1Cademy - بخش ۴۳ - مناجات / Section 43

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۴۳ - مناجات / Section 43 - Supplication

Original content

ای فروغ جمال تو خوبان
پرتو خوبی تو محبوبان

جلوه حسن تو کجاست که نیست
جذبه عشق تو کراست که نیست

همه ذرات مست عشق تواند
پایکوبان ز دست عشق تواند

حسن لیلی که راه مجنون زد
کامش از کوی عقل بیرون زد

زلف عذرا که صبر وامق برد
دل و جانش به رنج و غصه سپرد

لعل شیرین که شد ز شکر ریز
قوت فرهاد و قوت پرویز

یک به یک نشئه جمال تو بود
که در اطوار مختلف بنمود

زد به هر جا ره اسیر دگر
صبرش از دل ربود و هوش ز سر

به کند خودش مقید کرد
رویش از هر دو کون در خود کرد

من هم ای پادشا گدای توام
هدف ناوک قضای توام

چند سرگشته داریم چون گوی
بی سر و پا دوانیم هر سوی

گه بری بر در خراباتم
گه شوی قبله مناجاتم

گه به صلحم کشی و گاه به جنگ
گه به شهدم کشی و گه به شرنگ

چه شود کز خودم خلاص دهی
جامی از باده های خاص دهی

بربایی چنان ز خویشتنم
که نیابم ز خود خبر که منم

ور نیابی سزا بدین هوسم
که عجب سفله طبع و هیچکسم

به در اهل درد راهم ده
به صف عاشقان پناهم ده

سر من خاک پای ایشان کن
حرز جانم دعای ایشان کن

خاطرم رام با کشاکش شان
وقت من خوش ز قصه خوش شان

English translation

O, the glow of Your beauty is the fair ones, The reflection of Your goodness is the beloved ones. Where is the manifestation of Your beauty that it is not? Who is there that does not possess the attraction of Your love? All particles are drunk with Your love, Dancing from the hand of Your love. The beauty of Layla, which blocked the path of Majnun, And drove his desire out of the street of intellect; The lock of Azra, which took away the patience of Wamiq, And delivered his heart and soul to suffering and grief; The ruby-lip of Shirin, which by pouring sugar, Became the nourishment of Farhad and the strength of Parviz— Each and every one was the intoxication of Your beauty, Which manifested itself in different forms. In every place, it blocked the path of another captive, Robbed patience from his heart and consciousness from his head. It bound him in its own fetters, And turned his face from both worlds toward itself. I too, O King, am Your beggar, I am the target of the arrow of Your destiny. How long will You keep us bewildered like a polo ball, Running headlessly and footlessly in every direction? Sometimes You take me to the door of the tavern, Sometimes You become the Qibla of my supplications. Sometimes You draw me to peace, and sometimes to war, Sometimes You lead me to honey, and sometimes to poison. What would happen if You grant me release from myself, And give me a cup of the special wines? If You snatch me so completely from myself That I find no trace of myself, or who I am? And if You do not find me worthy of this desire— For what a base-natured and insignificant person I am— Then grant me passage to the door of the people of pain, Give me refuge in the ranks of the lovers. Make my head the dust of their feet, Make their prayer the amulet of my soul. Make my mind compliant with their struggles, Make my time joyful with their beautiful tales.

Updated 2026-07-07

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