8. The Holy Quran is Untainted by Fables

Beyond the realm of words to express gratitude to Our Glorious Lord, how to find expression;
It is through His Word—the Quran—that we found the existence of His impression

The glorious light that we find in its pages;
Cannot be found in a thousands suns—in their missives or envisages

It purified the mind, the heart, and the intellect;
And we came full circle, then, for the mirror to reflect

It gave to the soul the nourishing fruit of spiritual direction and insight;
Washing away the impurity of doubt, altering the trajectory of life's flight

It made mightily evident the existence of God;
And rendered futile the devil's schemes to sow discord

That way which shows the existence of The Most High;
That way which purifies the heart, dipping it in spiritual dye

That way, aye, which beckons The Friend from whom one's been separated;
That way which nourishes the soul with love venerated

That way, verily, which is for His Existence a certifying argument;
That way which—to comprehending His Existence—shows the way of attainment

It lit up the world with the glorious path to reach Him;
In doing so, it rinsed away doubts that had been occluding and grim

The sadness weighing down hearts—the oppressive weight was lifted;
And with glory—out of darkness and into the light—humankind was gifted

The bitter cold of winter was replaced by the warmth of spring;
Radiant embers of God's love—into the heart—it did bring

All those trees that had life then grew verdant—aye, with new life they did burgeon;
So profusely the bore fruit that their branches they did burden

Its tidal waves crashed, wiping away the damning dikes of (religious) doubt;
Crashing straight through the mound of irreligiousness with its clout

The Quran leads one to the One Who Created—it is, after all, the Word of God;
Without it, the garden of spiritual insights remains wanting, fragmented, slipshod

Those who shivered from the chilling frost of doubt;
Now find in the warmth of the glorious Quran comfort throughout

All this clamor, sowed by religions that are, in reality, faithless;
Not having a glimmer of spiritual light—a medley of tales—useless

But the Quran manifests the unmistakably glorious light of God;
Unerringly leading one to Him—through His signs—like a divining rod

That religion, though, one that cannot scale, built on the shifting sands of tales;
Is not a religion, but a pale, jagged tower (of fables), and none that impales

Can one that rely on fables, can one, in full frankness?
Fables are—are they not?—replete with hollow crassness

That religion is true which doesn't tell—or sell—tales;
And instead—through the vitality of living signs—the right path unveils

    That religion is righteous Whose God is self-evident;
    Who shows, through the display of His Powers, where He is present

The so-called miracles you hear nowadays—the hearsay—by way of fable;
And offered as arguments, with nary a vestige of the credible

All the sects, you see—this is now their be-all, their end-all;
Regaling fantastic miracles in fables—that's their alpha, their omega, their be-all

Alas, of their own faith, they offer no supporting manifestation;
As if the powers of the Lord of the heavens and Earth had retreated onto cessation

As if He no longer wields of days yore that Might, that Power;
That Governance, that Strength, that Grandeur

Or as if God no longer embodies Mercy as He did in days past;
As if His intentions had changed, or His Affection did not last

Such grievous notions are faulty—He is free of fault;
And the result of such notions is, on human dignity, an assault

Truth be told, such religions have withered away;
Bereft of vitality–untethered–they have shriveled away

Followers of such faiths have greedily fallen on the world;
Unaware of spiritual taste and discernment, dwelling in a dream-world

Their goal in life is to blindly follow unbridled ambition;
They are not believers—they tread on the terrain of evil volition

See how their hearts are covered with the spiritual decay of occluding rust;
Their having fallen on the world—hearts decayed, occluded—turned to ashen dust

What use is that faith that cannot manifest God?
It's but a hollow vessel—shallow, without an echo of God

The grandeur of guidance in such a faith—can that possibly inhere in it?
Alas, glory has departed, flown, and distinction no more its perquisite

The signs of God's glory therein no longer in that religion abide;
Neither does God's Unity enrich it, nor do blessings therein reside

O people! That god, remember, is manifestly not the Living God;
Who is not evermore manifesting glory whereby humans be awed

Ancestor-worshippers, they who worship by grasping at mere fable;
Bereft thus of vitality—mere straws in their hands—abject defeat is their label

Without the certainty of sight, o friends! the soul is never satisfied;
This oft-erring self, how can it by mere fables be sanctified?

Mortals ever thirst for fresh signs from the Divine;
While fantastic fables remain, as ever, ineffective, stolid as bovine

How can the Divine Beloved—through mere fables—be found?
Find, though, a true sign—one solitary sign—and the fruit of life will abound

Alas, the prevalence of fantastic tales has turned hearts astray;
Lip-profession became customary, hearts do now injustice obey

Greed-ridden hearts shriveled and shrank, led to their deathly, bottomless bank;
Entire lives spent in oblivion—unto darkness they sank

O you who sleep! Wake up—springtime is at hand;
Look, at the threshold of my existence—Our Friend does here now stand

Worthless the life that remained devoid of Him!
Accursed the living which diverged from Him

Witnessing Him—through His wonders—the real goal;
And Paradise—to find Him through an enriched soul

O lovers of this world's life! Tis' not the abode of forever;
Generation after generation—before you—death from this world did sever

Go, cast a glance at your ancestors' graves;
And do wonder where your ancestors all went, in waves

That day will arrive when you, too, will return to dust;
One day, the morning of life will turn to dusk

That day will come when a funeral—yours—will get ready to proceed;
And your well wishers—having buried your body—to their homes they'll recede

O people! The allures of this life will one day, coolly, leave your side;
Do you never ponder that, in this world, you won't forever reside?

Ever wondered whereto your father and forefathers went away?
Who summoned them all, why didn't in this world they stay?

Such a day will soon fall to your lot;
Merriment of this life cease quickly, unraveling life's knot

Seek, then, the way whereby your soul is unburdened—arise, purified;
Yield, hereto, laying down arms of vain desires—stand, unfortified

That faith is absurd which is devoted to tale after tale after tale;
Staying away from it is wise for every fortunate soul who wishes to not fail

For shame, it's these tales on which people now rely;
Tales dominating faith, while truth they brazenly belie

But of manifest miracles there is no sign;
As if to conceded that the gods of tales are not divine

The world has, buy such tales, been impoverished and wrecked;
Spewing venom of idolatry, immolating the human crucible on its deathbed

Whosoever yearns for reunion with The Creator;
They must shun infatuation with tales for the wayward fascinator

Their duty, rather, to seek the Divine Light;
Whereby hearts are cleansed, and religious doubts retreat in cowardly flight

Wherefore their hearts become receptacles for faith to fill;
That their admission into The Lord's court they do not imperil

Looking to tales to purify the heart—a notion implausible;
In full candor, this way is fraught and corruptible

Invariably will fail, the chasing after of tales to bring deliverance;
Else you labor under an illusion, should you seek being ushered into Divine Presence

After all, can one turn to the dead to bring life?
Nay, for the dead, so much as crossing a nominal passage is fraught with strife

But that path which—to the Divine—lights the way and clarifies;
That path which brings spiritual cleansing and purifies