The End of the Journey

The End of the Journey Of all the army that set,
how few Survived the way;

of the great retinue A handful lived until the voyage was done--
Of every thousand there remained but one.

Of many who set out no trace was found.
Some deep within the oceans depths were drowned;

Some died on mountaintops; some died of heat;
Some flew too near the sun in conceit,

Their hearts on fire with love--too late they learnt
Their folly when their wings and feathers burned;

Some met their death between the lions claws,
And some were ripped to death by monsters jaws;

Some died of thirst; some hunger sent insane,
Till suicide released them from their pain;

Some became weak and no longer could fly They faltered, fainted, and were left to die;
Some paused bewildered and then turned aside To gaze at marvels and then were stupefied;

Some looked for pleasure's path and soon confessed
They saw no purpose in the pilgrims quest;

Not one in every thousand souls arrived--
In every hundred thousand one survived.

Farid Al Attar--From ''The conference of the Birds''