The Cold Stars Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

It is sweet madness, insanity,
Or something else?
If anyone knows,
He should teach me the malady.
Now hearken me,
And my awakening dream.

My body ethereal and unseen,
Shot up, leaving behind,
The sloughed mortal frame.
As the fiery-weapon, propels up,
From the catapult or launching pad.

Much swifter than the shooting star,
Passing through the darkest zones,
Instantly covering distances,
Huge and immense,
Entered into the world of light,
Clear, cold and serene.

Where a star shines,
Much bigger than the sun,
Above the four small,
Forming a rhomb,
One with a brighter ring,
Emitting out dazzling light,
Of the same colour, milky bright,
Cold, delighted and pure,

Beholding up, I saw the sky,
As tranquil, clear and blue
As ours after the heavy rainfall.
Icy needles long and thin,
Penetrated into body,
Feathery, light and subtle.
Straight, supine no ground beneath.

The world seemed much inferior,
I wished my stay,
Unending and prolonged,
In the smokeless world,
Of tranquility and brilliance
With a sense of timelessness.
Such delights could never be found,
In wealth, food and height of success.

Then came down, down and down,
In swinging motion,
To be imprisoned again,
In the bony cage,
Laying unconscious, in my sleeping chamber.

If it is madness,
Thousand times preferable,
To wisdom wingless and without flight.