Three Suns Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

The sooty hands guide to the black lands,
Where eyed and uneyed do become equal,
And the victims swell priding upon blindness.
How should I praise the Laudable Lord,
Who made me explore the worlds distant,
Where wisdom willingly weeps but love leaps,
When finds opened amazing truths ahead.

Standing at the base of a mountain high,
Saw I the erect tops kissing the skies
That cast thick shade extending to the west;
Grey rocks were bare yet vegetated it was,
With the tall trees and grass green.

Neither hot nor cold was the climate,
As we feel in the month of March,
In the plain of five flowing waters,
Freshening minds of the depressed souls,
After awakening from the trance of winter.

In front to the west scene enchanted me well,
The tops were clad with the forest dense,
As the northern peaks wear green covering,
The idle clouds floated with the slow move,
Some dark, some were like flakes of cotton,
Still un-ravished by the touch filthy hands,
As monsoon winds drift in the month of August;
Passed through being fondled with the gentle waft,
Some clang still against the rising tops,
Seemed whispering the secret brought from
The world above, high up, to impart.

Stunned was I to find the seasons four
Of Indian plains, blended into one great,
Behind the mountain then found uprising lights,
Glares reflected on the rim-like crest.
Curiosity made me run, and in haste I ran,
To see the brightening source of radiance,
Mounted I in front on the vantage top,
And saw the sight that suspended my wisdom frail.

Ah! Easy is it to speak but hard is to imagine,
Three suns were ascending with perceptible move,
In row, of equal size and brightening blaze,
Much bigger, brighter than the Sun of the Earth,
That shines in the Asian skies in June,
The outer rims were almost touching one another.

Below then I found a crowed of men,
Some sat on cots; some were entertaining the guests,
One escorted me to have my own share,
Then I return to the sweet-fake world of assumed reality,
The next morn ah! I learnt a thing woeful,
My Master, my Guide, the Source of sight,
Departed to the zone of eternity leaving behind,
Three sons to spread around the light of faith.