The masters are of Babil,
The whores of matter,
The deceptive tyrants of a mortal misery.
The Children of Allah weep for Sahyun
As rivers of ‘Adn fill with blood.
These are the tears of the sacrificed,
Transmuted into the word of the One
The immutable, most compassionate, merciful One,
The ancient sleeping, invisible self-generated One.
Through that One all peace originates.
Within that One, we seek refuge from the archons.
They have attempted feed us to lions.
They have corrupted the sacred One of ninety-nine names,
Their self-willed abyss is a fatal agony,
Which prevents perception of the One,
Who alone exists perfectly in the fullness of unity.
They have slaughtered the hungry and thirsty
In the name of the sacrifices to the calf,
They have led the kin of the book to their doom
For the sake of a kingdom of gold.
Their craft is a stench of a Roman root
That still in these days extends its hold.
For those who suffer, we weep.
Upon them, an eternity in transcendent divinity,
We wish this serene dream.
In freedom, we sing for caged birds
Spreading their pierced wings,
Heading for a sanctuary of solace in the wilderness,
Renouncing the pains of the prison of Saklas.
For, it is the realm of death, the pettiness of pearls for swine,
But here, we shall flee with gnosis of the light
As we take flight so as to end this perpetual night.
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