1Cademy - بخش ۷۶ - در بی وفایی این رباط دو در و بساط آی و گذر که آینده در وی به محنت زید و رونده از وی به حسرت رود / Section 76 - On the Faithlessness of This Two-Doored Caravanserai and Fleeting Abode, Where the One Who Comes Lives in Toil and the One Who Goes Departs from It in Regret

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Haft Awrang

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بخش ۷۶ - در بی وفایی این رباط دو در و بساط آی و گذر که آینده در وی به محنت زید و رونده از وی به حسرت رود / Section 76 - On the Faithlessness of This Two-Doored Caravanserai and Fleeting Abode, Where the One Who Comes Lives in Toil and the One Who Goes Departs from It in Regret

Original content

رباطیست گیتی دو در ساخته
پی رهروان رهگذر ساخته

یکی می رسد وان دگر می رود
ولیکن به خون جگر می رود

ازین رفتن و آمدن چاره نیست
دل کیست زین غم که صد پاره نیست

رباط ار چه باشد سراسر سرور
اقامت در او باشد از راه دور

چو گردد مسافر مقیم رباط
چه سان در وطن گستراند بساط

ره زیرک آخر اندیش گیر
ز اول طریق وطن پیش گیر

گر آدم نژادی درین دیولاخ
عمارت مکن باغ و ایوان و کاخ

کسانی که کشتند پیش از تو باغ
بر ایشان نگر باغ را گشته داغ

تگرگ آمده ز ابر بی آب مرگ
نه در باغشان شاخ مانده نه برگ

بر ایوانشان طاق پرکنگره
پی قطعشان گشته بران اره

بریده به سان درخت کهن
ازین باغ ویرانشان بیخ و بن

بود دور ازیشان پر اندوه کاخ
از آنش دو حرف از سه حرف است آخ

کلوخی کزان کاخ افتاده پست
نکرده بر آن جز کلاغی نشست

خوش آن مرغ زیرک درین طرفه باغ
که ننشیندش بر کلوخی کلاغ

نه هرگز یکی دانه کرده ست کشت
نه خشتی نهاده ست بالای خشت

چو مرغی که آید ز بالا به زیر
بود صبحگه گرسنه شام سیر

ادیم زمین را زده پشت پای
شده بر سر چرخ نعلین سای

بدیده ست از آغاز انجام را
گزیده ست بر کام ناکام را

درین مرحله پر نشیب و فراز
به جز چشم عبرت نکرده ست باز

مرا و تو را نیز دادند چشم
بر احوال گیتی گشادند چشم

بیا تا به عبرت نگاهی کنیم
وز این کوچگه رو به راهی کنیم

ببینیم از آغاز کآدم چه کرد
چو زد خیمه بیرون ز عالم چه کرد

چه شد نوح و بهر چه بودش نشست
به کشتی که طوفان مرگش شکست

کجا شد خلیل و نمکدان او
که از مرگ شد بی نمک خوان او

چه شد حال یعقوب و یوسف کجاست
کزو جز نفیر تأسف نخاست

ز مصر از چه رو کوس تحویل زد
که مصر از غمش جامه در نیل زد

سلیمان کجا خفت و کو آصفش
چرا خاتم ملک رفت از کفش

کلیم و عصا کو و آن طور و نور
به فرعونیان از وی آشوب و شور

مسیحا که در مرده جان می دمید
ببین تا ازان مرده جانان چه دید

محمد که خورشید افلاک بود
در آخر مقامش ته خاک بود

شنیدی سر انجام پیغمبران
بیا بشنو افسانه دیگران

حکیمان که دانشوران بوده اند
به هر کار حیلتگران بوده اند

نیارست ازان زیرکان هیچ کس
که تأخیر مردن کند یک نفس

همه سر درین ورطه بنهاده اند
به صد درد و اندوه جان داده اند

چه گویم ز شاها که چون رفته اند
درونها پر از خون برون رفته اند

به تاراج داده اجل رختشان
شده پایمال خسان تختشان

برهنه شده تارک سر ز تاج
تهی گشته مخزن ز مال و خراج

زدی کوسشان دولت از پشت پیل
اجل عاقبت کوفت طبل رحیل

به صد نازقالب که پرورده اند
ازان قالب خشت پر کرده اند

اگر بایدت صورت حالشان
به هر دور ادبار و اقبالشان

به تاریخ های جهان در نگر
که دانم به تفصیل یابی خبر

که آن بر سر بستر خوش مرد
به تیغ عدو آن دگر جان سپرد

یکی تن ازیشان سلامت نجست
که چرخش به زخم غرامت نخست

جهانی که پایان او این بود
در او بخردان را چه تسکین بود

ز بیداد این سبز گنبد گری
نگویم بر ایشان که بر خود گری

بر این رفتگان گریه بس در خور است
ولی از همه بر خود اولی تر است

English translation

The world is a caravanserai built with two doors, made a thoroughfare for wayfarers. One arrives while another departs, yet he departs with a bleeding heart. From this going and coming there is no escape; whose heart is not torn a hundredfold by this grief? Even were the caravanserai all delight, to settle in it would be far from wisdom. When a traveler becomes a resident of the caravanserai, how can he spread his carpet as if in his homeland? Take the road of the shrewd who considers the end; from the very start take the path toward home. If you are of Adam's lineage, in this demon-haunted waste build no garden, portico, or palace. Those who planted gardens before you— look upon them: their garden has become their scar. The hail of death came from the waterless cloud; neither branch nor leaf remained in their garden. Upon their portico, the arch full of battlements became a saw to sever them. Cut like an ancient tree were root and stem from this ruined garden of theirs. Far from them lies the sorrow-filled palace (kākh); two of its three letters spell 'alas' (ākh). A clod that has fallen low from that palace— nothing has perched upon it but a crow. Happy is the shrewd bird in this wondrous garden upon whose clod no crow alights: never once has it sown a single seed, nor laid one brick upon another. Like a bird that comes down from on high, hungry at dawn and sated by nightfall, it has spurned the face of the earth with the back of its foot and risen to rub its sandals against the heavens. It has seen the end from the beginning, and chosen the unwanted over its own desire. In this stage full of descents and ascents it has opened nothing but the eye of admonition. To me and to you as well eyes were given; eyes were opened upon the affairs of the world. Come, let us look with the eye of admonition, and from this way-station set our face upon the road. Let us see from the beginning what Adam did, and when he pitched his tent outside the world, what he did. What became of Noah, and why did he take his seat in the ark, whose vessel the flood of death shattered? Where went the Friend of God (Abraham) and his saltcellar, whose table death left without salt? What of Jacob's state, and where is Joseph, from whom nothing rose but the cry of regret? Why did he beat the drum of departure from Egypt, so that Egypt, in grief for him, dyed its garment in the Nile? Where did Solomon lie down, and where is his Asaf? Why did the signet of sovereignty pass from his hand? Where is the Interlocutor (Moses) and his staff, that Mount and light, from which came uproar and turmoil upon Pharaoh's people? The Messiah who breathed a soul into the dead— behold what that Reviver of souls himself saw of death. Muhammad, who was the sun of the heavens— in the end his station lay beneath the dust. You have heard the fate of the prophets; come now, hear the tale of others. The sages who were men of learning, who in every matter were masters of stratagem— not one of those shrewd ones was able to delay dying by a single breath. All have laid down their heads in this abyss, and given up their souls in a hundred pains and sorrows. What shall I say of kings, how they departed— they went out with hearts brimming with blood. Death gave their belongings up to plunder; their thrones were trampled underfoot by the base. Their crowns' summits were stripped bare of the crown; their treasuries emptied of wealth and tribute. Fortune beat their drums from atop the elephant, yet death at last struck the drum of departure. The body they nurtured with a hundred indulgences— from that body they filled the brick-molds of the grave. If you require the picture of their condition, their adversity and prosperity in every age, look into the histories of the world; I know you will find the account in full detail: that one died peacefully upon his bed, while that other yielded his life to the enemy's sword. Not a single one of them escaped unharmed, whom the heavens did not first wound with the stroke of penalty. A world whose ending is such as this— what solace could it hold for the wise? At the injustice of this green dome, weep; I do not bid you weep for them, but for yourself. Weeping for these departed ones is indeed fitting, yet weeping for yourself is fitter than all.

Updated 2026-07-20

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