Original content

English translation

Noah Mansur, that emperor of the world, Had a son who was, O wonder, the moon of the world. A Joseph who belonged to a Jacob-like Noah, He possessed goodness far beyond measure. When the steed of his beauty raised dust, It stirred cold sighs from every breath. When his beauty glowed with sweetness, He burned like sugarcane out of modesty. His tress was perfect in casting heads [down], A heart was cast down at every hair. The circle of his tress was rope within rope, Curled within curled, fold within fold. There were more than a hundred thousand twists upon it, Yes, that idol was his own sun. When he pulled the veil from his face like a victory, His face outshone the sun and the moon. The tablet of his forehead was made of silver, All were in awe and fear of it. His tress was like an infidel joined together, With that silver tablet bound by it. His bow [eyebrow] with the crow [pupil] was like a crow's wing, Every moment it hunted a hundred hawks. The arrow of his eye was squinting, Bringing reason into the narrow aim of the arrow. His beauty mark was instantly on his face, Reason and soul were surrendered to that mark. It is an error to speak of his mouth, For there it is narrowness within narrowness. His ruby lip was always the master, The garnet was its servant. The row of his teeth was bound in a set, That row was [the finest] in the market of beauty. If that silver-bodied one smiled for a moment, Sugarcane would immediately grow from stone. Speaking of his chin is sheer bewilderment, For there is the lane of wandering. He had carried the ball of beauty from his face to the moon, His ball was on the moon, and then in the pit of the dimple. In the midst of his ball, a pit had appeared, O wonder, that pit was filled with the moon. There was no deficiency from his script [downy hair], There was no penalty for the moon from the eclipse. Yet around that silver tablet, that charming one Drew a line, meaning the whiteness became perfect. Though my reason gives a good description of him, Yet he himself must give his own description. Such a face as befits him, Its description also befits his own tongue. A man from the King's army Fell in love with him, a most restless love. Without his face, he wept so much blood That he lived drowned in blood like a tulip. Without his lip, he mourned so much That it was as if he held a hundred corpses together. Without his downy hair, he came so much into blood That you would say he emerged from the twilight. In grief for him, he became so bewildered That he was like one ball and a hundred polo-sticks. Every moment his pain increased a hundredfold, He was killing himself until he became selfless. News of his love reached the King, He lowered his head there for a moment. He said: Order that tomorrow morning The review of the army be held in such-and-forth plain. Then the renowned King said to his son: Put on beautiful clothes, O son. Comb the curls of your tress with rosewater, Shake the dust from your sun-like face. Do not adorn yourself a little, do it much, Apply everything you possibly can. Mount a swift and beautiful steed, There will be a review tomorrow, mount up. The next day the King went toward the plain, The army was reviewing from every side. The King with the Prince and the Informer Looked down every moment from above. The King said to the Informer then: When that young lover comes into the midst, Strike your hand upon my knee at that moment, So that I may know who that 'nobody' is. When he was by his side for a while, He gently struck his hand upon his knee. The King then took a look, There was a youth like a cypress beneath the moon. Around the moon he had brought a black line, He had surrendered his head and soul to the path. A very fine tunic was on his body, And a cap of gold thread on his head. His armor was fit and he was fit, As if he had escaped out of love. When he came down into the midst of the review ground, He was looking stealthily at the son. The King told the son: Come down from the horse, Open the fastening of your tunic and go boldly. In the midst of this army, O fortunate one, Take him in your embrace and squeeze him hard. Put your face against his face every moment, Stay just like that until I say enough. That son immediately carried out the secret, He went and was opening the fastening of the tunic. O wonder, every fastening that he opened, A hundred knots fell upon the soul of the lover. He went to the youth to plunder him, He circled his hands around his neck. After that he brought him under the tunic, He held him firm for fear of annihilation. For a long time he held him so, He did not let him go from himself at all. Sometimes he placed his face upon his face, Sometimes he bound his hair upon his hair. O wonder, from front and back so many troops Were staring at them both in amazement. Until the voice came to him from the King: O dear one, let go of him now. When the son released him from his side, He fell to the ground and his soul departed from him. As the beloved was separating from his side, His soul went away with the beloved. From that tunic, his own soul became too narrow, For he wore the tunic with his beloved. Soul and beloved together in one tunic, How can they be separated for a single moment? Inevitably, when the beloved intended the road, The soul intended the destination before him. On that road was a shrine of that King, Both his father and mother were in that place. The King told the youth until they washed him clean, Then in that shrine they laid him in the earth. A beggar asked from top to bottom, He said: This boy claimed love. I wanted to become aware of the secret, Whether it was truth or merely metaphor. It was truth itself and he was a man of action, Inevitably he reaped the benefit of love. He said: Since the young lover perished, Why did you bury him in that shrine? The King said to him: Whoever at our court Is killed in friendship and our path, He is of us, he is one of us, If you become such a lover, it would be beautiful. Whoever is not a fire-bearer in love, Has not a particle of business with the secret of love. Fire died from the heat of the lover, Then from shame it became frozen like ice.