1Cademy - بخش ۱۱ - افسانه شب گذرانیدن مجنون و لیلی از جمال هم دور و از وصال یکدیگر مهجور / Section 11 - The Tale of Majnun and Layla Passing the Night, Each Far from the Others Beauty and Deprived of Union with One Another

Learn Before

Poem

بخش ۱۱ - افسانه شب گذرانیدن مجنون و لیلی از جمال هم دور و از وصال یکدیگر مهجور / Section 11 - The Tale of Majnun and Layla Passing the Night, Each Far from the Other's Beauty and Deprived of Union with One Another

Original content

شب کز سر چرخ لاجوردی
گوی زر خور ز تیز گردی

در ظلمت چاه مغرب افتاد
شد عرصه دهر ظلمت آباد

زرین طاووس ازین کهن باغ
بگذشت و نشست لشکر زاغ

مشکین پرها ز هم گشادند
کافوری بیضه ها نهادند

افروخت هزار مشعل نور
رخشانی بیضه های کافور

قیس از لیلی برید پیوند
محمل به منازل خود افکند

دل با لیلی و تن به خانه
جان ناوک درد را نشانه

چون مار گزیده ناتوانی
می کند به کار خویش جانی

لیلی می گفت و اشک می ریخت
وز پنجه به فرق خاک می بیخت

لیلی می گفت و آه می کرد
آهش به سپهر راه می کرد

هر چند شدی فسانه پرداز
کردی پی خواب حیله ها ساز

کاری به حیل نمی شدی راست
می خفت و همی نشست و می خاست

پهلو چو به بسترش رسیدی
خواب از مژه ترش رمیدی

گویی که ز بسترش به هر بار
در پهلو همی خلید صد خار

ور بنشستی سر به زانو
آورده در آن دو آینه رو

هر صورت محنتی که بودی
زان آینه هاش رو نمودی

ور زانکه به خاستن زدی رای
فریادکنان بجستی از جای

بر سینه غمی گران تر از کوه
صد چرخ زدی به رقص اندوه

نومید ز چاره سازی شب
راندی سخن از درازی شب

گفتی شب غم عجب بلاییست
شب نی که سیاه اژدهاییست

بر دور افق کشیده خود را
در کام گرفته نیک و بد را

کام از لب یار چون ربایم
کافتاده به کام اژدهایم

کو صبح که یک فسون بخواند
وز آفت او مرا رهاند

این بود ز داغ فرقت یار
شب تا دم صبح قیس را کار

لیلی به حریم خانه خویش
هم داشت ازین قبل دلی ریش

از صحبت قیس یاد می کرد
وز دست فراق داد می کرد

هر حال که قیس ناتوان داشت
او نیز جدا ز وی همان داشت

چشمش ز خیال او نمی خفت
می راند ز دیده اشک و می گفت

هست او مرغی بلند پرواز
هر جا خواهد شدن کند ساز

من فرش حرمسرای خویشم
جنبش نبود ز جای خویشم

رفتن سوی او ز من نشاید
وای دل من گر او نیاید

مردان همه جا خجسته حالند
بیچاره زنان که بسته بالند

آمد شد عشق کار زن نیست
زن مالک کار خویشتن نیست

عشقی که برآورد سر از جیب
از مرد هنر بود ز زن عیب

داغی که مراست در دل از وی
رنجی که مراست حاصل از وی

گر بر دل وی ز صد یکی هست
امید وصالش اندکی هست

ور نیست زهی بلا که افتاد
این مردن نو مبارکم باد

تا صبحدم این ترانه می زد
وآتش ز دلش زبانه می زد

القصه دو عاشق وفادار
هر دو به فراق هم گرفتار

تاریک شبی به روز بردند
وز جان ره عاشقی سپردند

در دل غم آنکه شب چه زاید
چون روز شود چه رو نماید

English translation

When from the top of the lapis-blue sphere the golden ball of the sun, from its swift turning, fell into the dark well of the west, the field of the age became a dwelling of darkness. The golden peacock passed from this ancient garden, and the army of crows settled in. They spread apart their musky feathers, and laid down camphor-white eggs. A thousand torches of light were kindled, the radiance of those camphor eggs (the stars). Qays severed his bond from Layla, and cast his litter toward his own dwellings. His heart with Layla, his body at home, his soul the target of the arrow of pain. Like one bitten by a snake, in weakness, he wrestled with his own plight. Layla spoke and shed tears, and with her hand sifted dust upon her head. Layla spoke and sighed, her sigh cutting a path to the heavens. However much she turned to telling tales and devised tricks to bring on sleep, nothing was set right by cunning; she lay down, sat up, and rose again. When her side touched the bed, sleep fled from her tear-wet lashes. It was as if, each time, from her bedding a hundred thorns pricked into her side. And if she sat with head upon knee, bringing her face before those two mirrors (her knees), every image of affliction that existed showed its face to her from those mirrors. And if she resolved to rise, crying out she sprang up from her place. Upon her breast a grief heavier than a mountain, she spun a hundred turns in the dance of sorrow. Despairing of any remedy for the night, she spoke of the length of the night. She said: the night of grief is a strange affliction; it is not a night but a black dragon, stretching itself around the horizon, taking good and bad into its maw. How can I snatch a wish from the beloved's lip, when I have fallen into the dragon's maw? Where is the dawn to recite a single spell and deliver me from its calamity? This was Qays's task from the brand of parting from the beloved, from nightfall until the breath of dawn. Layla, in the sanctuary of her own house, likewise carried a wounded heart from this. She kept remembering the company of Qays, and cried out against the hand of separation. Whatever state weak Qays was in, she too, apart from him, was in the same. Her eye would not sleep from the thought of him; she drove tears from her eyes and said: He is a high-flying bird; wherever he wishes to go, he makes ready. I am the carpet of my own harem; there is no stirring from my place. Going toward him is not permitted to me; alas for my heart if he does not come. Men are everywhere in blessed state; wretched are women, whose wings are bound. The coming and going of love is not a woman's affair; a woman is not master of her own affairs. Love that raises its head from the collar is a virtue in a man, a fault in a woman. The brand that I bear in my heart from him, the pain that I have reaped from him— if on his heart there is even one part in a hundred of it, then there is a little hope of union with him. And if not, what a calamity has befallen; may this new dying be blessed to me. Until dawn she sang this song, and fire flared up in tongues from her heart. In short, two faithful lovers, both caught in separation from each other, brought a dark night through to day, and traversed the path of love with their very souls, with the grief in their hearts of what the night would bring forth, and what face it would show when day should come.

Updated 2026-07-20

Contributors are:

Who are from:

References

Ganjoor

Learn Before

Original content

English translation

Related