! scorned the angry merchant,

coming to his side.

Don’t say I did not warn you,

or the awful truth did hide!

The innocent traveler was deep in thought

and shocked by the unwelcome abuse.

My friend, please lower your raging voice

and put anger to a finer use.

A ruined mosque on a height, you said,

midst a barren, empty land.

And a valley deep and wide, you said,

like a furrow ploughed through sand.

And far below on the valley floor

lie ruins cold and still.

A city that once was filled with life

now silent by the Merciful’s will.

And so is all as you described,

all just as kismet planned.

So take this reward as we both agreed,

and with it take my hand.

Eagerly the merchant grasped the purse

and carved a line upon the ground.

And stepping back swept away his steps

so his course could not be found.

Come with me or die alone, old man,

for unburied where is peace?

When even the Merciful has forgotten your name

your torments will never cease.

Your soul will wander these lonely dunes,

in unforgiven sin,

the rocks your only comfort,

your only friend the jinn.

The traveler smiled and raising his arms

placed a hand upon his heart,

Long life to you and wealth my friend

and may fortune play its part.

But the wisdom of this world is vain

and naught compared with fate.

That here I stand was long ordained

and kismet cannot wait.

Stay then! cursed the angry merchant.

And die a thirsty death!

But before the end let not my name

be on thy final breath!

Good friend, may the Merciful be my witness,

I would never cause you harm.

Yet here I am and here must stay

as the lines upon my palm.

Then cursed be the witch who read your palm

for on your life she closed the gate.

Better that I had cut off your hands

and in so doing changed your fate.

Kind friend, my life has run its course

and soon my book must close.

What lies ahead is for heaven to decide,

for to heaven my spirit goes.

That is true, said the merchant as he walked away,

sweeping his footprints from the sand.

And grasping the reins of the waiting camel

he raised a parting hand.

I would wish you a long and prosperous life, old fool,

but for that you do not crave.

A barren land indeed, my friend,

to dig a Muslim’s grave.

I am heading now to Samarqand

from whence I may return,

and if I should, and find your bones,

then a marker they will earn.

Now be a better friend than I

and in heaven say a prayer,

for a perilous road lies ahead of me

and no family that will care.

I will, my friend, you may count on it,

if heaven will allow,

and may your journey be an easy one,

by the will of God, I vow.

Then the traveler watched with a heavy heart

as east the camels turned,

and whispered a prayer for his merchant friend

whose helping hand he spurned.

But there was a fleeting moment,

just before the camels were gone,

as the tassels swayed beneath their loads,

when the loneliness came on.

And his mind drifted back across the years

to the moment he buried his wife,

to the Kazak girl whom he married and left,

yet loved him all her life.

O merciful God, I deserve to be punished,

yet do it with a gentle hand,

for having spurned so many blessings,

more plentiful than sand.

And when long at last the caravan  

had wound its way from sight,

the traveler thought a guide would come,

from heaven wrapped in light.

But though with patience he lingered,

and passed his time in prayer,

and held his breath and listened,

not an insect stirred the air.

Throughout the lonely day he waited,

till the sun had crossed the sky,

and the empty minutes had turned to hours,

but no angel passed him by.

What is this trying scheme, he wondered,

that heaven should ignore my plea?

Or could the merchant, in his raging anger,

have been closer to the truth than me?

Though weak and thirsting he tarried,  

not daring a step to stray

for fear a guide might come to lead 

and find him far away.

And when the evening sun had fled from the sky,

and night gathered round like a cloak,

he fell to his knees and bowed his head

and to his faithless god he spoke.

O Merciful God, see my journey is over 

and now I kneel here in this land,

but what has become of that sacred pledge

which you carved upon my hand?

Am I now of those whom you’ve forgot,

on whom you will not look?

Did a life of prayer mean nothing to you;

just a fish upon your hook?

And when I am dead who will honour your name,

whose forehead will touch the floor,

but another fool whose earnest prayers 

will add nothing to his store?

Then in the nearing distance a voice was heard,

so calm and yet so clear,

Please quiet your anger, my raging friend,

there is naught for you to fear.

Must heaven tremble at the sound of your voice

and your instant bidding do,

when it has waited the whole of your life

for this moment to speak to you?

The frightened traveler quickly hid his face and begged,

Pardon my raging sin!

I am a weak and feeble man,  

craving only heaven to win.

Then peace be to you, old traveler, for heaven has

heard your plea.

No need to cower and hide your face,

nor frightened you need be.

Then with a hand upon his trembling knee

the traveler climbed to his feet,

and in his mind prepared the welcome

for the guide he was to meet.

But this cannot be true! the traveler cried

on seeing his heavenly guide.

Has heaven has played yet another trick,

and my earnest prayers denied?

Are you not a man of flesh and bone,

and just the same as me?

What cursed fiend gave you this errand

to trick and trouble be?

Has the Merciful not an ounce of pity

for this puppet on his stage?

Am I doomed forever to beg and plead

till heaven answers my rage?

Oh why did I trust such an inconstant god

who hides his face from me

when I could have worshipped a stony idol

with eyes that I can see?

Is there not a god in the sky above who would

answer a humble prayer,

whose love of mortal man is such

that for each one he would care?

Please tell me guide and answer true,

are you not of flesh and bone,

for if you are then I am truly lost,

and the world for which I groan?

Please calm yourself, my raging friend,

I chose to come as a man.

You called for a guide and now here I am

to lead as best I can.

But if my appearance is so upsetting to you

would a wing or two reach the mark?

And what of my body, does it not suit,

or should it glow like a bug in the dark?

If that is how you would have your guide

then, of course, I will obey,

yet the image you crave is for children,

to help them when they pray.

I dare not say it, said the frightened traveler,

for heaven’s will must be mine!

Yet, might the Merciful, in its innocence

have caused your soul to shine?

My friend, if shine is what you crave

then as a flame I could appear,

but none in heaven are innocent,

or I would not be here.

For the prize of wisdom all must strive

and of course we trip and fall,

but such is the way the seeker learns

in heeding the spirit’s call.

But that and more you will learn in time,

the truth is for all to see,

and I am here to show the path, so take my hand,

and come me.

Those words dispelled the traveler’s fears,

yet with caution he watched his guide

as stepping forth he reached for the hand that

swore he had not lied.

I will come with you, but where can you lead

on a crescent of the moon,

when the night is thick and all around,

and before us lies a dune?

Trust me, old traveler, and you will see,

for the path is wide and firm.

I have walked along it many times

and you have much to learn.

There are many waiting souls, my friend,

said the guide as the cliff drew near.

Some you have loved, as they have loved you,

and some of them you fear.

Then at the cliff a flight of steps appeared,

leading down to the valley below.

A miracle! cried the startled traveler.

If only the world did know!

But then as he saw the darkness below

in fear he turned to his guide,

Is this really an angel, he wondered,

or in flesh might a jinn there hide?

A moment, my friend, said the traveler,

as he hung upon a word.

Did you say there are those I will meet today

whose anger I have incurred?

If so, then tell me who that is who dwells

upon the past,

for what have I done that any could hate,

when truth I ever held fast?

Oh, foolish traveler, you were never a saint,

or is there something I have missed?

Can every moment of greed and weakness

have vanished from your list?

My list is complete and I acknowledge my guilt,

for all men trip and fall,

yet blame not me but the Potter himself if sin                          

belongs to all.

Then you are more than a fool if you would search for a god

on whom to lay the blame.

You chose to be born, and you chose this form,

and so into this world you came.

And yet you could have changed it all

with less effort than a thought.

T’was not the world with which you struggled,

with yourself were your battles fought.

In fear he swung between doubt and shame,

the truth afraid to admit.

Then sought in his mind to escape the fray

with scorn and childish wit.

With the skill of my hands I made myself,

and then myself I chose to be born,

then am I the potter who made this world

and evening, night, and morn?

You truly are my sarcastic friend,

divine in all but name,

the prayers you offered were to you alone

for you and God are the same.

Each makes the world in which he lives,

a truth so hard to hold.

But grasp it, traveler, and understand

for such truths are more than gold.

But if, as you say, there’s no god above

who sits upon the clouds,

whose mighty power fills the arching sky

and saves when evil crowds?

You save yourself, my innocent friend;

who else could captain your ship?

You laid the keel and each rib you carved

and with sails and ropes equip.

My friend, you are more than what stands here,

a fraction that is all.

You were present when the world was made

and you will lead it to its fall.

But if that is still too hard to grasp,

so sad am I to say,

then create a god who fills the sky

and keeps your fears at bay.

So in fear the traveler betrayed his courage

and the battles in which he fought,

and the towering storms through which he sailed

when truth was all he sought.

Then I choose a god to fill my sky,

who sent you here to me.

For him, together we can search,

and to each a guide will be.

For there must be a god in the sky above

without whom we are lost.

So I’ll offer a prayer to save us both,

for mercy at little cost.

And now I have a purpose

let’s pass this valley by.

Why waste our time among crumbling ruins

where nothing good could lie?

Old traveler, the valley is of your making

for a reason known only to you.

What you fear is not the darkness,

but the anger of a few.

But remember also the good you did

for it far exceeds the bad.

There were times, my friend, when heaven was amazed

and for that you can be glad.

Look hard, my friend, for there’s a light below;

a beacon for the brave,

for there are those down there who long to greet

and return the love you gave.

So reluctantly he edged towards the steps,

deciding to atone,

and then found the journey an easy one

now a god sat on his throne.

And the steps were wide and firm of foot,

of rock and broken stone,

and he followed the curving valley wall,

his future soon to own.

But then as the steps grew in number

his fears they began to feed,

and he wondered why they continued down

and did not to heaven lead.

If my soul is to live in the sky above

why does this path incline?

For should we not be stepping up

if heaven would be mine? 

Surely this path is for those who are lost;

the cursed, abandoned fool?

Reassure me, guide, that is not my fate,

that my God is not so cruel?

Traveler, you are not abandoned

and this is not the path to hell,

but to a city full of those

whose lives you once knew well.

Trust me, old traveler, when I tell you the truth,

the seed was there from the start.

The map on which this path appears

was forever in your heart.

So down and down the traveler stepped

and the walls around grew steep,

when in the distance far below a noise

arose from the deep.

Is that not the sound of a living crowd

among those tumbled walls?

Truly, friend, there is a souq down there

where the sunlight never falls?

That’s right, old traveler, it is a souq,

and one you should know well

for there you have traded many times  

in the stories which you tell.

Then the traveler paused and a smile appeared;

Yes, I remember a city like this,

and the joys it’s back streets held for me,

and many a stolen kiss.

Could it be, my friend, that you mean for me

to relive the pleasant past,

when I was young and life was long

and cares would never last?

For if that is now my soul’s reward

I was right to trust my prayers,

and the sacred promise from heaven above

that brought me to these stairs.

I have no idea what heaven has promised,

for nothing is so precise.

I am only here to be your guide

and to offer my advice.

Yet I doubt the pleasures which you seek

are waiting there below.

More likely they are events recalled

to help your spirit grow.

Then advise me, guide, by naming this place,

and dispelling my fear and doubt,

for as yet we have neither come too far

to stop and turn about.

And yet, from this height it seems to me

we have entered Khorasan,

and if such we have then I would not complain

and welcome heaven’s plan.

It is Khorasan, and others too, a thousand,

by the will of your god.

This is all the lands that you have known;

every place on earth you trod.

But if that is so then I am truly lost,

you do little to ease my fears,

for all the sins which I heaped on my soul

throughout my early years.

At that his guide began to laugh and placed a hand

upon his arm.

Don’t worry, my timid, adulterous friend, 

you will never come to harm.

Then among the ruins there began to appear

tiny houses the colour of sand.

And in each a sheltered courtyard stood with tiles

the width of a hand.

The tiles were coloured blue and white

in a chequer board design.

And on the roofs rolls of bedding lay

where families could resign.

My friend, are there any sights you recognise

among the winding streets,

a house perhaps or an ancient mosque

where a path another meets?

Some I can! he said excitedly

as the city beneath them grew.

That crumbling wall where I used to sit;

a place that I once knew!

And the shouts of boys in their long kaffiyahs

echoed down the darkened lanes,

and past the lines of burdened camels as they

wove through tight chicanes.

My friend, there is nothing here to fear,

for well I know this place.

Each winding street holds a memory,

and each memory a face!

And in the distance he saw them playing:

two children by a well.

Look see, there are my children there

too far for me to yell!

I must see them again! as he hurried down.

And this time I will guide.

I know the way after all these years and from

neither need you hide.

Stop, old traveler! cried his anxious guide.

There are no children there!

What you see is only a memory;

just a vapour of the air.

Your children are grown and can never return,

but live in a far off time.

The sights you see will stir your heart and cause the

past to rhyme.

Not real, said the traveler. Then what good is heaven?

and placed his hand against the wall.

And standing there he cried aloud for a past

beyond recall.

And the aching years crashed through his mind

like a torrent through the past,

and carried with them all he loved;

for moments never last.

You are not to blame, said his holy guide.

T’is your mind that is the clown.

Take heart, my friend, and it will pass

for see, we are almost down.

Thus the traveler reached the valley floor

and stepped wearily onto the ground

and lingered there some time alone

to make sense of what he found.

My friend, I understand none of this,  

how in truth can all this be,

that night and stars should be above

and here the sun I see?

And there in the far grey distance,

are they not the mighty Altai,

the Golden Mountains on the road to Asia;  

coming here I passed them by?

Indeed they are, ancient traveler,

and many more you’ve seen,

the Alborz, High Atlas, and Karakorum,

and all the mountains between.

The traveler squeezed his pounding head

to make sense of what he could see.

Yet to understand was an impossible hope

when none of this could be.

Now facing him, like a gaping mouth lay the entrance

to a covered street.

A bustling souq lined with shops and stalls

and the dust of shuffling feet.

And slanting through the roof above

shafts of sunlight on fretted gold.

And between the hanging lanterns there

slaves waited to be sold.

Can you taste that smell, my envious friend,

so warm and almost sweet?

How it hangs on the air like a tasty cloud

and yet is filled with heat.

That, my friend, is the smell of bread,

from an oven lined with clay.

So prepare your empty stomach, friend,

to taste this very day.

What guide could such an offer refuse,

but where should our journey start,

with the long, grey hairs of aging wisdom,

or with a pounding, youthful heart?

If I must relive my past then where else

but from the start,

from my youth when I was young,

for life began in such a mart.

Oh then I was young with a passionate heart

and a head that was so full of dreams.

I would change the world in a single day

and rid Iblis of his schemes.                           

What became of that boy, old traveler,

what happened to his wonderful dreams?

Did he lose his way in a woman’s arms,

entangled in her schemes?

No, not a woman, my angelic friend, but time;

I just grew old.

The world is too vast for a young boy’s dreams

and faith too heavy to hold.

That is sad, old traveler, because your dreams had wings

and would have carried far away.

You were born to touch so many lives,

who now have lost their way.

But so it is for all mankind,

you have company in defeat,

for all grow old before their time

and never their true selves meet.

Then give me another chance, dear friend,

send me back to my passionate youth!

Give me the chance to redeem myself and bear a torch

for eternal truth!

It was not for success that you were born

and truth was never at stake.

If I sent you back, my traveling friend,

you would make the same mistake.

You are here at this souq for the only thing

that in life you failed to learn,

that love is all and every part and the rest

of no concern.

But I did learn that lesson, I truly did,

and I taught it to my son.

And he in turn has passed it on and thus

will the world be won.

That’s true, your son has learnt the lesson

and in him it will ever live,

but what you taught him came from books

and was never yours to give.

Now come, old traveler, let’s begin your journey

and learn that lesson at last,

there is much to see and so many to meet;

all faces from your past.