A maid once mounted a donkey in heat, Driven by lust and desire's fierce beat. She had trained that male beast well, To serve her needs, as stories tell. A trick she used—a crafty old crone—Made a hollow gourd, shaped like bone. She placed it midway on the beast’s length, To shield her womb from the donkey’s strength. For if the full shaft were to enter in, Her guts and womb would tear from within. The donkey grew thin, his strength now low, The lady puzzled—why this sorrow? She took him to farriers, asking the cause: “Why has he weakened without a pause?” No signs of illness could be found, No clue from head to hoof around.

For earnest quest, a soul must strive— The seeker, truly, brings truth alive. She spied one night, with sharpened eye, And saw the scene that made her cry: Through a crack, the truth was laid— The donkey and the girl engaged. The beast was mating her like a man, As if by reason or some plan. Struck with envy, she exclaimed, “If this be so, then I’ve more claim! This donkey is mine, well-fed and trained, He eats at my table, by my light remained.”

She acted cool, then knocked the door, “Hey girl, how long will you sweep the floor?” She masked her rage with calm pretense, And said, “Dear girl, open the fence.” The girl, in silence, hid the gear, Then came and opened, without fear. She frowned, with teary eyes so dim, And licked her lips—“I’m fasting,” said she to him. A soft broom in her hand she held, As if to clean the house and make it smelled. As she opened up the door, The mistress muttered, “Oh, mentor, for sure... You frown and sweep, broom in your hand— Yet the donkey’s loose and cannot stand. Half-erect and angry, twitching still, His eyes fixed on the door with will.”

She whispered low, “The girl has kept this beast Like a wronged prince, in secret feast.” Then she said aloud, “Put on your veil, Take this message to so-and-so without fail. Say this, do that, and don’t delay— Thus ends this tale in a woman’s way. Take the essence, leave the rest— The wise old crone had laid her quest.”

Drunk on lust, she beamed with joy, Closed the door, her voice now coy: “Thanks to fate, I’m finally free— No more rent or debts for me! Ecstatic, wild with craving’s flame, The donkey too was not the same. What goat would stir such fiery thirst? For this, no goat could quench her first! Lust makes deaf the heart and blind the mind— A donkey seems like Joseph, pure and kind. Many, drunk on fire not light, Mistake the flame for truth so bright.”

Only God’s servant, or one drawn by the Light, Can see the path and turn toward what’s right. He’ll come to know that fiery lustful dream Is but a borrowed shade, a fleeting gleam. Lust paints the ugly with beauty’s face—Of all the plagues, none worse in the Way’s trace. It turned sweet names into disgrace, Made countless wise men lose their place. It made a donkey seem like Joseph fair—Then what of Joseph, under lust’s glare? It turns dung to honey with its spell—Then what will it do to honey as well? Lust comes from food—so eat with care, Or wed, and flee from evil’s snare. For once it enters, it demands its price—Your earnings spent in sacrifice. Thus marriage came, a sacred rope, To guard you from the devil’s scope. For the greedy man, a wife is best—Else the cat will steal the lamb from rest. Put the heavy load before the beast jumps high, Lest he leap, and your chance pass by. You don’t know fire’s nature through mere word—So don’t dance round it, if you’ve never heard. If you know not fire and pot and flame, You’ll burn the pot and lose the aim. Water must be present, wisdom too, For the pot to boil, and not break through. Since you lack the craft of forging steel, You'll burn your hair and beard with zeal.

The woman shut the door and dragged the beast, In joy she sinned, and paid the price, at least. She brought the donkey to the bed, And lay beneath him there instead. On the very seat she’d seen the maid, She longed to taste what pleasures stayed. She raised her legs, the donkey thrust— And filled her with his fire and lust. Trained he was, yet bore down with might— And crushed her organs in that fright. The blow of that beast’s dreadful rod Tore her belly and guts apart, by God. Without a cry, she died right there, Toppled from the bed, legs in air. Blood soaked the house, shame spread around, Her soul by death’s dark angel bound.

A death so vile, so filled with shame— Have you seen a martyr die this way, in God’s name? The Prophet warned of hell’s disgrace— Don’t lose your soul for lust’s embrace. Know this: your lustful, beastly soul’s a donkey— And lying beneath it is far more wonky. If you die in lust's flood, drowning in sin, Know, your fate is like that woman’s within. Our souls take shapes to match their ways, It shows as donkey if that’s how it strays. This is the secret shown on Judgment Day— God have mercy, flee your beastly clay! God warned the disbelievers with fire's fright— But they said, “Shame is worse than fire’s bite.” He said: “No! That fire is the source of shame, Just as this fire brought the woman blame.” She ate beyond her rightful share, That bite of greed became death’s snare.

Eat in measure, greedy man— Even if it's sweets and jam. God Most High gave the Scale a tongue— Read Surah Rahman, from whence it sprung. Don’t let your greed break that scale’s might, Greed and craving lead you from the Light. Greed devours, consumes the whole— Worship not greed, O fool of soul!

The maid walked on and sighed in pain: “O mistress, you led the master in vain. You tried the task without a guide— And so you lost your soul in pride. You stole from me half-knowing ways, Too ashamed to ask or face the maze. You plucked the grain from my own stack— But placed no rope around its track.”

Eat less grain, don’t patch your flaws, Read 'Eat' in Qur’an—then 'waste not' its laws. If you eat too much, you’ll fall in trap— True knowledge and restraint will close that gap. The wise one eats, not fears the feast— But fools are left with shame, at least. When the rope of trap wraps tight around the throat, Then all grain is poison in that moat. Can a bird, trapped in a snare, Still enjoy the grain placed there? Grain becomes like deadly bane If eaten in a trap’s domain. Only heedless birds will peck that seed— Like the masses trapped in worldly greed. But the wise and watchful birds abstain, They tie themselves from such deadly grain. For inside every snare, the bait’s a knife— Blind’s the bird that seeks it for life. The trapper slaughters fools with ease, But spares the clever for their melodies. From the dull, he takes their meat— From the wise, sad songs and cries so sweet.

Then the maid peeked from behind the door, And saw the mistress dead beneath the donkey’s roar. She cried, “O foolish mistress! What is this? Did your master show you just the bliss? You saw the surface—sweet and neat— But missed the hidden trap beneath. You opened shop, though unprepared, And paid the price—your soul ensnared. You saw his shaft, like honey, fine— But missed the gourd that marked the line! Or perhaps, drunk on the donkey’s lust, That gourd escaped your gaze and trust. You saw the craft, and thought you knew— And called yourself a master too!”

So many frauds, without a clue, Who see a cloak, and call it true. So many clowns, from shallow art, Claim kingly grace, though worlds apart. Each one holding Moses’ staff, Blowing at fools, saying, “I'm Christ’s path.”

Ah! The day when truth will call— And test you with its stony wall. Why not ask the seasoned guide? The greedy walk as blind and wild. You ran with all, but lagged behind— These simple sheep are wolves’ best find. You heard the words, and mimicked sound, Like parrots, clueless yet spellbound.

A maid once mounted a donkey in heat, Driven by lust and desire's fierce beat. She had trained that male beast well, To serve her needs, as stories tell. A trick she used—a crafty old crone—Made a hollow gourd, shaped like bone. She placed it midway on the beast’s length, To shield her womb from the donkey’s strength. For if the full shaft were to enter in, Her guts and womb would tear from within. The donkey grew thin, his strength now low, The lady puzzled—why this sorrow? She took him to farriers, asking the cause: “Why has he weakened without a pause?” No signs of illness could be found, No clue from head to hoof around.

For earnest quest, a soul must strive— The seeker, truly, brings truth alive. She spied one night, with sharpened eye, And saw the scene that made her cry: Through a crack, the truth was laid— The donkey and the girl engaged. The beast was mating her like a man, As if by reason or some plan. Struck with envy, she exclaimed, “If this be so, then I’ve more claim! This donkey is mine, well-fed and trained, He eats at my table, by my light remained.”

She acted cool, then knocked the door, “Hey girl, how long will you sweep the floor?” She masked her rage with calm pretense, And said, “Dear girl, open the fence.” The girl, in silence, hid the gear, Then came and opened, without fear. She frowned, with teary eyes so dim, And licked her lips—“I’m fasting,” said she to him. A soft broom in her hand she held, As if to clean the house and make it smelled. As she opened up the door, The mistress muttered, “Oh, mentor, for sure... You frown and sweep, broom in your hand— Yet the donkey’s loose and cannot stand. Half-erect and angry, twitching still, His eyes fixed on the door with will.”

She whispered low, “The girl has kept this beast Like a wronged prince, in secret feast.” Then she said aloud, “Put on your veil, Take this message to so-and-so without fail. Say this, do that, and don’t delay— Thus ends this tale in a woman’s way. Take the essence, leave the rest— The wise old crone had laid her quest.”

Drunk on lust, she beamed with joy, Closed the door, her voice now coy: “Thanks to fate, I’m finally free— No more rent or debts for me! Ecstatic, wild with craving’s flame, The donkey too was not the same. What goat would stir such fiery thirst? For this, no goat could quench her first! Lust makes deaf the heart and blind the mind— A donkey seems like Joseph, pure and kind. Many, drunk on fire not light, Mistake the flame for truth so bright.”

Only God’s servant, or one drawn by the Light, Can see the path and turn toward what’s right. He’ll come to know that fiery lustful dream Is but a borrowed shade, a fleeting gleam. Lust paints the ugly with beauty’s face—Of all the plagues, none worse in the Way’s trace. It turned sweet names into disgrace, Made countless wise men lose their place. It made a donkey seem like Joseph fair—Then what of Joseph, under lust’s glare? It turns dung to honey with its spell—Then what will it do to honey as well? Lust comes from food—so eat with care, Or wed, and flee from evil’s snare. For once it enters, it demands its price—Your earnings spent in sacrifice. Thus marriage came, a sacred rope, To guard you from the devil’s scope. For the greedy man, a wife is best—Else the cat will steal the lamb from rest. Put the heavy load before the beast jumps high, Lest he leap, and your chance pass by. You don’t know fire’s nature through mere word—So don’t dance round it, if you’ve never heard. If you know not fire and pot and flame, You’ll burn the pot and lose the aim. Water must be present, wisdom too, For the pot to boil, and not break through. Since you lack the craft of forging steel, You'll burn your hair and beard with zeal.

The woman shut the door and dragged the beast, In joy she sinned, and paid the price, at least. She brought the donkey to the bed, And lay beneath him there instead. On the very seat she’d seen the maid, She longed to taste what pleasures stayed. She raised her legs, the donkey thrust— And filled her with his fire and lust. Trained he was, yet bore down with might— And crushed her organs in that fright. The blow of that beast’s dreadful rod Tore her belly and guts apart, by God. Without a cry, she died right there, Toppled from the bed, legs in air. Blood soaked the house, shame spread around, Her soul by death’s dark angel bound.

A death so vile, so filled with shame— Have you seen a martyr die this way, in God’s name? The Prophet warned of hell’s disgrace— Don’t lose your soul for lust’s embrace. Know this: your lustful, beastly soul’s a donkey— And lying beneath it is far more wonky. If you die in lust's flood, drowning in sin, Know, your fate is like that woman’s within. Our souls take shapes to match their ways, It shows as donkey if that’s how it strays. This is the secret shown on Judgment Day— God have mercy, flee your beastly clay! God warned the disbelievers with fire's fright— But they said, “Shame is worse than fire’s bite.” He said: “No! That fire is the source of shame, Just as this fire brought the woman blame.” She ate beyond her rightful share, That bite of greed became death’s snare.

Eat in measure, greedy man— Even if it's sweets and jam. God Most High gave the Scale a tongue— Read Surah Rahman, from whence it sprung. Don’t let your greed break that scale’s might, Greed and craving lead you from the Light. Greed devours, consumes the whole— Worship not greed, O fool of soul!

The maid walked on and sighed in pain: “O mistress, you led the master in vain. You tried the task without a guide— And so you lost your soul in pride. You stole from me half-knowing ways, Too ashamed to ask or face the maze. You plucked the grain from my own stack— But placed no rope around its track.”

Eat less grain, don’t patch your flaws, Read 'Eat' in Qur’an—then 'waste not' its laws. If you eat too much, you’ll fall in trap— True knowledge and restraint will close that gap. The wise one eats, not fears the feast— But fools are left with shame, at least. When the rope of trap wraps tight around the throat, Then all grain is poison in that moat. Can a bird, trapped in a snare, Still enjoy the grain placed there? Grain becomes like deadly bane If eaten in a trap’s domain. Only heedless birds will peck that seed— Like the masses trapped in worldly greed. But the wise and watchful birds abstain, They tie themselves from such deadly grain. For inside every snare, the bait’s a knife— Blind’s the bird that seeks it for life. The trapper slaughters fools with ease, But spares the clever for their melodies. From the dull, he takes their meat— From the wise, sad songs and cries so sweet.

Then the maid peeked from behind the door, And saw the mistress dead beneath the donkey’s roar. She cried, “O foolish mistress! What is this? Did your master show you just the bliss? You saw the surface—sweet and neat— But missed the hidden trap beneath. You opened shop, though unprepared, And paid the price—your soul ensnared. You saw his shaft, like honey, fine— But missed the gourd that marked the line! Or perhaps, drunk on the donkey’s lust, That gourd escaped your gaze and trust. You saw the craft, and thought you knew— And called yourself a master too!”

So many frauds, without a clue, Who see a cloak, and call it true. So many clowns, from shallow art, Claim kingly grace, though worlds apart. Each one holding Moses’ staff, Blowing at fools, saying, “I'm Christ’s path.”

Ah! The day when truth will call— And test you with its stony wall. Why not ask the seasoned guide? The greedy walk as blind and wild. You ran with all, but lagged behind— These simple sheep are wolves’ best find. You heard the words, and mimicked sound, Like parrots, clueless yet spellbound.