Poem

دفتر چهارم - بخش ۷۰ - نقصان اجرای جان و دل صوفی از طعام الله / Book Four - Section 70 - The Deficiency in the Provision of the Sufi's Soul and Heart from the Food of God

Original content

صوفیی از فقر چون در غم شود
عین فقرش دایه و مطعم شود

زانک جنت از مکاره رسته است
رحم قسم عاجزی اشکسته است

آنک سرها بشکند او از علو
رحم حق و خلق ناید سوی او

این سخن آخر ندارد وان جوان
از کمی اجرای نان شد ناتوان

شاد آن صوفی که رزقش کم شود
آن شبه‌ش در گردد و اویم شود

زان جرای خاص هر که آگاه شد
او سزای قرب و اجری‌گاه شد

زان جرای روح چون نقصان شود
جانش از نقصان آن لرزان شود

پس بداند که خطایی رفته است
که سمن‌زار رضا آشفته است

هم‌چنانک آن شخص از نقصان کشت
رقعه سوی صاحب خرمن نبشت

رقعه‌اش بردند پیش میر داد
خواند او رقعه جوابی وا نداد

گفت او را نیست الا درد لوت
پس جواب احمق اولیتر سکوت

نیستش درد فراق و وصل هیچ
بند فرعست او نجوید اصل هیچ

احمقست و مردهٔ ما و منی
کز غم فرعش فراغ اصل نی

آسمانها و زمین یک سیب دان
کز درخت قدرت حق شد عیان

تو چه کرمی در میان سیب در
وز درخت و باغبانی بی‌خبر

آن یکی کرمی دگر در سیب هم
لیک جانش از برون صاحب‌علم

جنبش او وا شکافد سیب را
بر نتابد سیب آن آسیب را

بر دریده جنبش او پرده‌ها
صورتش کرمست و معنی اژدها

آتش که اول ز آهن می‌جهد
او قدم بس سست بیرون می‌نهد

دایه‌اش پنبه‌ست اول لیک اخیر
می‌رساند شعله‌ها او تا اثیر

مرد اول بستهٔ خواب و خورست
آخر الامر از ملایک برترست

در پناه پنبه و کبریتها
شعله و نورش برآیدت بر سها

عالم تاریک روشن می‌کند
کندهٔ آهن به سوزن می‌کند

گرچه آتش نیز هم جسمانی است
نه ز روحست و نه از روحانی است

جسم را نبود از آن عز بهره‌ای
جسم پیش بحر جان چون قطره‌ای

جسم از جان روزافزون می‌شود
چون رود جان جسم بین چون می‌شود

حد جسمت یک دو گز خود بیش نیست
جان تو تا آسمان جولان‌کنیست

تا به بغداد و سمرقند ای همام
روح را اندر تصور نیم گام

دو درم سنگست پیه چشمتان
نور روحش تا عنان آسمان

نور بی این چشم می‌بیند به خواب
چشم بی‌این نور چه بود جز خراب

جان ز ریش و سبلت تن فارغست
لیک تن بی‌جان بود مردار و پست

بارنامهٔ روح حیوانیست این
پیشتر رو روح انسانی ببین

بگذر از انسان هم و از قال و قیل
تا لب دریای جان جبرئیل

بعد از آنت جان احمد لب گزد
جبرئیل از بیم تو واپس خزد

گوید ار آیم به قدر یک کمان
من به سوی تو بسوزم در زمان

English translation

When a Sufi falls into grief from poverty, That very poverty becomes his nurse and sustenance. For Paradise has grown from what is disliked, Mercy is the portion of the broken and helpless. He who from loftiness breaks the heads of others— Neither God's mercy nor creation's will come to him. This discourse has no end; and that young man Grew weak from the deficiency of his daily bread. Glad is the Sufi whose provision grows less— His black bead (jet) becomes a pearl and he becomes the sea. Whoever became aware of that special jirā Became worthy of nearness and a station of reward. When the jirā of the spirit diminishes, His soul trembles from that diminishment. Then he knows that a fault has been committed, That the jasmine-garden of divine pleasure has been disturbed. Just as that person, from the diminishment of his crop, Wrote a petition to the owner of the threshing floor. They carried his petition before the Amīr of Justice, He read the petition and gave no reply. He said: He has nothing but the pain of bread— So silence is the most fitting answer to a fool. He has no pain of separation or union at all, He is bound to the branch and seeks no root whatsoever. He is foolish and dead in ego— From the sorrow of the branch, there is no leisure for the root. Know the heavens and earth as one apple That became manifest from the tree of divine power. You are like a worm inside that apple, Unaware of the tree and the gardener. Another worm too is in the apple, But its soul, from without, is a possessor of knowledge. Its movement splits open the apple, The apple cannot endure that harm. Its movement has torn away the veils, Its form is a worm but its inner reality is a dragon. Fire, when it first leaps from iron, Puts forth very feeble steps coming out. Its nurse is cotton at first, but in the end It raises its flames all the way to the ether. A man is at first bound to sleep and food, But in the end he surpasses the angels. Under the shelter of cotton and matches, Its flame and light rise above Suha. It illuminates the dark world, It turns iron stumps into needles. Though fire too is corporeal, It is neither of spirit nor of the spiritual. The body has no share of that glory, The body before the ocean of the soul is like a drop. The body grows daily through the soul, When the soul departs, see what becomes of the body. The limit of your body is but one or two yards, Your soul roams freely all the way to the sky. To Baghdad and Samarkand, O valiant one, For the spirit, in imagination, is but half a step. The fat of your eyes weighs two dirhams, But the light of its spirit reaches to the reins of heaven. The light without this eye sees in sleep, What is the eye without this light but ruin? The soul is free from the beard and mustache of the body, But the body without soul is carrion and base. This is the manifest of the animal spirit— Go further and behold the human spirit. Pass beyond humanity too, and beyond talk and debate, To the shore of the sea that is Gabriel's soul. After that, the soul of Aḥmad will bite your lip, And Gabriel will retreat from you in awe. He says: If I advance by the measure of one bow's length, I will be burned toward you in an instant.

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Updated 2026-05-16

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