1Cademy - بخش ۴۱ - نامه نوشتن لیلی به مجنون و عذر خواستن که شوهر کردن نه اختیار وی بلکه تکلیف مادر و پدر بود / Section 41 - Layla Writing a Letter to Majnun and Excusing Herself, That Taking a Husband Was Not Her Own Choice but the Obligation Imposed by Her Mother and Father

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بخش ۴۱ - نامه نوشتن لیلی به مجنون و عذر خواستن که شوهر کردن نه اختیار وی بلکه تکلیف مادر و پدر بود / Section 41 - Layla Writing a Letter to Majnun and Excusing Herself, That Taking a Husband Was Not Her Own Choice but the Obligation Imposed by Her Mother and Father

Original content

دردانه فروش درج این درج
این گوهر حرف را کند خرج

کان از صدف شرف مهین در
وان نه صدف از فروغ او پر

آن بانوی حجله نکویی
وان بانی کاخ خوبرویی

آن ماه فلک حصاری از وی
وان پر مه و خور عماری از وی

شمع حرم بزرگواری
سیاره برج نامداری

آهوی دمن غزال اطلال
پروین عقد هلال خلخال

چون گوهر سلک دیگری شد
آرایش تاج سروری شد

یعنی جفت مهی چو خود طاق
مشهور به نیکویی در آفاق

پیوسته ز کار خود خجل بود
وز عاشق خویش منفعل بود

ترسید که آن گمانش افتد
واندر خاطر چنانش افتد

کو پشت به دوستار خود کرد
وان جفت به اختیار خود کرد

با صحبت وی گرفت آرام
وز لب شکرش نهاد در کام

بر گنج مراد دست دادش
در دست کلید آن نهادش

تدبیر نیافت غیر ازین هیچ
کان قصه درد پیچ در پیچ

در طی صحیفه مطول
چون زلف سیاه خود مسلسل

تحریر کند به خون دیده
از خامه هر مژه چکیده

عنوان همه درد همچو مضمون
ارسال کند به سوی مجنون

این داعیه چون به خاطر آورد
آن نامه سینه سوز را کرد

آغاز به نام ایزد پاک
تسکین ده بیدلان غمناک

از ابروی نیکوان کمان ساز
وز غمزه خدنگ فتنه انداز

رخساره شاهد گل آرای
مشتاقی جان بلبل افزای

درمان کن درد دردناکان
مرهم نه ریش سینه چاکان

از برق جمال دین و دل سوز
وز صبح وصال دیده افروز

دیباچه نامه چون رقم زد
از صورت حال خویش دم زد

کین نامه که تازه داستانیست
از دلشده ای به دلستانیست

آن مانده به کنج نامرادی
وین رانده فرس به دشت و وادی

آن پای به دامن غرامت
وین روی به کوچه ملامت

نی نی غلطم ز بی زبانی
پیشش به سخن شکر فشانی

یعنی ز من به دام بسته
نزدیک تو ای ز دام جسته

ای رفته ز همدمان سوی دشت
همراه تو نی جز آهوی دشت

از درد تو باشد آهو آگاه
باشد ز سه حرف او دو حرف آه

ای جسته ز محرمان خود دور
از تیزتکیت در حسد گور

کن تیز سوی من این تک و تاز
در گور حسد آتش انداز

ای اشک فشان به هر گوزنی
از بار دل تو کوه وزنی

خود را زین وزن اگر رهاند
پیدا باشد کزو چه ماند

ای زاطلس و خز تو را کناره
پهلوی تو خوش به خار و خاره

از ما کرده کناره چونی
افتاده به خار و خاره چونی

سر با که همی نهی به بالین
همخواب کیی به یک نهالین

بر مهد شبت که می نهد گام
وز شهد لبت که می خورد کام

بپسوده به دست راحتت کیست
مرهم بخش جراحتت کیست

شبها کف پای تو که بیند
خار از کف پای تو که چیند

خوانت که نهد به چاشت یا شام
همخوان تو کیست جز دد و دام

با این همه شکر کن که باری
نبود چو منت به سینه باری

باری چه که کوههای اندوه
هر ذره ازان به جای صد کوه

پند پدر و جفای مادر
درد سر و ماجرای شوهر

روزان و شبان نیم زمانی
دور از نظر نگاهبانی

چون آه کشم نظر به راهت
گوید که برای کیست آهت

ور گریه کنم ز داغ حرمان
گوید که به گریه نیست فرمان

وز خانه نهم چو پای بیرون
گوید که ز در میای بیرون

ور روی نهم به چشمه آب
گوید که ز چشمه روی برتاب

ور جای کنم به عرصه دشت
گوید تا کی چنین توان گشت

دوران چو گلم به ناز پرورد
وز خار ستیزه غنچه ام کرد

شوهر کردن نه کار من بود
کاری نه به اختیار من بود

از مادر و از پدر شد این کار
زیشان به دلم خلید این خار

هر کس که چو گل رخ تو دیده ست
یا بوی تو از صبا شنیده ست

کی دیده به هر کسی کند باز
یا صحبت هر خسی کند ساز

همخوابه من نبوده هرگز
سر بر سر من نسوده هرگز

نی دست که گیرد آستینم
نی پای که بسپرد زمینم

گشته ز من خراب مهجور
قانع به نگاهی آن هم از دور

زین غم روزش شبی ست تاریک
زین رنج تنش چو موی بایک

وز کشمکش غمش ز هر سوی
نزدیک گسستن است آن موی

آن موست حجاب را بهانه
خوش آنکه بر افتد از میانه

تاروی تو بی حجاب بینم
خورشید تو بی سحاب بینم

نامه که شد از حجاب بنیاد
آخر چو به بی حجابی افتاد

زد خاتم مهر اختتامش
از حلقه میم و السلامش

پیچید چو درج عیش عاشق
از دست رفیق ناموافق

بنوشت بر آن ز چشم پرخون
کامرزادش خدای بیچون

کز کلبه غم به کوی هجران
در شهر بلا ز ملک حرمان

پرسد خبری ز عمر سیری
بر شیوه جاندهی دلیری

وان حرف وفا بدو رساند
تا حال اسیر خود بداند

English translation

The pearl-seller of this casket spends this jewel of words: That from the shell, the noblest pearl of honor, and that shell not filled by its radiance— That lady of the bridal chamber of goodness, and that builder of the palace of loveliness, That moon whose sky is a fortress raised by her, and full moon and sun a canopy from her, The candle of the sanctuary of nobility, the planet of the tower of renown, The deer of the meadow, the gazelle of the ruins, the Pleiades her necklace, the crescent her anklet— When she became the pearl on another's string, she became the ornament of the crown of lordship, Meaning, the mate of a moon, herself unmatched, famed for goodness throughout the horizons. Constantly ashamed of her own deed, and abashed before her own lover, She feared that such a suspicion would fall upon him, and that this thought would enter his mind: That she had turned her back on her devoted one, and taken that spouse by her own choice, Had found rest in his company, and set the sugar of his lip in her palate, Had laid her hand upon the treasure of desire, and placed its key in her hand. She found no remedy other than this: that the tale of pain, twist upon twist, Within the folds of a long letter, chained like her own black tresses, She would write with the blood of her eye, dripping from the pen of every eyelash; Its heading all pain, like its content, she would send it toward Majnun. When she brought this purpose to mind, she composed that heart-burning letter, Beginning with the name of the pure God, soother of the sorrowful, the heart-lost, Who makes the bow from the eyebrows of the fair, and casts the arrow of sedition from the glance, The adorner of the cheek of the rose-decking beloved, the increaser of the nightingale's soul-longing: Heal the pain of the pained, lay balm upon the wounds of the torn of breast; From the lightning of beauty, burner of faith and heart, from the dawn of union, illuminer of the eye. When she penned the preface of the letter, she spoke of her own condition: That this letter, which is a fresh tale, is from a heart-lost one to a heart-ravisher— That one left in the corner of disappointment, and this one driving her steed to plain and valley, That one's foot in the skirt of penalty, this one's face toward the alley of blame. No, no—I err from being tongue-tied—before him, scattering sugar in speech: Meaning, from me, bound in the snare, to you, O one who has escaped the snare; O you who went from companions toward the desert, with no comrade but the desert's deer— The deer is aware of your pain: of its three letters, two spell 'sigh.' O you who have leapt far from your intimates, whose swift running the wild ass envies, Speed this racing and running toward me, and cast fire into the wild ass's envy; O you who scatter tears at every deer, from the burden of your heart a mountain's weight— If it should free itself from this weight, it would be plain what remains of it. O you who withdrew from satin and silk, your side now content with thorn and stone, Having withdrawn from us, how are you? Fallen upon thorn and stone, how are you? With whom do you lay your head upon the pillow? Whose bedfellow are you on a single bed? Upon the cradle of your night, who sets foot? From the honey of your lip, who takes his pleasure? Who is it that touches you with the hand of comfort? Who bestows balm upon your wound? By night, who beholds the sole of your foot? Who plucks the thorn from the sole of your foot? Who sets your table at morning or evening? Who is your table-mate but beasts and prey? Despite all this, give thanks that at least you bear no burden on your breast like mine— What burden? Rather mountains of grief, each mote of it in place of a hundred mountains: The father's counsel and the mother's cruelty, the headache and the affair of the husband, By day and by night, not for a moment free from the eye of a keeper. When I heave a sigh, my gaze upon your road, he says: for whom is your sighing? And if I weep from the brand of deprivation, he says: there is no leave for weeping. And if I set foot outside the house, he says: do not come forth from the door. And if I turn toward the water spring, he says: turn your face away from the spring. And if I take a place in the open desert, he says: how long can you wander thus? Fate reared me tenderly like a rose, and from the thorn of strife made me a closed bud. Taking a husband was not my doing, a deed not within my own choice; This matter came from mother and father—from them this thorn pierced my heart. Anyone who has seen your rose-like face, or caught your scent upon the morning breeze, How could she open her eye to any other, or keep company with any worthless one? He has never been my bedfellow, never laid his head upon mine, Neither a hand that took hold of my sleeve, nor a foot that trod my ground; He has become ruined and forsaken because of me, content with a single glance—and that from afar. From this grief his day is a dark night; from this pain his body is thin as a hair, And from the tugging of grief on every side, that hair is near to snapping. That hair is the pretext of the veil—happy would it be if it fell away from between, That I might see your face without a veil, and see your sun without a cloud. The letter, founded upon the veil, when at last it came to unveiling, She set upon it the seal of its conclusion, from the ring of the mīm and its 'and peace.' She folded it like the casket of the lover's joy, out of the hand of an unsuitable companion, And wrote upon it with a blood-filled eye: may the peerless God pardon him Who, from the hut of grief to the lane of parting, in the city of affliction, from the realm of deprivation, Would ask after one weary of life, in the manner of a brave giver of the soul, And convey that word of fidelity to him, that he might know the state of his own captive.

Updated 2026-07-19

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Ganjoor

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