1Cademy - دفتر سوم - بخش ۱۸۵ - رو نهادن آن بندهٔ عاشق سوی بخارا / Book Three - Section 185 - That Enamored Servant Setting His Face Toward Bukhara

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مثنوی معنوی: دفتر سوم / Masnavi: Book Three
دفتر سوم - بخش ۱۷۸ - قصه وکیل صدر جهان کی متهم شد و از بخارا گریخت از بیم جان باز عشقش کشید رو کشان کی کار جان سهل باشد عاشقان را / Book Three - Section 178 - The Tale of the Deputy of Sadr-i Jahan Who Was Accused and Fled from Bukhara in Fear for His Life, Yet His Love Dragged Him Back, For the Matter of Life is Easy to Lovers
دفتر سوم - بخش ۱۸۴ - لاابالی گفتن عاشق ناصح و عاذل را از سر عشق / Book Three - Section 184 - The Lover Saying He Does Not Care to the Admonisher and Reprover out of Love

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دفتر سوم - بخش ۱۸۵ - رو نهادن آن بندهٔ عاشق سوی بخارا / Book Three - Section 185 - That Enamored Servant Setting His Face Toward Bukhara

Original content

رو نهاد آن عاشق خونابه ریز
دل طپان سوی بخارا گرم و تیز

ریگ آمون پیش او همچون حریر
آب جیحون پیش او چون آبگیر

آن بیابان پیش او چون گلستان
می فتاد از خنده او ، چون گل ستان

در سمرقندست قند اما لبش
از بخارا یافت و آن شد مذهبش

ای بخارا عقل افزا بوده ای
لیکن ازمن عقل و دین بربوده ای

بدر می جویم از آنم چون هلال
صدر می جویم درین صف نعال

چون سواد آن بخارا را بدید
در سواد غم بیاضی شد پدید

ساعتی افتاد بیهوش و دراز
عقل او پرید در بستان راز

بر سر و رویش گلابی می زدند
از گلاب عشق او غافل بدند

او گلستانی نهانی دیده بود
غارت عشقش ز خود ببریده بود

تو فسرده درخور این دم نه ای
با شکر مقرون نه ای گرچه نیی

رخت عقلت با توست و عاقلی
کز جنودا لم تروها غافلی

English translation

That blood-weeping lover set his face, Heart a-tremble, toward Bukhara, ardent and swift. The sands of the Amu before him were like silk, The waters of the Jayhun before him like a pool. That desert before him was like a rose garden, He tumbled laughing like a spreading rose garden. In Samarkand there is sugar, yet his lip Found its sweetness from Bukhara — and that became his creed. O Bukhara, you have been the increaser of reason, Yet from me you have stolen reason and religion. I seek the full moon, so I am like the crescent, I seek the place of honor in this row of sandals. When he saw the dark outline of that Bukhara, In the darkness of grief, a whiteness appeared. For a time he fell unconscious and prone, His reason flew off into the garden of mystery. They sprinkled rosewater on his head and face, Unaware of the rosewater of his love. He had beheld a hidden rose garden, The plunder of love had severed him from himself. You, frozen one, are not fit for this breath, You are not joined with sweetness, though you are a reed. Your reason's baggage is with you and you are rational, Heedless of "armies you have not seen."

Updated 2026-06-30

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