1Cademy - بخش ۵۸ - مقاله نوزدهم در حسب حال خام طمعانی که از شعر شعر دامی بر ساخته اند و در دست و پای هر پخته و خامی انداخته / Section 58 - The Nineteenth Discourse on the Condition of those Immaturely Greedy Persons who have Fashioned a Trap Out of Poetry, and Thrown It Around the Hands and Feet of Every Mature and Raw Person

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۵۸ - مقاله نوزدهم در حسب حال خام طمعانی که از شعر شعر دامی بر ساخته اند و در دست و پای هر پخته و خامی انداخته / Section 58 - The Nineteenth Discourse on the Condition of those Immaturely Greedy Persons who have Fashioned a Trap Out of Poetry, and Thrown It Around the Hands and Feet of Every Mature and Raw Person

Original content

بحر ازل موج کرم برگرفت
دامن ساحل همه گوهر گرفت

جوهری طبع سخن پروران
کرد نگاهی به فراست در آن

هر چه سزا بود به سفتن بسفت
وانچه نه در پرده نسیان نهفت

زان گهر سفته هزاران هزار
گوش جهان را شده بین گوشوار

حیف که این قوم گهر ناشناس
مهره کش سلک امید و هراس

هر چه بر آن نام گهر بسته اند
مهره صفت بر دم خر بسته اند

گوهر کرده ز شرف زهرگی
زان شرف افتاده به خر مهرگی

ای که رسد از دل دانشورت
مرسله بر مرسله زان گوهرت

پرده گشای هنر خویش باش
نرخ فزای گهر خویش باش

باش به دکانچه دوران به هوش
جنس گران را مشو ارزان فروش

داشت فلک چون به تو ارزانیش
تو مده ارزان ز گران جانیش

چند ز تار طمع و پود لاف
بر قد هر سفله شوی حله باف

چند نهی نام لئیمان کریم
چند کنی وصف سفیهان حلیم

آن که به صد نیش یکی قطره خون
ناید از امساک ز دستش برون

نام کفش قلزم احسان کنی
وصف به بحر گهر افشان کنی

وان که به تعلیمگه ماه و سال
شکل الف را نشناسد ز دال

عارف آغاز ازل خوانیش
واقف انجام ابد دانیش

وان که چو از گربه برآید خروش
رو نهد از بیم به سوراخ موش

شیر ژیان ببر بیان گوییش
بلکه دلاورتر ازان گوییش

این همه اندیشه ناراست چیست
این همه آیین کم و کاست چیست

این همه از حرص و طمع زاده است
خود که ز خرص و طمع آزاده است

دور بود جوع طمع از شبع
گرسنه چشمند حروف طمع

شب که طمع بر تو کمین آورد
پشت قناعت به زمین آورد

رخت به بیغوله ماتم کشی
بیهده ای چند فراهم کشی

پوست کنی معنی استاد را
عور کنی طرفه بغداد را

برکشی از شاهد اطلس لباس
اطلس و سازیش لباس از پلاس

قافیه معیوب و روی ناروا
علت وزنش الم بی دوا

صدر و عجز بی مزه و خام ازو
حشو خبر داده خود این نام ازو

از تعب طبع کج اندیش خویش
چون شوی آسوده نهی پیش خویش

کهنه دواتی چو دلت تار و تنگ
کاغذی از تیره رخت برده رنگ

خامه چو نظم سخنت سخت سست
املی ناراست خط نادرست

گشته دو تا میل سوادش کنی
واسطه نیل مرادش کنی

در سر دستار زنی صبحگاه
قطره زنان تا در اصحاب جاه

خواجه به رویی که مبیناد کس
منتظر او منشیناد کس

چون بدر آید پس صد انتظار
بر زبر بهتری از خود سوار

پیش دوی بوسه به پایش دهی
لابه کنان داد ثنایش دهی

رقعه شعر آوری از سر برون
صد رقم از حرص و طمع در درون

آردش آن رقعه که صدپاره باد
نامه عصیان و قیامت به یاد

تا نخورد زخم سفاهت ز تو
رقعه ستاند به کراهت ز تو

او ز زبان طلبت در گریز
حرص تو دندان طمع کرده تیز

بیهده گفتار تو در مدح کس
نقش بر آب است و گره بر نفس

مزد بر آن بیهده بیهوده است
خاصه ازان کس که نفرموده است

طرفه که کاری به تبرع کنی
باز بر آن مزد توقع کنی

سوخت جهان از طمع خام تو
خلق به جان آمد از ابرام تو

ترک لجاج و کم ابرام گیر
یکدم ازین دغدغه آرام گیر

خواجه ز فضل تو به صد دل ملول
تو ز ندیمیش زبان پر فضول

تو به حضورش به سرور آمده
او ز حضور تو نفور آمده

منتظر وقت نشسته که چون
با تو دهد نفرت خاطر برون

English translation

The sea of eternity raised a wave of generosity, And filled the entire skirt of the shore with pearls. The jeweler-like nature of the nurturers of speech Looked upon it with sagacity/insight. Whatever was worthy of piercing, they pierced, And what was not, they hid in the veil of oblivion. Out of those pierced pearls, thousands upon thousands Have become earrings for the ear of the world. Alas that these pearl-ignorant people, Stringers of beads in the path of hope and fear, Whatever they have called a pearl, They have tied like a cheap bead to a donkey's tail. The pearl that was courageous in its nobility, Has fallen from that nobility into becoming cheap donkey-beads. O you from whose wise heart Necklace upon necklace of those pearls reaches, Be the unveiler of your own art, And increase the price of your own pearl. Be alert in the little shop of the era, Do not sell your precious goods cheaply. Since heaven bestowed it upon you, Do not give it away cheaply out of sluggishness of soul. How long, with the warp of greed and the weft of boasting, Will you weave robes for the stature of every mean person? How long will you call the stingy 'generous'? How long will you describe the foolish as 'forbearing'? The one from whose hand, out of stinginess, even with a hundred pricks, Not a single drop of blood would emerge, You name his palm 'the ocean of beneficence', And describe him as a pearl-scattering sea! And the one who, in the school of months and years, Does not distinguish the shape of Alif from Dal, You call him 'the knower of the beginning of eternity', And deem him aware of the end of infinity! And the one who, when a cat cries out, Flees in fear toward a mouse's hole, You call him a fierce lion or a raging tiger, Nay, you call him even braver than that! What is all this untrue thought? What is all this manner of deficiency and loss? All this is born of covetousness and greed; Indeed, who is free from covetousness and greed? The hunger of greed is far from satisfaction; The very letters of the word 'greed' are hollow/hungry-eyed. At night, when greed lies in ambush for you, It throws the back of contentment to the ground. You drag your belongings to the corner of mourning, And gather some vain words together. You strip the meaning of the master to its skin, And leave the rare beauty of Baghdad naked. You strip the satin garments from the beautiful beloved, And make her satin clothes out of coarse woolen rags. The rhyme is defective, the final letter is unacceptable, And the disease of its meter is an incurable pain. The beginning and end of the verses are tasteless and raw, And the filler words themselves reveal this state. When you find rest from the fatigue of your devious-thinking mind, You place before yourself: An old inkwell, dark and narrow like your heart, And paper that has lost its color from your dark face. A reed pen, extremely weak like the order of your speech, An incorrect dictation and a faulty hand. Being bent double, you desire to blacken the page, Making it the medium for reaching your desire. In the early morning, you put it in your turban, And hurry, dripping sweat, to the doors of the wealthy and powerful. The master, with a face that may no one ever see, And may no one ever sit waiting for him! When he emerges after a hundred long waits, Mounted upon a steed better than himself, You run before him, kissing his feet, And pleadingly offer him your praise. You pull out the scroll of your poetry from your turban, While having a hundred characters of greed and envy within. That scroll—may it be torn into a hundred pieces!— Brings to his mind the ledger of sins and the Day of Judgment. Lest he suffer the wound of your foolishness, He reluctantly takes the scroll from you. He is in flight from the tongue of your solicitation, While your greed has sharpened the teeth of covetousness. Your vain speech in praise of anyone Is like a drawing on water or a knot on breath. A reward for that futility is futile, Especially from someone who did not commission it. It is strange that you perform a deed voluntarily, Yet you expect a wage for it! The world is burnt by your raw greed, And people are exasperated by your persistence. Abandon stubbornness and reduce your persistence, Take rest for a moment from this anxiety. The master is deeply weary of your 'virtue', While you speak of being his companion with a tongue full of excess. You are filled with joy in his presence, While he is repulsed by your presence. Waiting for the moment to find a way To express his inner aversion to you.

Updated 2026-07-19

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