Brethren become more notorious day by day,
Heresy increases year on year.
Alcohol-drinkers and adulterers, I fear,
Amid the ranks of infamy must stay.

o Muslim brothers, do not deviate!
You'll cross the Sirat Bridge, thin as a hair.
A few more years, Daijal will come - so they declare -
To stir the world like embers in a grate.

He's dressed in black, his one eye is the keener.
The poor burn in the fire the wicked light -
See where the honest Muslims go when they take flight:
Holy Damascus, Mecca, and Medina.

Jesus and Mahdi bring justice and peace,
But Gog and Magog only tyranny:
They'll dig right through the Oaf Mountains to get at me,
Their knuckles scraping ground, fearsome1 obese.

Pen trembles with the pain orphans have born;
The minds of lovers burn with fire and wonder;
The sky will burst and every mountain fall asunder;
Israfil will blow his brazen horn.

Great waters will recede and rivers drain:
Sun, moon, and stars will fail in a relapse
When all the high hills melt and Heaven and Earth collapse
Only my Lord Himself will then remain.

When Death calls, man will give up all his wealth,
Kin, family, and lastly even breath.
The Lord will then decree the swart Angel of Death,
Even that darkling angel, kill himself!

Save God alone, no living entity
Will then remain. Israfil's horn will die.
In forty days of rain, the seas are earth, earth's sky,
All mingled. Afterwards, new plants will be.

A horse dressed in caparison full brave
Shall come - gold, silver, green and bright scarlet;
Four angels will patrol in unearthly quartet,
Arriving at Muhammad's earthly grave.
An angel's wings will cause the air to shake.
"Yea, it will say, and when "Arise "is said
The grave will open up and soil pour on His head.
Then "0 my ummah !", cries he, and will wake.

Fear of that Day of Judgement will prevail
Exceedingly. '1Where are my ummah?", cries
He, prostrate - from Sajdah he hesitates to rise
Till guards will come and say, "Get up, all hail !"

Great Israfil takes up his brazen horn
To stand alert in the Almighty's sight:
Two golden calls he blows anon, to left and right -
And lo! God's creatures, suddenly reborn

Sneezing, they clamber from that doleful lair,
The grave. Wheezing, they gape up at the sky,
Or queasily survey the changing scene nearby -
For forty days remaining transfixed there.

They see that birds and beasts are all good friends,
That rivers flow together, lip to lip,
That perfect lovers know perfect companionship,
And rise up singing, as the lark ascends!

Demons of Hell hold each a mace of fire -
The scales are set - the sun shines brilliant black -
While those who deal in horses, they are mounted on Buraq -~
This one gold-shod, and those in silk attire!

The sun will boil and while the whole world burns
The court1s established, judging Wrong from Right.
Brains fry within the skull until they catch alight.
The bread you gave for alms to shadow turns.

Pharaoh, Haman, Shaddad - all infidel -
Will stand there, clutching unbelieving head,
Asking, "Who revived us from the dismal dead ?"
Servants of God will answer them full well.

These infidels will shake in agitation.
As fires rage, their arguments subside:
Now into many ranks of twelve groups they divide.
He comes, thunderous, for their Interrogation.

One group's transformed into a swine brigade,
While other groups transformed to monkeys come,
All chattering. Yet others wander, deaf and dumb.
It's with such suffering that sin's repaid.

Some rush with flames at every orifice,
Some run with pus boiling in throat and lungs,
Mullahs who forsook the Word chew on their tongues.
All this will be, O Lord. It comes to this!

Some moan with liquid fire for a gown,
Some drunken fall in mud and cannot rouse,
Some find grotesque new legs grow spurting from their brows -
So henceforth they must travel upside-down.

This one is pinned beneath an iron mattress
So hot his forehead folds about his nose.
His tongue protrudes into his navel. Comatose,
Past deeds enmesh him snakelike in distress.

Devout chase Infidel from crag to crag.
Snakes large as dromedaries foul the ground.
But Men of God gather in crowds to march around
The world. Muhammad flies his awesome flag!

Prophets face fear and all that it entails:
Sons avoid fathers, fathers shun their sons
In guilt and hate. Muhammad, where the river runs,
Pitches his green flag by the justice scales.

Adam the Prophet murmurs "0 my Son !"
Old Abraham will "0 the One God !" cry.
Moses and Jesus name the Architect on High.
Everyone is fed by everyone.

Prayers from many prophets God beguile;
Both left and right sides self-effacement keep.
So will Muhammad then expose his head and weep,
Repeating "Oh, my ummah," all the while.

All Men of God to unchecked tears will yield.
They'll not ask of their kin, for good or ill,
From other friends. In due course, golden Israfil
Controls the scales of justice in the field.

All unbelievers have their gowns alight,
To be kicked where the fires of Hell await.
Serpents the size of mules will swiftly infiltrate,
Snakes thick as camels' necks spit flame and bite.

They'll call for help. No one can hear them roar
Although they bray like donkeys crammed in pens.
For nourishment, poisons alone are fed them thence.
They'll serve this sentence out for ever more.

We see what the devout do in their turn:
What work they have and how they fill their hours
So that Muhammad on them all his blessing showers.
Those who do not know this will quickly learn.

Devout folk then will be like paths unwinding,
Some swift as lightning, some as winter's wind,
Some as flood waters, some as hotly-hunted hind,
And some as falcon, wild upon the wing.

This is the Way that takes three thousand years:
Uphill, level, downhill, but always far -
Darker than pitch and sharper than a scimitar.
Yet some will pass through ere a midnight nears.

Others must find their Way by slow parades:
Ten days, perhaps - others, a year in all,
Others fifteen, screaming like kulans in the hall
Others at last, fifty thousand decades.

His blood is shed, a thousand years unfold:
He crosses Sirat's Bridge at last. Now up
He drinks the precious wine from Kowsar's cup -
This elder now becomes as one year old.

Each youth now wreathes the laurels round his head.
They all have Joseph's beauty, Jesus' age.
They are as David was, as young and just as sage.
Each one embraces now his beloved.

They take their thrones. Their robes are seventy.
Their steeds have reins adorned with malachites.
They enter Paradise, survey its dazzling sights,
Knowing that they will live eternally.

On seventy silk mattresses they'll lie,
The Tuba tree will shade them like a friend,
While seventy silken Houris to their wants attend.
The beauty of the Lord will gratify.

Those who care nothing for the world below,
Drunkards and sluggards - such are Infidels.
"These things will happen", Makhtumkuli here foretells.
Come Judgement Day, all Men of God will know