1Cademy - بخش ۱ - المقالة الرابعه / Section 1

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Mosibat Nameh

Poem

بخش ۱ - المقالة الرابعه / Section 1 - The Fourth Discourse

Original content

سالک سرکش سر گردن کشان
پیش عزرائیل آمد جان فشان

گفت ای جان تشنهٔ دیدار تو
نفس گو سر میزن اندر کار تو

طاقت هجران نداری اینت خوش
جان بجانان میسپاری اینت خوش

فالق الاصباح فی الاشباح تو
باسط الید قابض الارواح تو

اول نام تو از نام عزیز
یافته عزت چه خواهد بود نیز

چون جمالت ذرهٔ دید آفتاب
گشت سرگردان نمیآورد تاب

خلق عالم چون ببینند آن جمال
جان برافشانند جمله کرده حال

هرکه رویت دید جان افشاند و رفت
دامن از هر دو جهان افشاند و رفت

خلق گوید مرد زو گم شد نشان
زنده است او بر تو کرده جان فشان

میسزد گر جان بر افشانیش تو
تا بجانان زنده گردانیش تو

زندگی کردن بجان زیبنده نیست
جز بجانان زنده بودن زنده نیست

چون بدست تست جان را زندگی
مانده ام دل مرده در افکندگی

جان بگیر و زنده دل گردان مرا
زانکه بی جانان نباید جان مرا

تا که عزرائیل این پاسخ شنید
راست گفتی روی عزرائیل دید

گفت اگر از درد من آگاهئی
این چنین چیزی ز من کی خواهئی

صد هزاران قرن شد تا روز و شب
جان یک یک میستانم در تعب

من بهر جانی که بستانم ز تن
می بریزم خون جان خویشتن

دم بدم از بسکه جان برداشتم
دل بکلی از جهان برداشتم

با که کردند آنچه با من کرده اند
صد جهان خونم بگردن کرده اند

گر بگویم خوف خود از صد یکی
ذره ذره گردی اینجا بیشکی

چون نمیآیم ز خوف خود بسر
کی توان کردن طلب چیزی دگر

تو برو کز خوف کار آگه نهٔ
در عزا بنشین که مرد ره نهٔ

سالک آمد پیش پیر کاردان
داد شرح حال با بسیار دان

پیر گفتش هست عزرائیل پاک
راه قهر و معدن مرگ و هلاک

مرگ نه احمق نه بخرد را گذاشت
نه یکی نیک و یکی بد را گذاشت

گر تو زین قومی و گر زان دیگری
همچو ایشان بگذری تا بنگری

هرکه مرد و گشت زیر خاک پست
هر کسش گوید بیاسود و برست

مرگ را زرین نهنبن مینهند
مردنت آسایش تن مینهند

الحقت دنیا چه پر برگ اوفتاد
کاولین آسایشش مرگ اوفتاد

چون ترا زرین نهنبن هست مرگ
دیگ را سر برگرفتن نیست برگ

خیز تا گامی بگردون بر نهیم
پس سر این دیگ پرخون برنهیم

English translation

The rebellious seeker, tossing his proud head, Came before Azrael, ready to sacrifice his soul. He said, 'O soul, thirsty for the sight of you, Tell the self to struggle within your work. You have no patience for separation, how pleasant! You entrust the soul to the Beloved, how pleasant! You are the cleaver of dawn among the phantoms, You are the outstretcher of the hand, the seizer of souls. The first of your names is from the name of the Exalted (Aziz), Having found such glory, what more could there be? When the sun saw a particle of your beauty, It became bewildered and could not endure it. When the people of the world see that beauty, They will all sacrifice their souls in ecstasy. Whoever saw your face sacrificed their soul and departed, Shook their skirt of both worlds and departed. People say he died and his trace was lost, He is alive, having sacrificed his soul to you. It is fitting if you sacrifice your soul for Him, So that you make it alive through the Beloved. Living by the soul is not becoming, Except being alive through the Beloved, one is not alive. Since the life of the soul is in your hands, I have remained dead-hearted in dejection. Take my soul and make me alive of heart, For without the Beloved, I have no need for a soul.' When Azrael heard this response, You might say he truly saw Azrael's face. He said, 'If you were aware of my pain, When would you ask such a thing of me? For hundreds of thousands of centuries, day and night, I have been taking souls one by one in hardship. For every soul that I take from a body, I spill the blood of my own soul. Moment by moment, from taking so many souls, I have entirely withdrawn my heart from the world. With whom have they done what they have done to me? They have placed the blood of a hundred worlds upon my neck. If I were to tell you even one percent of my fear, You would undoubtedly crumble to dust here. Since I cannot overcome my own fear, How can one seek anything else? Go, for you are unaware of the fear of this work, Sit in mourning, for you are not a man of the path.' The seeker came before the experienced elder, And explained his condition to the knowledgeable one. The elder told him, 'The pure Azrael is The path of wrath and the mine of death and ruin. Death has spared neither the fool nor the wise, It has spared neither the good nor the bad. Whether you are of this group or of the other, You will pass away like them until you see. Whoever died and became low beneath the earth, Everyone says of him, "He rested and was delivered." They place a golden cover upon death, They consider your dying as the resting of the body. In truth, how full of provisions the world turned out to be, That its foremost comfort turned out to be death! Since death is a golden cover for you, There is no provision to take the lid off the pot. Arise so that we may set foot in the heavens, And then set the lid upon this blood-filled pot.'

Updated 2026-07-03

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