Original content

English translation

Sanjar had a sister beautiful like the moon, The king had named her Safiyeh Khatun. From the beauty of that world-enchantress, The eastern sun was but a particle. From saltiness and sweetness from head to toe, That jasmine-bosomed one was both salt and sugar. There were a hundred curls in the lock of that heart-binder, Every curl reached from China to Darband. When the tip of a single hair of hers appeared, Reason, the giver of insight, became blind. To speak of the crookedness of her tress is an error, Because nothing straight comes from there. The board of the forehead of that silver-bosomed one, Was raw silver under a crown of gold. Her eyebrow was a bow so firm, That it could not be strung for a moment. The arrow of her eyelash was so sharp, That from the tip of every arrow a hundred blood-spillings occurred. Her onyx eyes in magic had become of one heart, Both had become the magic of Babylon. Her tress, like pitch, was thirsty for blood, Zulfiqar was a dagger from her amorous glance. Under her tress, the sun of her face, Had illuminated the beauty of each single hair. She had a face like the shining moon, From the earth to the sky it was wandering for it. Her casket of rubies held royal pearls, Every pearl had a hundred affairs with every heart. Her pistachio mouth gave a single wound, it did not yield, It gave no one anything but a closed door. The fountain of life was tight-hearted from her ruby lips, Left ashamed in the sea of darkness. If anyone saw her chin clearly, They carried the ball from all the people of the world. Although she carried the ball of perfect beauty, Yet she was constantly fallen into a well. Her cheek had brought ivory from India, It had extracted tribute from all of Rome. Her mole held Hindustan in Rome, Its Turkish raiding was known as far as China. If I were to describe her extensively, I would still remain deficient in my task. Because that moon-faced one in enchanting hearts, Was the Khosrow of all the barbarian idols. She was endowed with beauty and domain, Merv was the capital city of that beloved. That heart-soother would come for visitation, Every Friday after the prayer. The guards would go forth before her, They would clear the passageway of people. After that, the Khatun would come to the bazaar, Reason slept, and sedition awoke. From the Arabs, a prince, full of knowledge, A little distraught, named Shar al-Dawla. He eventually fell into Merv and became a resident, He had little reason but massive learning. Safiyeh Khatun, who was the moon of the veil, One Friday had intended to make a pilgrimage. The guards were grappling in front, The people were fleeing from every direction. But Shar al-Dawla had stood afar, He had set his eyes on the golden litter. When that sun came out of the litter, Shar al-Dawla became ruined by love for her. The half-reason he had was completely lost, The half-soul he had became completely drunk. A sorrowful cry came out of him, He fell headlong to the dust. Although the Khatun became aware at that moment, She stayed silent and went from there to her private chamber. She hid what she had seen, She carried her soul away from love and stayed silent about what she saw. Eventually, the drunk Shar al-Dawla arose, He got a horse from somewhere, perhaps. He mounted that horse and became restless, Sanjar had returned from the hunt. He went forward and performed a service at that time, Then he opened his mouth in Arabic. He asked for his sister from him, So that he might give a writ in the name of servitude. Since the king did not know Arabic, His Mir Tahir was at that place. He said, 'O Tahir, what does he need? Look at him.' He said, 'If I tell you, he will throw his head.' Then he opened his mouth and said, 'O King, This distraught one is a restless man. Out of well-wishing, he speaks your praise, And out of helplessness, he prays for you.' He said this, and said to bind him, Bind him and imprison him for a while. So that perhaps his madness might decrease, The foundation of his reason might become firm. When the next Friday the Khatun was on the way, She looked in every direction for that youth. When she saw him neither on the left nor on the right, She said, 'Where is that distraught young man?' A servant told her that he is in prison, His feet are in bonds and he is wandering. She said, 'We have an intention for the prison, Because we want to give a charity there.' When that ruby-lipped one entered the prison, She immediately asked for Shar al-Dawla. She saw him in chains from head to toe, His place had become mud from his bloody tears. That idol threw the veil off her face, The tongue and reason of the melancholic went out of work. In her light and splendor he became decrepit, His reason vanished and he became astounded. The Khatun was very pleased with his pain, Her heart ached for his pale face. She wanted to sit there for a moment, But there was no place for that in the prison. Eventually, she came to the house shedding tears, She called a servant and said, 'Arise. When the dark night becomes manifest, Bring that so-and-so in a sack.' The servant went and put him in a sack, And finally brought him before that beautiful one. When that youth saw the heart-soothing face, Senses left him, reason vanished again. He became useless of soul and intellect, That time became worse than any of his times. The Khatun saw that he did not have the perfection, To bear a single particle of the heat of that beauty. So she sent him toward the school, She said so that this obsession might decrease in him. Among the people of knowledge and debate, Perhaps his reason might gain a little perfection. Eventually, he became sick in the school, Every joint of his became a house of sorrow. The hard-strivers of destiny from left and right, Aimed the spear of killing right at his heart. The narrow-eyed ones came from the court, They brought his writ and came seeking his life. When the news of this reached the Khatun, With a chador on her head, she came to console him. Her chamberlain said, 'I am accountable.' She said, 'There a chamberlain becomes a veil.' Her litter-bearer said, 'I will bring the litter to the door.' She said, 'No, so that perhaps I can fulfill my pledge.' That other one told her, 'I will saddle a mount.' She said, 'No, so that I may grant authority to love.' In short, she went like this to the school, She saw that sick one in delusion. That world had cast a shadow upon him, A bloody flood had opened its hands upon him. The Khatun took up residence at his pillow, She said, 'Take this letter and read it completely.' When Shar al-Dawla saw her beauty again, He said immediately, 'Return, O heart-soother. Because if you stay here for one moment, Death will bring forth a hundred destructions from my soul. I do not have the endurance to look at you, I am helpless from my own weakness in your affair.' She said, 'Having crossed so many enemies, How can one be satisfied with this amount in the end?' The poor lover said, 'O my beloved, Since you have sat at my head out of compassion. For a present, out of all the wealth of the world, I have nothing but a half-soul. Although this present is not worthy of you, I offer up my soul before you out of your pain.' He said this, and happily gave up his sweet soul, May the earth upon him be a happy meadow. When the Khatun saw him thus sorrowful, She said, 'O you who have been destroyed by your own weakness. I came out to you in three ways, And you fell headlong from all three ways. You did not recognize any manliness in yourself, Yet you played at loving me with this heart. With such a manliness that was in your baggage, Your cash required the love of a hundred bodies. When I came to you again in the prison, Your bonds became tighter and your affair longer. When I brought you to my own private chamber, You would say that I brought a hundred calamities before you. When I took a place at the head of your pillow, You could not fit with me in the house. Since you do not have the endurance for this pain either, Then say, what else should be done with you? Since you did not have the capacity for our love, Why did you make so much commotion?' She said this and turned back from before him, Her dervish lover remaining dead. She ordered his burial and shrouded him completely, He became a dew drop toward the sea, and peace be upon him. Since you have no manliness in the battlefield, Do not boast like a warrior so much. Because if you see a man, O simpleton, Like the effeminate, you will flee in fear.