1Cademy - بخش ۵۰ - قصه عیینه و ریا / Section 50

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Haft Awrang

Poem

بخش ۵۰ - قصه عیینه و ریا / Section 50 - The Story of Uyaynah and Raya

Original content

معتمر نام مهتری ز عرب
رفت تا روضه نبی یک شب

رو در آن قبله دعا آورد
ادب بندگی بجا آورد

ساخت بالین ز آستان نیاز
گوش بنهاد بر نشیمن راز

ناگه آمد به گوشش آوازی
که همی گفت غصه پردازی

کای دل امشب تو را چه اندوه است
وین چه بار گرانتر از کوه است

مرغی از طرف باغ ناله کشید
بر تو داغی به سان لاله کشید

واندر این تیره شب ز ناله زار
ساخت از خواب خوش تو را بیدار

یا نه یاری درین شب تاریک
از برون دور وز درون نزدیک

بر تو درهای امتحان بگشود
خوابت از چشم خون فشان بربود

بست هجرش کمر به کینه تو را
سنگ غم زد بر آبگینه تو را

چه شب است این چو زلف یار دراز
چشم من ناشده به خواب فراز

قیر شب قید پای انجم شد
مهر را راه آمدن گم شد

در نفیر و فغان زبان جرس
تنگ بر صبحدم مجال نفس

دست دوران دریده پرده کوس
تیغ گردون بریده نای خروس

چون مؤذن ره مناره سپرد
گویی افتاد ازان به گردن خرد

کش نیاید ز حلقه حلقوم
بانگ یا حی صدای یا قیوم

این نه شب هست اژدهای سیاه
که کند با هزار دیده نگاه

تا به دم درکشد غریبی را
یا زند زخم بی نصیبی را

منم اکنون و جانی آزرده
زو دو صد زخم بر جگر خورده

زخم او جا درون جان دارد
گر کنم ناله جای آن دارد

کو رفیقی که بشنود رازم
واندر این شب شود همآوازم

کو شفیقی که بنگرد حالم
کز جدایی چگونه می نالم

ز آتش غم چو موی پیچانم
موی پیچان و مور بی جانم

هست ناچار پیش فرزانه
موی را شانه مور را دانه

اگرم شانه همچو مو هوس است
شانه ام فرق شاخ شاخ بس است

دانه گر بایدم چو مور نژند
باشدم اشک دانه دانه بسند

ماه گردون بود گوا که چنین
ناله زان می کنم که ماه زمین

چهره از من چو ماه تافته است
تیغ مهرش دلم شکافته است

هرگز اینم گمان نبود به خویش
کایدم اینچنین بلایی پیش

ریخت بر سر بلای دهر مرا
داد ناآزموده زهر مرا

هر که ناآزموده زهر خورد
چه عجب گر ره اجل سپرد

چون بدینجا رساند ناله خویش
کرد با خامشی حواله خویش

آتش او درین ترانه فسرد
شد خموش آنچنان که گویی مرد

English translation

A leader of the Arabs named Mu'tamar Went to the Prophet's shrine one night. He turned his face to that Qiblah of prayer, And performed the proper etiquette of servitude. He made a pillow of the threshold of supplication, And placed his ear upon the seat of secrets. Suddenly, a voice reached his ear Which a sorrow-dispeller was reciting: "O heart, what grief is yours tonight, And what is this burden heavier than a mountain? A bird lamented from the edge of the garden, And branded you like a tulip. And in this dark night, with its wretched lament, Awoke you from your sweet sleep. Or is it a beloved in this dark night, Far without, but close within, Who opened the doors of trial upon you, And snatched sleep from your blood-shedding eyes? Her separation girt its waist with malice against you, And struck the stone of grief against your glass heart. What a night is this, long as the beloved's tresses, While my eyes have not closed in sleep. The pitch of night became a shackle for the stars' feet, And the sun has lost its way to arrive. In clamor and wailing is the tongue of the bell, Narrow is the breath's scope for the dawn. The hand of time has torn the drum's screen, The sword of the heavens has cut the rooster's throat. When the muezzin trod the path of the minaret, It was as if a heavy burden fell on his small neck, Such that from the ring of his throat does not emerge The cry of 'O Living!' or the voice of 'O Self-Sustaining!' This is no night, but a black dragon Looking with a thousand eyes To swallow a stranger with its breath, Or inflict the wound of deprivation. Now it is I, with an afflicted soul, Having received two hundred wounds upon the liver from it. Its wound has its place inside the soul; If I lament, there is good reason for it. Where is a companion to hear my secret, And in this night join in my song? Where is a compassionate friend to look at my state, To see how I wail from separation? From the fire of grief, I am twisted like a hair, A twisted hair and a lifeless ant. Inevitably, before the wise, There is a comb for the hair and a grain for the ant. If, like hair, I desire a comb, The parting of branches is comb enough for me. If, like the sorrowful ant, I need a grain, My teardrops, grain by grain, shall suffice. The moon of heaven is witness that thus I lament because the moon of the earth Has turned her face from me like the moon, And the sword of her love has cleft my heart. I never suspected of myself That such a calamity would come before me. The calamity of time poured upon my head, Giving me untried poison. Whoever drinks untried poison, What wonder if they tread the path of death?" When he brought his lament to this point, He committed himself to silence. His fire withered away in this song; He became so silent, as if he died.

Updated 2026-07-07

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