Original content

English translation

What is this fervor in your soul from You, O Farid? Cry out with a hundred tongues, 'Is there any more?' If the grave reduces your body atom by atom, Not an atom of fervor will diminish from your soul. If you seek God with this fervor, On the very first night you will tear your shroud. Since this fervor is within your pure soul, You will raise your head from the dust in this fervor. Also in this fervor, free and joyful from the world, On the Day of Judgment, you will walk, dragging chains. Why have you brought such great fervor? From where have you brought all this fervor? The fervor of your love has become powerfully strong, Your sweet soul has become entirely fervor. Your soul is a sea, its water is liquid gold, Inevitably, it has both saltiness and pearls. Constantly, like the sea, you boil with fervor, You forcefully bring yourself down. When your sweet soul brings forth a fervor, Every moment it makes the fervor sweeter. God knows if there is any equal to these spoken words, Or if there is any equal to Attar. In speech, he is the wonder of the horizons, He is absolutely the seal of the poets. Whoever does not call me the Sultan in speech, I call him a beggar with neither head nor foundation. The style from whose passion the intellect became intoxicated, Whom has it ever favored except me? My mind has grabbed my foot at every moment, Dragging me upside down around the world, So that it may bring a fish to the hook from a sea, Or obtain a meaning from some place. No, for he possesses so much currency of meaning, That he does not let it pass from inside to outside. Since I have said all meanings entirely, What remains for anyone else? And that is all. Wherever there is a secret in both worlds, It is entirely hidden from end to end in this divan. When you seek and find it completely, You will rise above both worlds, breast to breast. You have seen many stories, see this one too, Speak less of stories, for this is the best of stories. If you give grief because I am a storyteller, Suffer grief, for I have taken the prize in storytelling. Storytelling is not just wind in the ring-bezels, Do you not see the spirit of the Quran comes from stories? I will cut the story short: one who knows the secret, If he spends a long life in this story, Every breath this story will grant him a light, Without sorrow and grief, it will grant him presence. Any book that you know entirely, Compare this one with all of them, side by side. If this does not outweigh them all a hundred times, Hurry up and tear it like your own veil. Open your justice-seeing eye, Open your soul's eye, full of certainty, So that you may see the business and affair of this book, The binding and loosing, the taking and holding of this book. Whoever becomes a jewel-thief of this sea, Will soon be disgraced by his wet skirt. Whoever succeeds in stealing from me, May his hand be cut off like thieves. In truth, I have strained the marrow of the soul, So that you do not think I am engaged in vanity. I have gathered it like water before you, Tell your selfless heart to reflect. If anyone finds the way through speaking, You must read my words a lot. Because for every couplet that I painted, I held a mourning over it. In creating an uproar in affliction, I named this my Book of Affliction (Mosibat Nameh). If you need a deeply knowing heart, Then read the Mosibat Nameh of Attar. If anyone has a speck of doubt from these words, Dust upon his head, for it would be unmanliness. Be bound to the heartache of Attar, And be endowed with thousands of treasures. Whoever's imagination can conceive even an atom, Tell him to bring forth such a possessor of beauty. He does not know that it was from Attar, The seal of a hundred worlds full of secrets. The musk-pod of secrets would not be musk-scattering, Unless the perfumer (Attar) is its companion.