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دفتر سوم - بخش ۱۷۰ - تشبیه دنیا کی بظاهر فراخست و بمعنی تنگ و تشبیه خواب کی خلاص است ازین تنگی / Book Three - Section 170 - The Comparison of the World Which Is Outwardly Spacious and Inwardly Narrow, and the Comparison of Sleep Which Is Deliverance from This Narrowness

Original content

همچو گرمابه که تفسیده بود
تنگ آیی جانت پخسیده شود

گرچه گرمابه عریضست و طویل
زان تبش تنگ آیدت جان و کلیل

تا برون نایی بنگشاید دلت
پس چه سود آمد فراخی منزلت

یا که کفش تنگ پوشی ای غوی
در بیابان فراخی می روی

آن فراخی بیابان تنگ گشت
بر تو زندان آمد آن صحرا و دشت

هر که دید او مر ترا از دور گفت
کو در آن صحرا چو لاله تر شکفت

او نداند که تو همچون ظالمان
از برون در گلشنی جان در فغان

خواب تو آن کفش بیرون کردنست
که زمانی جانت آزاد از تنست

اولیا را خواب ملکست ای فلان
همچو آن اصحاب کهف اندر جهان

خواب می بینند و آنجا خواب نه
در عدم در می روند و باب نه

خانهٔ تنگ و درون جان چنگ لوک
کرد ویران تا کند قصر ملوک

چنگ لوکم چون جنین اندر رحم
نه مهه گشتم شد این نقلان مهم

گر نباشد درد زه بر مادرم
من درین زندان میان آذرم

مادر طبعم ز درد مرگ خویش
می کند ره تا رهد بره ز میش

تا چرد آن بره در صحرای سبز
هین رحم بگشا که گشت این بره گبز

درد زه گر رنج آبستان بود
بر جنین اشکستن زندان بود

حامله گریان ز زه کاین المناص
و آن جنین خندان که پیش آمد خلاص

هرچه زیر چرخ هستند امهات
از جماد و از بهیمه وز نبات

هر یکی از درد غیری غافل اند
جز کسانی که نبیه و کامل اند

آنچ کوسه داند از خانهٔ کسان
بلمه از خانه خودش کی داند آن

آنچ صاحب دل بداند حال تو
تو ز حال خود ندانی ای عمو

English translation

Like a bathhouse that is overheated— you grow oppressed, your soul is crushed and withered.

Though the bathhouse is wide and long, from that heat your soul and tongue grow constricted.

Until you come out, your heart will not open— so what good, then, was the spaciousness of your dwelling?

Or if you wear a tight shoe, O heedless one, and walk in a vast wilderness—

that spaciousness of the wilderness becomes constriction; that plain and open field become a prison for you.

Whoever saw you from afar said: "He bloomed fresh in that meadow like a tulip!"

He does not know that you, like the wrongdoers, are outwardly in a rose garden, yet your soul cries out in anguish.

Your sleep is the removing of that tight shoe— for a time your soul is free from the body.

For the saints (awliyā'), sleep is a kingdom, O such a one, like the People of the Cave (Aṣḥāb-i Kahf) in the world.

They see sleep, yet there is no sleep in that place; they enter into non-existence, yet there is no gate.

A narrow house, and within it the soul like a chang-lūk— it is demolished so that a royal palace may be built.

I am chang-lūk, like a fetus in the womb; I have become nine months old — this migration has grown momentous.

If there is no birth-pain upon my mother, I remain in this prison amid the fire.

My mother, Nature (ṭab'), through the pain of her own dying, makes a way so that the lamb is freed from the ewe.

So that the lamb may graze in the green meadow— heed! Open the womb, for this lamb has grown fat and ready.

Birth-pain, though it is the suffering of the pregnant one, is, for the fetus, the breaking open of a prison.

The pregnant one weeping from birth-pain: "There is no escape (al-manāṣ)!" And the fetus laughing: "Liberation has arrived!"

All that are mothers (ummahāt) beneath the celestial wheel— from mineral to beast to plant—

each is heedless of another's pain, except those who are awake (nabīh) and perfected (kāmil).

What the worldly-wise one knows of others' houses— will the dullard ever know the same of his own?

What the person of heart (ṣāḥib-dil) knows of your state, you yourself know nothing of your own state, O uncle.

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Updated 2026-06-30

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