1Cademy - بخش ۵۰ - حکایت منت نهادن سفله بازاری با عارف از لباس ذل طمع عاری / Section 50 - The Story of a Mean Market-Seller Reminding a Gnostic, Free from the Garb of the Humiliation of Greed, of His Favors

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۵۰ - حکایت منت نهادن سفله بازاری با عارف از لباس ذل طمع عاری / Section 50 - The Story of a Mean Market-Seller Reminding a Gnostic, Free from the Garb of the Humiliation of Greed, of His Favors

Original content

عارفی بود در زمین هری
نام او سکه نگین هری

همتش دست در خدای زده
بر همه خلق پشت پای زده

یکی از سفلگان بازاری
نقد بازار او دل آزاری

پیش عارف دم ارادت زد
زان ارادت در سعادت زد

صبح تا شام خدمتش کردی
خوان کشیدی و سفره آوردی

لیک چون سفله بود و طبع پرست
بود آن پیش چشم او پیوست

روزه بگشاد روزی از خوانش
ریگی آمد ازان به دندانش

آن همه خدمت و ارادت او
گشت مغلوب رسم و عادت او

گویی آن ریگ بود سنگ فسان
کرد ازان سنگ تیز تیغ زبان

لطف و احسان خود شمار گرفت
هر یکی را نه صد هزار گرفت

که فلان چاشتت چه آوردم
یا فلان شب چه خدمتت کردم

زان مزعفر برنجها که ز قند
داشت شیرینیش به جان پیوند

زان حلاوای شکر و بادام
لب و دندان ازان رسیده به کام

زان ترش آشهای صفرا کش
برده طعمش ز اهل صفرا هش

عارف از گفت و گوی او آشفت
می شنیدم که زیر لب می گفت

که دو سه سال دیگ شویه خویش
که به میل دل دو رویه خویش

داده بود از هوای گوناگون
کرد در یک تغاره جمع اکنون

همه را ریخت بهر خجلت من
بر سر و روی و ریش و سبلت من

این چه آلودگیست کامد پیش
زین سفیهم ز نفس ساده خویش

به همه آب های روی زمین
نتوان یافتن خلاص از این

هیچ کس آشنای سفله مباد
منت آش و نان او مگشاد

خون دل به ز دیده پالودن
که ز پالوده اش لب آلودن

English translation

There was a mystic in the land of Herat, His name was like the stamp on Herat's signet ring. His high aspiration was holding onto God, Having turned his back on all creation. One of the mean market-sellers, Whose ready coin in the market was hurting hearts, Claimed devotion before the mystic, And through that devotion, knocked on the door of happiness. From morning to evening he would serve him, He would bring trays of food and spread the tablecloth. But since he was mean-spirited and a worshiper of his ego, That service was constantly on his mind. One day the mystic broke his fast from his tray, A small pebble from it came under his tooth. All his service and devotion Became defeated by his innate habits. It was as if that pebble was a whetstone, With which he sharpened the sword of his tongue. He began to count his favors and kindness, Taking each one as not just one, but a hundred thousand: "What did I bring for your breakfast on such-and-such day? Or what service did I perform for you on such-and-such night? Of those saffron rice dishes whose sweetness Was bound to the soul through sugar, Of those sweets of sugar and almond, From which the lips and teeth reached their desires, Of those sour soups that dispel bile, Whose taste stole the senses of those suffering from bile." The mystic became distressed by his words, I heard that he said under his breath: "These two or three years of his dish-washings, Which, out of his double-faced heart's desire, He had given out of various whims, He has now gathered together in a single tub, And poured them all for my embarrassment Over my head, face, beard, and mustache! What is this filth that has come before me, From this fool, because of my own simple ego? With all the waters of the earth, One cannot find deliverance from this! May no one be an acquaintance of a mean person, Nor receive the burden of favors for his soup and bread. It is better to weep the heart's blood from one's eyes Than to stain one's lips with his sweet starch-pudding."

Updated 2026-07-07

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