1Cademy - بخش ۲۹ - در صحرا و دشت گردیدن مجنون و خطاب کردن وی با گردباد / Section 29 - Majnun Wandering in the Wilderness and Plain, and His Addressing the Whirlwind

Learn Before

Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۲۹ - در صحرا و دشت گردیدن مجنون و خطاب کردن وی با گردباد / Section 29 - Majnun Wandering in the Wilderness and Plain, and His Addressing the Whirlwind

Original content

ریحان شکن حریم این باغ
این بو دهد از نسیم این باغ

کان لاله داغدار هر دشت
از نوفل و نوفلی چو برگشت

آزاده ز هر گروه بودی
آواره دشت و کوه بودی

هر جا که کسی ز دور دیدی
چون آهو و گور ازو رمیدی

یک روز فرود حال و وجدش
شد جای به کوهسار نجدش

جا قله کوه خاره می کرد
در هر طرفی نظاره می کرد

دیده به دیار لیلی افکند
در کوزه ز گریه سیلی افکند

شوقش به درون چو کوه بنشست
قاروره صبر خرد بشکست

پیکی طلبید کز دیارش
آرد به حریم دل قرارش

گوید خبر و بیان کند حال
از منزل یار و ربع و اطلال

ناگاه ز گرد ره سوادی
بنمود چه دید گردبادی

زان خاک دیار بار بسته
پرده به رخ از غبار بسته

افتاد به سجده بر زمینش
بگشاد زبان به آفرینش

کای صوفی گرد گرد رقاص
بی زحمت پا به رهروی خاص

وی دشت نورد کوه پیمای
نگرفته سکون دو دم به یک جای

در پای تو کوه و دشت یکسان
در کوه روی چو دشت آسان

پیچان شده اژدها نمایی
بر خویش ولی نه اژدهایی

سر بر فلک اژدها که دیده ست
جولان زده بر هوا که دیده ست

خیزان نخلی ز خاک گستاخ
نی بیخ تو را پدید و نی شاخ

وین طرفه که گر ز باغ خیزی
میوه فکنی و برگ ریزی

نی راه تو بی غبار هرگز
نی یک جایت قرار هرگز

افتاده تو درخت چالاک
برداشته تو خار و خاشاک

پیچیده چو دودی و نه دودی
دوری ز سیاهی و کبودی

پرگاری کاخ سقف زنگار
چون قصر ارم ز تو ستون دار

کشتی ست در آب ربع مسکون
تو تیری و بادبانت گردون

بر کشتوران درین نشیمن
ویران ز تو صد هزار خرمن

امروز دلم به سینه خرم
از مقدم توست خیر مقدم

سویم که شده ست رهنمایت
جان باد فدای خاک پایت

بر من ز ره کرم گذشتی
وآرام من رمیده گشتی

از منزل یار بسته ای بار
کاید ز تو بوی مشک تاتار

این خاک که عطر محمل توست
چون نافه چین حمایل توست

گر از در اوست بر سرم ریز
چون سرمه به دیده ترم ریز

خاشاک تو کش شمیم مشک است
ریحان تری و عود خشک است

زان آتش من بلند گردان
بر وی دل من سپند گردان

زان جان و جهان خبر چه داری
بگشای زبان به هر چه داری

بی او دل من ز غصه خون است
بی من دل او بگو که چون است

از یاد ویم فرامشی نیست
وز حرف وفاش خامشی نیست

هرگز گذرم به دل نهانش
جنبد به حدیث من زبانش

هیهات چه جای این سؤال است
دارم هوسی ولی محال است

شه بهر گدا کجا کشد آه
مه سوی سها کی افکند راه

شب کیست طفیلی سگانش
سوده سر خود بر آستانش

او کرده به بالش خوش آهنگ
بر بستر غم سر من و سنگ

او داده به مهد عیش پهلو
من خفته به خاک خواریم رو

چون روز شود ز خواب خیزد
بر لاله تر گلاب ریزد

اول سوی او که می گراید
دیده به رخش که می گشاید

گرد دمنش ز من بدل نیست
گرینده چو من بر آن طلل نیست

از دور که می کند نگاهش
در طوف به گرد خیمه گاهش

آنجا که شود به عشوه خندان
گریه که کند ز دردمندان

وان دم که شود ز لب شکرریز
دندان طمع که می کند تیز

گاهی که بود به هودجش جای
در راه طلب که می نهد پای

روزی که قدم نهد به محمل
ز آب مژه کیست مانده در گل

شبها که به خانه اش مقام است
بنشسته به پاس او کدام است

بینا به رخش کسان و من کور
نزدیک همه به او و من دور

تو باد سبکروی و من خاک
تو صرصر و من شکسته خاشاک

گاهی که به سوی او زنی رای
بردار به دست لطفم از جای

چون خاک رهم به کوی او بر
خاشاک آسا به سوی او بر

تا بر سر راه او نشینم
یک بار دگر رخش ببینم

ور زانکه نیم بدین سزاوار
بگذار مرا غریب و بیمار

بیماری من بگوی با او
وین زاری من بگوی با او

کای کام دل و مراد جانم
بینایی چشم خونفشانم

زان روز که مانده از تو دورم
تا ظن نبری که من صبورم

جان و دل پاره پاره دارم
لیکن چه کنم چه چاره دارم

هر تن که ز جان به داغ دوریست
تنهایی او نه از صبوریست

خواهد که ز جان جدا نماند
لیکن چه کند نمی تواند

هر حیله که بود آزمودم
نی صلح و نه جنگ داشت سودم

سودی ندهد چو نیست تقدیر
نی سعی جوان نه همت پیر

زین پس من و داغ نامرادی
افتان خیزان به کوه و وادی

افتم شب ها چو ناتوانی
خیزم به سحر چو نیم جانی

دانم که دل تو نیز خون است
وز دست تو چاره ام برون است

لیکن بکن اینقدر که باری
در دامن کوه و کنج غاری

چون بی تو به سر رسد حیاتم
یادی بکنی پس از وفاتم

این گفت و چو پادشاه خاور
بگسست طناب خیمه زر

زد چرخ به عرصه زمانه
بر رسم عرب سیاه خانه

مسکین سر خود به خاره بنهاد
بر بستر خار بی خود افتاد

چشمش همه شب به خواب نغنود
بیهوش فتاد خوابش این بود

English translation

The basil-breaker of this garden's sanctuary gives this scent from the breeze of this garden: That branded tulip of every plain, when he turned away from Nawfal and Nawfal's affair, was free of every company, a wanderer of desert and mountain. Wherever he saw someone from afar, like a gazelle and wild ass he fled from them. One day, in the ebbing of his state and rapture, his dwelling became the mountains of his Najd. He made his place on the flinty mountain's peak, gazing about in every direction. He cast his eye toward Layla's land and from weeping poured a flood into the jug of his heart. His longing settled within like a mountain, and the flask of reason's patience shattered. He sought a courier who, from her land, would bring rest to the sanctuary of his heart, who would tell news and describe the state of the beloved's abode, its quarter and its ruins. Suddenly, from the road's dust, a dark shape appeared — what did he see? A whirlwind, having loaded its burden from the dust of that land, veiling its face with a curtain of dust. He fell in prostration before it on the ground and opened his tongue in its praise: O Sufi of the whirling, dancing dust, without the toil of feet upon a special way, O traverser of deserts, measurer of mountains, never resting two breaths in one place — under your feet mountain and plain are alike; in the mountain you go as easily as on the plain. Coiling, you show yourself as a dragon, upon yourself, yet you are no dragon. A dragon with head to the sky — who has seen it? Roaming through the air — who has seen it? A palm rising boldly from the dust, neither your root visible nor your branch — and the marvel is that if you rise from a garden you cast down its fruit and shed its leaves. Never is your path free of dust, nor is there ever rest for you in one place. You are a nimble uprooted tree; you have gathered up thorn and debris. Coiled like smoke, yet you are not smoke; you are far from blackness and bruise-blue. A compass of a palace with a verdigris roof, like the palace of Iram, columned by you; it is a ship on the water of the inhabited quarter — you are the mast, and your sail is the firmament. Upon the farmers in this dwelling place, a hundred thousand harvests are laid waste by you. Today my heart is glad within my breast; from your coming — a welcome to you! Toward me — what has been your guide? May my life be a sacrifice to the dust of your foot. Out of generosity you passed by me and became my fled-away repose. You have loaded your burden from the beloved's abode, for from you comes the scent of Tatar musk. This dust that is the perfume of your litter is, like the musk-pod of China, your amulet. If it is from her doorway, pour it on my head; like kohl, pour it into my moistened eye. Your debris, which bears the fragrance of musk, is fresh basil and dry aloeswood. From it, make my fire rise high; over it, make my heart burn like wild rue. What news do you have of that soul and world? Open your tongue to whatever you hold. Without her my heart is blood from grief; without me, tell how her heart fares. I have no forgetting from remembering her, and no silence from the word of her fidelity. Do I ever pass through her hidden heart? Does her tongue ever stir with my tale? Alas, what place is there for this question? I harbor a desire, but it is impossible. When does a king sigh for a beggar? When does the moon cast a path toward faint Suha? At night, who is the humble follower of her dogs, rubbing his head upon her threshold? She has laid her head on a sweet-tuned pillow; on the bed of grief, my head lies with a stone. She has given her side to the cradle of pleasure; I sleep with my face in the dust of my abjection. When day comes she rises from sleep and pours rosewater on the fresh tulip of her cheek. Toward whom does she first incline? Upon whose face does she open her eye? Around her dwelling there is no substitute for me; there is no weeper like me over that ruin. From afar, who gazes upon her, circling around her tenting-ground? There, where she grows smiling with coquetry, who, among the afflicted, weeps? And that moment she scatters sugar from her lip, who sharpens the tooth of longing? When her place is within her howdah, who sets foot upon the road of seeking? The day she steps into the litter, who is left in the mud by the water of his lashes? The nights she abides in her house, who sits keeping watch for her sake? Others see her face, and I am blind; all are near her, and I am far. You are the swift-moving wind, and I am dust; you are the gale, and I am broken debris. When you set your intent toward her, lift me up with the hand of kindness. Like the dust of the road, bear me to her street; like a speck of straw, carry me toward her, so that I may sit upon her path and behold her face once more. And if I am not worthy of this, leave me a stranger and sick, and tell her of my sickness, and tell her of this lament of mine: O desire of my heart and wish of my soul, the sight of my blood-raining eye, from the day I have remained far from you — lest you suppose that I am patient — my soul and heart are torn to pieces; but what can I do, what remedy have I? Any body branded by separation from the soul, its solitude is not from forbearance: it wishes not to be parted from the soul, but what can it do — it cannot. Every stratagem there was, I have tried; neither peace nor war profited me. Nothing avails when destiny is absent — neither the striving of the young nor the resolve of the old. Henceforth I and the brand of despair, stumbling and rising over mountain and valley: I fall at nights like a helpless one; I rise at dawn like one half-alive. I know that your heart, too, is blood, and that the remedy is beyond your hand; yet do at least this much, that once, in the skirt of a mountain and the corner of a cave — when my life ends without you — you remember me after my death. He said this, and as the king of the East severed the ropes of the golden tent, the sphere pitched, upon the arena of time, in the Arab manner, a black tent of night. The wretch laid his head upon the stone; on a bed of thorns he fell senseless. All night his eye did not slumber in sleep; he fell unconscious — and this was his sleep.

Updated 2026-07-19

Contributors are:

Who are from:

References

Ganjoor

Learn Before

Original content

English translation

Related