THE FOOTSTEPS OF WATER I am from Kashan*, I am doing fine: make a modest living, have some wits, some talent. I have a mother better than blooming green leaves And honest friends, clear like waterfalls of some remote corners of this earth. And I have a God, A God who lives close-by my house, Between these oleanders in the garden, Or on the face of the water in the pool Or in the veins of the trees. I am a Muslim My qiblah is a rose My prayer book is as vast as the arms of rivers, As bright as the face of the sun. And I pray over the expansion of the meadow. I cleanse my heart in the stream of lights, flowing from wide open windows. And how full my prayer is with the moon, with clouds, with colourful rainbows. But yet you can see the rocks, the sea and the stones through the soul of my words. I cleanse my heart with the stream of lights flowing from wide open windows. And I pray whenever the breeze calls up, from the green heights of the willows from behind the dancing mass of the grass or over the flying crowd of the waves. My God lives by the rivers Lives under the bunch of acacias My God, light as the breeze, flows from turf to turf, from heart to heart, from town to town. I am from Kashan. I paint for living. Once in a while I make a cage with paper and paint And I sell it to you to listen to the song of the caged lily whenever you feel lonely. Well, I dream…now I dream, Because I know: My doodles are lifeless. Yes, I know, the lake of my painting has no swimming fish. I am from Kahsan Who knows, I may descend from a tree in Delhi, Or a pottery jar lost in the hills of Silak*, Or a young prostitute from Samarqand. My father is lying dead now, Right behind a few comes and goes of the migrating birds Behind a few blows of snow, behind a few hot summer nights on the roof, My father is lying dead now for some time. When my father died, the sky was blue. My mother suddenly woke up. My sister became pretty. When my father died the soldiers wrote poetry. And then the farmer asked me: “How many melon would you take?” And I replied: “Don’t you sell the clusters of peace to hang in one's heart?” My father could paint. My father could make Tar* that he could also play. He had a pleasing handwriting too. Our garden was on the right side of the shades of wisdom Our garden was the meeting point of the sense and the plants Our garden was the intersection of sight, border and mirror. Maybe our garden was an arc from the green circle of paradise. And there: I was chewing the unripe fruit of God in my every dream. I was drinking cold water without the ice of philosophy. I was picking mulberries without the ladder of science. The fertile heart of the pomegranate always laid within the fountain of my yen. The wings of doves always called my fleeing mind to another lengthy trip. And sometimes loneliness would come and stick her cold cheek to the clean glass of the window, And then the passion would arrive holding my shoulders in her warm hands setting free again my sense of that endless play. And then life was something Like a shower on the New Year’s Eve. Like a poplar tree and the sparrows in his arms. Life was then only a room full of dolls, of toys and of lights. Life was like a train heading towards freedom and laugh Life was then a vast sky of songs. The child slowly moved fading in the blizzard of butterflies, crickets and sands. And I bit by bit packed leaving that dreamy land. My heart was full of grief grief for all the lost butterflies in the sand storm of time. I went to the gathering of the world To the turf of sorrow To the garden of mystics To the ornamented tower of science, And up to the ladder of religion, Down to the lane of doubt, Beyond the cool breeze of ease, To the moist misty night of kindness. And once I soared away to the visit of someone at the glowing edge of love. I went, I went I went until the woman emerged. I went, I went To the light of delight, To the silence of yearning, To the thick sound of solitude. And I saw things on this earth: I met a child who smelt the moon every night. I saw a broken cage with the lights swinging in its four corners, and a ladder set next to a wooden wall and love was stepping up to the heavens from its side. I got to know a woman crushing light in her blender, cooking a tender dish for the lunch. I saw a beggar making door to door asking for canary’s songs. And a vagabond praying in front of a half-eaten melon in the park. I saw a sheep eating colourful kites, I saw a donkey cogitating on the fate of the grass, And I saw a cow so stuffed in the stable of advice. I saw a poet who addressed the flowers with “Your Highness”. Oh…I read a book its words made from pieces of crystal And I touched a paper that felt like the cool nights of spring I went to a museum that had no tree around, I went to a mosque far from waterfalls, And I saw a priest, falling sick, holing a jar full of queries. Oh…and I saw a foal carrying bags of handwritten essays And a camel trekking with empty baskets of travel guides And a mystic running so fast to catch up with his devotion hymn. I watched the trains I watched a train carrying containers of light, I watched a train moving with weighty trunks of dogma, And I watched another leaving with void boxes of politics, And I came across a train transporting seeds, songs and sights to a remote shore. Yes, I saw things on this earth: A plane too high in the sky Just as high as letting you see the ground from its windows: The dance of flowers in the wind, The colourful spots on the butterfly's wings, A frog playing with his picture in the pool, A fly fleeing alone in a forsaken lane, And the blazing longing of sparrows in the shade of willows, And the maturity of the golden rays of sun on the silken back of a passer. And I saw a doll making love to the fading shadow of the dawn. Oh…I counted the stairs reaching to the forest of flesh To the pond of alcohol that has fermented fast To the rule of roses that gone bad To the knowledge of the arithmetic of life. And I counted the stairs up to the roof of salvation, up to the dais of lights. And my mother down there was washing a vase in the memory of rivers. And you could see the town, With its face of geometric shapes of stone, of cement and of metal bars. And plenty of bus and cars with no pigeon on their roof, And blooming flowers on sale, A child busy writing on his school’s walls Another hitting his father’s prayer book with a piece of fruit And a goat drinking water from a lake in a torn geography carte. And you would see a balcony with restless bras hanging on a red rope. And the wheels in hope of a broken van The van in hope of a resting man A man in hope of an end, the vain hope of an end. From the heights Love was visible, waves were visible, Snow was there, friendship as well. Words were standing still on every cross maybe waiting for the redeemer to come... The water was there with spotless pictures in its heart. Oh…and the shady place of cells in the veil of blood, in the flood of life. And the dawn of human soul And the season of abundance of female And at the end in the overtaking scent of solitude. And hope, You could see the hope Within every surge of the breeze from the mouth of summer. And the journeys we took… The journey of a seed to the height of a tree, The journey of vines from walls to windows, The journey of the moon to the still water of the pool And the blow of flowers from the gloom of soil. And the jump… The jump of events over the sense over the sight, far above the reach of words. And the battles we fought… The battle of a tear with the desire of light, The battle of stairs with ascending mass of the sun, The battle of lonely hours with the advent of songs, The battle of pomegranate with teeth, The battle of empty hands with the weight of rosaries. And the attacks we endured… The attack of the mosques on the ground of devotion, The attack of winds on the innocence of soap bubbles, The attack of butterflies on the posters on the walls, The attack of marching band of crickets on the construction workers, The attack of pens on printed sheets, And the attack of words on a poet’s jaws. And the triumphs we rejoiced … The triumph of a poet over the frozen army of a century, The triumph of passer over the blocked gates of a garden, The triumph of the expansion of two hands over a shady lane, The triumph of four horses made of sticks over metallic face of a town, The triumph of two dolls and three balls over the blankness of the New Year’s Eve. And the murders witnessed… The murder of a toy on the revolted sheets of a bed, The murder of a tale by the heavy mass of a nap, The murder of despair by the dawn of a song, The murder of the moonlight by blazing neon, The murder of willow over the words of mayor, The murder of a poet by the thorns of a rose. And all that is on the earth was visible: The order was hiking in Greece, The owls were singing on the tower of Babel, The wind, spinning in Khaibar*, was pushing sands to the East, On a peaceful lake a sailboat was carrying freshly cut flowers to the North, And in Banares an eternal light was burning above every door. I saw people, I saw towns, I saw meadows, peaks, mountains, The light and the dark: I saw the plants in the light And I saw them again in the dark. I saw the beasts in the light, And I saw them again in the dark. And I saw men moving from light to dark And moving from dark to the instance of lights. I am from Kashan, But my town in not Kashan. My town got lost some day. And I tasked with excitement though sometimes sad To build myself only a home on the other side of the night. And in this home How close I am to the moist anonymity of the moss... I can hear the breathings of the soil, the heartbeat of the stones. I can hear the noise of night when it falls off from the leaves. And I can hear the sharp noise of the day coughing right behind the trees, And the footsteps of water within every tear of the rocks, And the clear sound of solitude in each budging of the doors. And oh…I hear love changing her skin, under the weakening light of the moon, And I hear the excited call of the wings for the flight. And I can listen to the cry of remorse that cracks under the expansion of soul. And I listen to chant of blood flowing in the flowers’ veins, And the heartbeat of the sun next to the nest of doves And also the pounds of night on the dawn of winter. I can hear the song of my life: The journey of oleanders in the rivers of mind, The vague figure of the truth in the horizons of eyes, The soft sound of females flying over the clouds, And the footsteps of faith in the lone lane of joy, And the song of rain played on the eyelids of love, Played on the sad days of youth, On the bleeding heart of pomegranates. And I listen, I listen to the chant of fleeting delights, of passing beauties To the chant of memories set in the hands of the wind… I feel so close to the first nights of the earth, I take the pulse of flowers. Oh…I am so familiar with the moist fate of water With the green habit of trees. My soul flows in the direction of rebirth of matter, Oh… my soul is so young. My soul sometimes gets so excited that it coughs. My soul has nothing left to do, So it counts the drops of rain, the cracks of walls. My soul sometimes exists as intensely as stones in an old route. I have never come across two pines in fight, And I have never seen a willow selling its shielding arms to the earth. And the elm-tree is setting free of charge. the cool space within its leaves for the crows. Wherever there is a leave I feel inspired, I feel alive. The thorns of wild flowers has bathed me in their dews of absolute life. Like the wings of the butterflies I know the weight of sunrise. Like a flower in the wind I can hear the melody of growth. Oh…like a basket heavy with fruits I spin in the fever of arrival. I am like n empty bar at the borders of boredom. And like an edifice off the shore: I stand watching the eternal appeal of heavens For the revolting crowd of water. And I aspire in my heart for so many suns, so many ties and the feel of reaching to infinity. I can be content with a bite of apple. I can be content with the perfume of mint, I am content with the light of mirrors, and with only an honest friend. I do not laugh at the blast of balls, I do not laugh if a sage talks about dividing the moon into halves. I recognize the sound of the friction of quails' wings, I recognize the footsteps of goats and deer, I know so well where the clusters of rhubarb can grow, And when partridge is about to arrive, And when the eagle may die. I know dreams of deserts of the bright face of the moon, I know about the feel of death in the branch of yearning, And the sense of delight in the stem of love. Life is a pleasant rite. Life is covered by feathers and wings, Growing as vast as the silhouette of death. Life has leaps as high as the summit of love. Life is really not something that one can forget on the obscure shelf of habits. Life is a grasping hand that picks, Life is the taste of the first harvest of figs in the bitter mouth of summer. Life is the depth of trees in the eyes of insects, Life is the adventure of a moth in the darkened air, Life is the strange sense of a migrating bird. Life is a train’s siren piercing into the dreams of a bridge. Life is seeing the glow of a garden from a barred window in a flight. Life is the news of landing on the lonesome moon, Life is the thought of smelling flowers on the soil of another sphere. Life is washing a stained vase, Life is finding a blemished coin on the way, Life is the square root of mirrors, Life is a flower to the power of infinity, Life is the product of earth and the pounds of our hearts, Life is the simple geometry of breathing. Wherever I live, it does not matter: I'll always own the sky, I'll always own the window and air, love and light, earth and water. So who cares if sometimes the leaves of solitude may grow all around. I do not understand why they say that horse is a gorgeous animal, And doves are gentle, And why nobody keeps a crow in a cage, And why rose is the most sought-after plant... I washed my eyes, I see otherwise. And I must wash the words: Words should be the mere sense of wind, The true essence of rain… And we must close umbrellas, We must stay under the stroke of drops of rain. And we must take, all together, the mind, the memory and the heart to the rite of descending water. And we must make friends under this chaste shower, And may we look for love under the downpour of water, And may we make love there, And I know we can plant lilies, we can sing elegies, we can write poetries, with its blue rhyme. Yes, we must play the game of life in the rain. Life is being endlessly dampened, Life is bathing in the lake of present. Let’s get undressed, I hear the song of streams, The water is so close-by! And let’s savour the birth of lights, Let’s slip into the deer’s absolute night, Let’s weigh the silent sleep of the village, Let’s learn the warmth of nest of pelicans, And let’s not step on the rules of moss, And let’s still open our mouth whenever we encounter the beauty of the full moon. And we must not blame night for the fatigue of lights, And may we understand the thought of glow-worms about the green confines. May we arrive with hands holing empty baskets, And pick our share of brightened greens, glowing reds and shining lights. And may we enjoy bread and cheese every morning, While we are planting trees within our words, our greetings, And may we be able to still throw the seed of silence on the ground of talks, and walk. And may we not read the books that do not let the breeze to come in, And the notes that do not let the dews to stay within, And the tomes that set the cells on the two dimensions of deceit. And why would we ask the flies to leave the nature alone? Why would we ask the wolves to drop out of the sight? And why would we be sure that worms did not make any difference in our lives. And may we believe that without death we could be lost in an eternal quest. And let me tell you, The reason of flight is set on the shoulders of lights, And the coral is born over the prayerful dreams of the seas. And let me tell you that if we would not ask where we were we could have sensed the fresh perfume of hyacinths by our feet. And we can forget about searching the fountain of fortune, And we can never question why the heart of truth is coloured with deep blue. And we can forget what the fathers of our fathers have done. As I think that behind our steps there will not be life, And behind our steps the birds no more sing, And behind our steps the breeze stands still, And behind our steps the windows are closed, the pines are asleep. Behind our steps the sands sit on the face of all windmills. Yes, what is behind is the fatigue of the past, And there the memory of waves land in the closing shells of sloth. I would walk straight till the seas And I would give away my net to the hands of waves. And I would try to catch the freshness of the blues in return. And I would pick a small stone from the shore, And I would try to grasp the grey weight of reality. And let’s not blame the moon if we have a burning fever: Sometimes in fever I saw that the moon steps down, and hands can reach the gates of heavens, And the canary sing better. And when I had a wound on my feet I learned more About the texture of the soil. And when I was sick I felt the expansion of flowers around my bed, And the thickening of oranges the widening span of the torch. And let’s not fear death, Death is not the end point of a dove's flight, Death is not the reversal of the journey of a moth, Death flows in the mind of acacias, Death lives behind the peaceful shell of our thoughts, Death talks about the dawn for the spirit of the darkened town, Death may be tasted along a ripe cluster of grape, Death can be sung in a soulful voice. And death is behind the striking beauty of the butterflies, Death is picking mint in the garden just close-by, Death may be drinking vodka in a bar two blocks away your house, And at time it is sitting staring at us with frowning eyes. And we fill our lungs with his grey breath. And I would not close the door on the face of fate If I hear a strange noise from behind the blinds. Let’s pull the shades away, And expose the sense to the invasion of breeze, light and air, And set the wits free to sit wherever it wants, And allow the instincts to play, even barefoot, along the swift course of seasons, along the route, And permit the solitude to sing its song, to write it tale, to wander pointlessly around. Oh…let’s be just simple, Let’s be simple in the bank and in the park. We may not get to unearth the mystery of the rose, I suspect we can… But we may always stream into the charm of rose. Let’s at least camp within the consciousness of sense And wash our hands in the green truth of leaves And walk towards the certainty of stones. And then, Let’s every sunrise repaint the picture of rebirth And let’s only watch the flight of mind, over the perception of space, of time, of colour, of sound and of wide open windows. And let’s invite the sky to sit in the blank space between our words, and then let’s breathe the air of eternity, and swim in the wisdom of birds, in the heart of desert and its serenity. Let’s sometimes forget about the terms, forget about the words and still call the clouds, call the willows and the pines and summer and fall with their name. Let’s just see And follows the moist Footsteps of Water to the roots of love. And perhaps we are only meant to within the white lilies of snow and the flaming red of the years run after the verse of the truth. By: Sohrab Sepehri, Summer 1964, Kashan, Iran. Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, Winter 2008, Montréal, Canada. * Kashan: The birthplace of the poet, a city in Iran. * Tar: An instrument in Iranian traditional music. * Silak: An archeological site in Iran. * Khaibar: A place in Saudi Arabia, famous for Mohammed’s battle in it. اهل كاشانم روزگارم بد نيست تكه ناني دارم ، خرده هوشي ، سر سوزن ذوقي . مادري دارم ، بهتر از برگ درخت . دوستاني ، بهتر از آب روان . ***** و خدايي كه در اين نزديكي است : لاي اين شب بوها ، پاي آن كاج بلند. روي آگاهي آب ، روي قانون گياه . ***** من مسلمانم . قبله ام يك گل سرخ . جانمازم چشمه ، مهرم نور . دشت سجاده من . من وضو با تپش پنجره ها مي گيرم در نمازم جريان دارد ماه ، جريان دارد طيف . سنگ از پشت نمازم پيداست : همه ذرات نمازم متبلور شده است . من نمازم را وقتي مي خوانم كه اذانش را باد ، گفته باشد سر گلدسته سرو من نمازم را ، پي (( تكبيرة الاحرام )) علف مي خوانم پي (( قد قامت )) موج . ***** كعبه ام بر لب آب كعبه ام زير اقاقي هاست . كعبه ام مثل نسيم ، مي رود باغ به باغ ، مي رود شهربه شهر (( حجر الاسود )) من روشني باغچه است . ***** اهل كاشانم پيشه ام نقاشي است گاه گاهي قفسي مي سازم با رنگ ، مي فروشم به شما تا به آواز شقايق كه در آن زنداني است دل تنهايي تان تازه شود . چه خيالي ، چه خيالي ، ... مي دانم پرده ام بي جان است . خوب مي دانم ، حوض نقاشي من بي ماهي است . ***** اهل كاشانم . نسبم شايد برسد . به گياهي در هند ، به سفالينه اي از خاك (( سيلك )). نسبم شايد ، به زني فاحشه در شهر بخارا برسد . ***** پدرم پشت دوبار آمدن چلچله ها ، پشت دو برف ، پدرم پشت دو خوابيدن در مهتابي ، پدرم پشت زمان ها مرده است . پدرم وقتي مرد ، آسمان آبي بود ، مادرم بي خبر از خواب پريد ، خواهرم زيبا شد . پدرم وقتي مرد ، پاسبان ها همه شاعر بودند . مرد بقال ازمن پرسيد: چند من خربزه مي خواهي ؟ من ازاو پرسيدم : دل خوش سيري چند ؟ ***** پدرم نقاشي مي كرد . تار هم مي ساخت ، تار هم مي زد . خط خوبي هم داشت . ***** باغ ما در طرف سايه دانايي بود . باغ ما جاي گره خوردن احساس و گياه ، باغ ما نقطه برخورد نگاه و قفس آينه بود . باغ ما شايد ، قوسي از دايره سبز سعادت بود . ميوه كال خدا را آن روز ، مي جويم در خواب . آب بي فلسفه مي خوردم . توت بي دانش مي چيدم . تا اناري تركي بر مي داشت . دست فواره خواهش مي شد . تا چلويي مي خواند ، سينه از ذوق شنيدن مي سوخت . گاه تنهايي ، صورتش را به پس پنجره مي چسبانيد . ***** شوق مي آمد ، دست در گردن حس مي انداخت . فكر ، بازي مي كرد زندگي چيزي بود . مثل يك بارش عيد ، يك چنار پر سار . زندگي در آن وقت ، صفي از نور و عروسك بود . يك بغل آزادي بود . زندگي در آن وقت ، حوض موسيقي بود . ***** طفل پاورچين پاورچين ، دور شد كم كم در كوچه سنجاقكها بار خود را بستم ، رفتم از شهر خيالات سبك بيرون دلم از غربت سنجاقك پر ***** من به مهماني دنيا رفتم من به دشت اندوه من به باغ عرفان من به ايوان چراغاني دانش رفتم رفتم از پله مذهب بالا . تا ته كوچه شك ، تا هواي خنك استغنا ، تا شب خيس محبت رفتم . من به ديدار كسي رفتم در آن سر عشق . رفتم . رفتم تا زن ، تا چراغ لذت ، تا سكوت خواهش ، تا صداي پر تنهايي . ***** چيزها ديدم در روي زمين : كودكي ديدم . ماه را بو مي كرد . قفسي بي در ديدم كه در آن ، روشني پرپر مي زد . نردباني كه از آن ، عشق مي رفت به بام ملكوت . من زني را ديدم ، نور در هاون مي كوبيد . ظهر در سفره آنان نان بود ، سبزي دور شبنم بود ، كاسه داغ محبت بود . من گدايي ديدم ، در به درمي رفت آواز چكاوك مي خواست و سپوري كه به يك پوسته خربزه مي برد نماز ***** بره اي را ديدم ، بادبادك مي خورد من الاغي ديدم ، يونجه را مي فهميد در چرا گاه (( نصيحت )) گاوي ديدم سبز شاعري ديدم هنگام خطاب ، به گل سوسن مي گفت : (( شما )) ***** من كتابي ديدم ، واژه هايش همه از جنس بلور كاغذي ديدم ، از جنس بهار . موزه اي ديدم ، دور از سبزه مسجدي دور از آب سر بالين فقيهي نوميد ، كوزه اي ديدم لبريز سئوال ***** قاطري ديدم بارش (( انشاء )) اشتري ديدم بارش سبد خالي (( پند و امثال )) . عارفي ديدم بارش (( تنناها ياهو )) ***** من قطاري ديدم ، روشنايي مي برد . من قطاري ديدم ، فقه مي برد و چه سنگين مي رفت . من قطاري ديدم .كه سياست مي برد ( و چه خالي مي رفت . ) من قطاري ديدم ، تخم نيلوفر و آواز قناري مي برد . و هواپيمايي ، كه در آن اوج هزاران پايي خاك از شيشه آن پيدا بود : كاكل پوپك ، خالهاي پر پروانه ، عكس غوكي در حوض و عبور مگس از كوچه تنهايي . خواهش روشن يك گنجشك ،وقتي از روي چناري به زمين مي آيد . و بلوغ خورشيد . و هم آغوشي زيباي عروسك با صبح . ***** پله هايي كه به گلخانه شهوت مي رفت . پله هايي كه به سردابه الكل مي رفت . پله هايي كه به بام اشراق پله هايي به سكوي تجلي مي رفت ***** مادرم آن پائين استكانها را در خاطره شط مي شست ***** شهر پيدا بود رويش هندسي سيمان ، آهن ، سنگ سقف بي كفتر صدها اتوبوس گل فروشي گلهايش را مي كرد حراج در ميان دو درخت گل ياس ، شاعري تابي بست كودكي هسته زرد الويي روي سجاده بيرنگ پدر تف مي كرد و بزي از (( خزر )) نقشه جغرافي آب مي خورد ***** بند رختي پيدا بود : سينه بندي بي تاب چرخ يك گاريچي در حسرت واماندن اسب اسب در حسرت خوابيدن گاريچي مرد گاريچي در حسرت مرگ ***** جشن پيدا بود ، موج پيدا بود برف پيدا بود دوستي پيدابود كلمه پيدا بود آب پيدا بود ، عكس اشيا در آب سايه گاه خنك ياخته ها در تف خون سمت مرطوب حياط شرق اندوه نهاد بشري فصل ول گردي در كوچه زن بوي تنهايي در كوچه فصل . دست تابستان يك بادبزن پيدا بود . ***** سفر دانه به گل . سفر پيچك اين خانه به آن خانه . سفر ماه به حوض . فوران گل حسرت از خاك . ريزش تاك جوان از ديوار . بارش شبنم روي پل خواب . پرش شادي از خندق مرگ . گذر حادثــه از پشت كلام . ***** جنگ يك روزنه با خواهش نور . جنگ يك پله با پاي بلند خورشيد . جنگ تنهايي با يك آواز . جنگ زيباي گلابي ها با خالي يك زنبيل . جنگ خونين انار و دندان . جنگ (( نازي )) ها با ساقه ناز . جنگ طوطي و فصاحت با هم . جنگ پيشاني با سردي مهر . ***** حمله كاشي مسجد به سجود . حمله باد به معراج حباب صابون . حمله لشگر پروانه به بنامه (( دفع آفات )) . حمله دسته سنجاقك ، به صف كارگر (( لوله كشي )) . حمله هنگ سياه قلم ني به حروف سربي . حمله واژه به فك شاعر . ***** فتح يك قرن به دست يك شعر . فتح يك باغ به دست يك سار . فتح يك كوچه به دست دو سلام . فتح يك شهر به دست سه چهار اسب سوار چوبي . فتح يك عيد به دست دو عروسگ ، يك توپ ***** قتل يك جغجغه روي تشك بعد از ظهر قتل يك قصه سر كوچه خواب قتل يك غصه به دستور سرود قتل مهتاب به فرمان نئون قتل يك بيد به دست (( دولت )) قتل يك شاعر افسرده به دست گل سرخ همه روي زمين پيدا بود نظم در كوچه يونان مي رفت جغد در (( باغ معلق )) مي خواند باد در گردنه خيبر ، بافه اي از خس تاريخ به خاور مي راند روي درياچه آرام (( نگين )) قايقي گل مي برد در بنارس سر هر كوچه چراغي ابدي روشن بود ***** مردمان را ديدم شهرها را ديدم دشت ها را ، كوهها را ديدم آب را ديدم ، خاك را ديدم نورو ظلمت را ديدم و گياهان را در نور ، و گياهان را د رظلمت ديدم جانورها را در نور ، جانور ها را در ظلمت ديدم و بشر را در نور ، و بشر را در ظلمت ديدم ***** اهل كاشانم اما شهر من كاشان نيست . شهر من گم شده است . من با تاب ، من با تب خانه اي در طرف ديگر شب ساخته ام . ***** من در اين خانه به گم نامي نمناك علف نزديكم . من صداي نفس باغچه را مي شنوم و صداي ظلمت را ، وقتي از برگي مي ريزد . و صداي ، سرفه روشني از پشت درخت ، عطسه آب از هر رخنه سنگ ، چكچك چلچله از سقف بهار. و صداي صاف ، باز و بسته شدن پنجره تنهايي . و صداي پاك ، پوست انداختن مبهم عشق، متراكم شدن ذوق پريدن در بال و ترك خوردن خودداري روح . من صداي قدم خواهش را مي شنوم و صداي ، پاي قانوني خون را در رگ . ضربان سحر چاه كبوترها ، تپش قلب شب آدينه ، جريان گل ميخك در فكر شيهه پاك حقيقت از دور . من صداي كفش ايمان را در كوچه شوق و صداي باران را ، روي پلك تر عشق روي موسيقي غمناك بلوغ روي آواز انار ستان ها و صداي متلاشي شدن شيشه شادي در شب پاره پاره شدن كاغذ زيبايي پرو خالي شدن كاسه غربت از باد ***** من به آغاز زمين نزديكم نبض گل ها را مي گيرم آشنا هستم با ، سرنوشت تر آب ، عادت سبز درخت ***** روح من در جهت تازه اشياء جاري است . روح من كم سال است . روح من گاهي از شوق ، سرفه اش ميگيرد . روح من بيكار است : قطره هاي باران را ، درز آجرها را ، مي شمارد . روح من گاهي ، مثل يك سنگ سر راه حقيقت دارد ***** من نديدم دو صنوبر را با هم دشمن . من نديدم بيدي ، سايه اش را بفروشد به زمين . رايگان مي بخشد ، نارون شاخه خود را به كلاغ . هر كجا برگي هست ، شوق من مي شكفد . بوته خشخاشي ، شست و شو داده مرا در سيلان بودن . ***** مثل بال حشره وزن سحر را مي دانم . مثل يك گلدان ، مي دهم گوش به موسيقي روييدن . مثل زنبيل پر از ميوه تب تند رسيدن دارم . مثل يك ميكده در مرز كسالت هستم . مثل يك ساختمان لب دريا نگرانم به كشش هاي بلند ابري تابخواهي خورشيد ، تا بخواهي پيوند ، تا بخواهي تكثير ***** من به سيبي خشنودم و به بوئيدن يك بوته بابونه . من به يك آينه ، يك بستگي پاك قناعت دارم . من نمي خندم اگر بادكنك مي تركد . و نمي خندم اگر فلسفه اي ، ماه را نصف كند . من صداي پر بلدرچين را ، مي شناسم ، رنگ هاي شكم هوبره را ، اثر پاي بز كوهي را . خوب مي دانم ريواس كجا مي رويد . سار كي مي آيد ، كبك كي مي خواند ، باز كي مي ميرد . ماه در خواب بيابان چيست ، مرگ در ساقه خواهش و تمشك لذت ، زير دندان هم آغوشي. ***** زندگي رسم خوشايندي است . زندگي بال و پري دارد با وسعت مرگ ، پرشي دارد اندازه عشق . زندگي چيزي نيست ، كه لب طاقچه عادت از ياد من و تو برود. زندگي جذبه دستي است كه مي چيند . زندگي نوبر انجير سياه ، در دهان گس تابستان است . زندگي ، بعد درخت است به چشم حشره . زندگي تجربه شب پره در تاريكي است . زندگي حس غريبي است كه يك مرغ مهاجر دارد. زندگي سوت قطاري است كه در خواب پلي مي پيچد. زندگي ديدن يك باغچه از شيشه مسدود هواپيماست . خبر رفتن موشك به فضا ، لمس تنهايي (( ماه )) ، فكر بوييدن گل در كره اي ديگر . ***** زندگي شستن يك بشقاب است . زندگي يافتن سكه دهشاهي در جوي خيابان است . زندگي (( مجذور )) آينه است . زندگي گل به (( توان )) ابديت ، زندگي (( ضرب )) زمين د رضربان دل ها، زندگي (( هندسه )) ساده و يكسان نفس هاست . ***** هر كجا هستم ، باشم ، آسمان مال من است . پنجره ، فكر ، هوا ، عشق ، زمين مال من است . چه اهميت دارد گاه اگر مي رويند قارچ هاي غربت ؟ ***** من نمي دانم كه چرا مي گويند : اسب حيوان نجيبي است ، كبوتر زيباست . و چرا در قفس هيچكسي كركس نيست گل شبدر چه كم از لاله قرمز دارد. چشم ها را بايد شست ، جور ديگر بايد ديد واژه را بايد شست . واژه بايد خود باد ، واژه بايد خود باران باشد چتر را بايد بست ، زير باران بايد رفت . فكر را ، خاطره را ، زير باران بايد برد . با همه مردم شهر ، زير باران بايد رفت . دوست را ، زير باران بايد جست . زير باران بايد با زن خوابيد . زير باران بايد بازي كرد . زير باران بايد چيز نوشت ، حرف زد . نيلوفر كاشت ، زندگي تر شدن پي درپي، زندگي آب تني كردن در حوضچه (( اكنون )) است . ***** رخت ها را بكنيم : آب در يك قدمي است روشني را بچشيم . شب يك دهكده را وزن كنيم . خواب يك آهو را . گرمي لانه لك لك را ادراك كنيم . روي قانون چمن پا نگذاريم در موستان گره ذايقه را باز كنيم . و دهان را بگشائيم اگر ماه در آمد . و نگوئيم كه شب چيز بدي است . و نگوئيم كه شب تاب ندارد خبر از بينش باغ . و بيارايم سبد ببريم اينهمه سرخ ، اين همه سبز . ***** صبح ها نان و پنيرك بخوريم و بكاريم نهالي سر هرپيچ كلام . و بپاشيم ميان دو هجا تخم سكوت . و نخوانيم كتابي كه در آن باد نمي آيد و كتابي كه در آن پوست شبنم تر نيست و كتابي كه در آن ياخته ها بي بعدند . و نخواهيم مگس از سر انگشت طبيعت بپرد . و نخواهيم پلنگ از در خلقت برود بيرون . و بدانيم اگر كرم نبود ، زندگي چيزي كم داشت . و اگر خنج نبود، لطمه مي خورد به قانون درخت . و اگر مرك نبود ، دست ما در پي چيزي مي گشت . و بدانيم اگر نور نبود ، منطق زنده پرواز دگرگون مي شد . و بدانيم كه پيش از مرجان ، خلائي بود در انديشه درياها و نپرسيم كجاييم ، بو كنيم اطلسي تازه بيمارستان را . و نپرسيم كه فواره اقبال كجاست . و نپرسيم كه پدرها ي پدرها چه نسيمي . چه شبي داشته اند . پشت سرنيست فضايي زنده . پشت سر مرغ نمي خواند . پشت سر باد نمي آيد . پشت سرپنجره سبز صنوبر بسته است . پشت سرروي همه فرفره ها خاك نشسته است . پشت سرخستگي تاريخ است . پشت سرخاطره موج به ساحل صدف سرد سكون مي ريزد . ***** لب دريا برويم ، تور در آب بيندازيم و بگيريم طراوت از آب . ريگي از روي زمين برداريم وزن بودن را احساس كنيم ***** بد نگوئيم به مهتاب اگر تب داريم ( ديده ام گاهي در تب ، ماه مي آيد پايين ، مي رسد دست به سقف ملكوت . ديده ام ، سهره بهتر مي خواند . گاه زخمي كه به پا داشته ام زير و بم هاي زمين را به من آموخته است . گاه در بستر بيماري من ، حجم گل چند برابرشده است . و فزون تر شده است ، قطر نارنج ، شعاع فانوس . ) و نترسيم از مرگ مرگ پايان كبوتر نيست . مرگ وارونه يك زنجره نيست . مرگ در ذهن اقاقي جاري است . مرگ در آب و هواي خوش انديشه نشيمن دارد . مرگ در ذات شب دهكده از صبح سخن مي گويد . مرگ با خوشه انگور مي آيد به دهان . مرگ در حنجره سرخ ـ گلو مي خواند . مرگ مسئول قشنگي پر شاپرك است . مرگ گاهي ريحان مي چيند . مرگ گاهي ودكا مي نوشد . گاه در سايه نشسته است به ما مي نگرد . و همه مي دانيم ريه هاي لذت ، پر از اكسيژن مرگ است . ) در نبنديم به روي سخن زنده تقدير كه از پشت چپرهاي صدا مي شنويم . ***** پرده را برداريم : بگذاريم كه احساس هوايي بخورد . بگذاريم بلوغ ، زير هر بوته كه مي خواهد بيتوته كند . بگذاريم غريزه پي بازي برود . كفش ها را بكند . و به دنبال فصول از سر گل ها بپرد . بگذاريم كه تنهايي آواز بخواند . چيز بنويسد و به خيابان برود . ساده باشيم . ساده باشيم چه در باجه يك بانك چه در زير درخت . ***** كار ما نيست شناسايي (( راز )) گل سرخ . كار ما شايد اين است كه در (( افسون )) گل سرخ شناور باشيم . پشت دانايي اردو بزنيم . دست در جذبه يك برگ بشوييم و سر خوان برويم . صبح ها وقتي خورشيد ، در مي آيد متولد بشويم . هيجان را پرواز دهيم . روي ادراك فضا ، رنگ ، صدا ، پنجره گل نم بزنيم . آسمان را بنشانيم ميان دو هجاي (( هستي )) . ريه را از ابديت پر و خالي بكنيم . بار دانش را از دوش پرستو به زمين بگذاريم . نام را باز ستانيم از ابر ، ازچنار ، از پشه ، از تابستان . روي پاي تر باران به بلندي محبت برويم . در به روي بشر و نور و گياه و حشره باز كنيم . ***** كار ما شايد اين است كه ميان گل نيلوفر و قرن پي آواز حقيقت بدويم .
Like a candle I shine, reflecting the light Turn my fortune so I can shed myself candle-like The promise of the morning breeze, of joining Thee day and night Burning, yellow, shaking, crying and humble, candle-like. Thy flowing hair, like scissors sheer my soul at its height In this fire of separation burn me no more, candle-like. Pearls overflowing from the sea of my eye, fill my bosom in delight My burning heart sent its flames blazing upward, candle-like. Solar flares set in the celestial lantern, sooth the sight Every morn dam my tears and shed no more, candle-like. Thy face is spring like, thy fire sorrows fight How long burn in this solstice of separation, candle-like? From the memory of thy light, every night flames take flight If only my heart fire would burn, my soul desire candle-like. How long burn thyself Shams-e Tabrizi, thy love beaming bright We know of nothing other than burning up, candle-like
How's Hassan's Cow? She doesn't have neither milk nor They took her milk to India. Marry a Kurdish Woman. Name her amghezy... Around her hat reddish. Aachin and Vaachin cross one of your legs
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream and not make dreams your master; If you can think and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same: If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Shakespeare: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she ever comes back, she's yours, If she doesn't, here's the poison, suicide yourself for her. شکسپير: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره اگه برگشت كه ماله توئه اگر برنگشت، سَم كه داري، خودتو بکش! Optimist: If you love someone, Set her free.... Don't worry, she will come back. خوشبين: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره.... نگران نباش، حتماً بر مي گرده Suspicious: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she ever comes back, ask her why. شکاک: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره.... اگه برگشت، ازش بپرس چرا Patient: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she doesn't come back, continue to wait until she comes back. صبور: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... اگه برنگشت، اونقدر صبر کن تا برگرده Playful: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she comes back, and if you love her still, Set her free again, Repeat خوشگذران: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... وقتي برگشت، اگه هنوز عاشقش هستي، دوباره ولش کن بره بعد دوباره اگه .... Animal-Rights Activist: If you love someone, Set her free… In fact, all living creatures deserve to be free!! فعال دفاع از حقوق حيوانات : اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... درواقع همه موجودات زنده حق دارن که آزاد باشن Lawyers: If you love someone, Set her free… Clause 1a of Paragraph 13a-1 in the second Amendment of the Matrimonial Freedom Act clearly states that.... وکلا: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... بند 1-a از پاراگراف 13a-1 بند الحاقي دوم از " قانون آزادي ازدواج" به طور صريح مي گويد که ... . Biologist: If you love someone, Set her free… She'll evolve. زيست شناس: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... حتما" تکامل پیدا میکنه ! Statisticians: If you love someone, Set her free … If she loves you, the probability of her coming back is high If she doesn't, the Weibull distribution and your relation were improbable anyway. آمارشناسان: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... اگه اونم عاشق تو باشه، احتمال بازگشتش زياده، اگر عاشق تو نباشه، به هر حال توزيع Weibull و رابطه شما غير محتمله! Salesman: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she ever comes back, deal! If she doesn't, so what! "NEXT". فروشنده: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... اگه برگشت، قرارداد ببند، اگه برنگشت، چه خوب، "بعدي!" Insurance agent: If you love someone, Show her the plan.... If she ever comes back, sign her up, If she doesn't, keep follow up with her and never give up! نماينده بيمه: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش برنامه رو نشون بده، اگه برگشت، ثبت نامش کن، اگه برنگشت، پي گيرش شو و هيچ وقت بي خيال نشو Physician: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she ever comes back, it's the law of gravity, If she doesn't, either there's friction higher than the force or the angle of collision between two objects did not synchronize at the right angle. فيزيکدان: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... اگه برگشت، اين قانون جاذبه است اگه برنگشت، يا مقدار اصطکاک بيشتر از نيروي جاذبه است، يا زاويه برخورد بين دو جسم در زاويه مناسب تنظيم نشده. Mathematician: If you love someone, Set her free.... If she ever comes back, 1 + 1 = 2 (peanut!), If she doesn't, Y=2X-log (0.46Y^2+(cos( 52/34X))x 5Y^(- 0.5)c) where c is the infinite constant of no turning point. رياضيدان: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... اگه برگشت که 1+1 = 2 (خيلي ساده اس) اگه بر نگشت، Y=2X-log (0.46Y^2+(cos( 52/34X))x 5Y^(- 0.5)c) که c مقدار ثابت زمان بي نهايت بازگشته. Nowadays' style: If You Love Someone, Set it free … If It Comes Back, It is yours If It Doesn't, Hunt it down and Kill it...!!! OR PERHAPS REPORT TO IMMIGRATION THAT SHE/HE IS AN ILLEGAL مدل امروزي: اگه عاشق كسي شدي، بهش نچسب، بزار بره... اگه برگشت، كه مال توئه! اگه برنگشت پيداش کن و بکشش!! يا به اداره مهاجرت خبر بده که اون مهاجر غير قانونيه If you love someone WHY IN THE FIRST PLACE SET HER FREE??? CARELESS IDIOT!!! اگه عاشقه كسي شدي، براي چي اصلاً ولش مي کني بره ، خنگ خدا!
You think that I can't live without your love You'll see, You think I can't go on another day. You think I have nothing Without you by my side, You'll see Somehow, some way You think that I can never laugh again You'll see, You think that you destroyed my faith in love. You think after all you've done I'll never find my way back home, You'll see Somehow, someday All by myself I don't need anyone at all I know I'll survive I know I'll stay alive, All on my own I don't need anyone this time It will be mine No one can take it from me You'll see You think that you are strong, but you are weak You'll see, It takes more strength to cry, admit defeat. I have truth on my side, You only have deceit You'll see, somehow, someday All by myself I don't need anyone at all I know I'll survive I know I'll stay alive, I'll stand on my own I won't need anyone this time It will be mine No one can take it from me You'll see You'll see, you'll see You'll see, mmmm, mmmm تو فکر میکنی که من نمیتوانم بدون عشقت زنده بمانم خواهی دید (به معنای به همین خیال باش!) فکر میکنی نمیتوانم یک روز دیگر را هم بگذرانم فکر میکنی من بدون تو درکنارم، هیچ چیزی ندارم بالاخره زمانی، به گونه ای خواهی دید فکر میکنی من بدون تو دیگر نخواهم خندید خواهی دید فکر میکنی ایمان من به عشق را از بین بردی فکر میکنی بعد از همه کارهایی که انجام دادی من هرگز نخواهم توانست راه برگشت به خانه را پیدا کنم بالاخره زمانی، به گونه ای خواهی دید من، به نوبه خودم اصلا به هیچ کس نیاز ندارم میدانم زندگی خواهم کرد میدانم زنده خواهم ماند در حالیکه همه چیز به عهده خودم است، این بار به هیچ کس نیاز ندارم زندگی ام مال خودم خواهد بود و هیچ کس نخواهد توانست آنرا از من بگیرد خواهی دید فکر میکنی قوی هستی، ولی ضعیف هستی خواهی دید گریه کردن با شکستی رضایت بخش، به نیروی بیشتری نیاز دارد من حقیقت را در کنارم دارم، در حالیکه تو فقط حیله و فریب را داری بالاخره زمانی، به گونه ای خواهی دید
its a little too long, but I LOVE IT and I cry every time I read this... [FONT="]ONE OF THE BEST STORIES I'VE EVER HEARD![/FONT] As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big 'F' at the top of his papers. At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise. Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, 'Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around..' His second grade teacher wrote, 'Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.' His third grade teacher wrote, 'His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken.' Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, 'Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class.' By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself.. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume.. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, 'Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.' After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her 'teacher's pets..' A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life. Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck w ith it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honours. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life. Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD. The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together. They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, 'Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.' Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back.. She said, 'Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you.' (For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr at Iowa Methodist in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.) Warm someone's heart today. . . pass this along. I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? tomorrow? just 'do it'. Random acts of kindness, I think they call it! 'Believe in Angels, then return the favor
Hear the wind sing a sad old song it knows I'm leaving you today Please don't cry or my heart will break when I go on my way. Goodbye my love goodbye goodbye and au revoir. As long as you remember me I'll never be too far. Goodbye my love goodbye I always will be true. So hold me in your dreams till I come back to you. See the stars in the skies above they'll shine wherever I may roam. I will pray every lonely night that soon they'll guide me home Goodbye my love goodbye goodbye and au revoir. As long as you remember me I'll never be too far. Goodbye my love goodbye I always will be true. So hold me in your dreams till I come back to you. Goodbye my love goodbye goodbye and au revoir. As long as you remember me I'll never be too far. Goodbye my Love goodbye I always will be true. So hold me in your dreams Till I come back to you
كــوچـــه بي تو، مهتابشبي، باز از آن كوچه گذشتم، همه تن چشم شدم، خيره به دنبال تو گشتم، شوق ديدار تو لبريز شد از جام وجودم، شدم آن عاشق ديوانه كه بودم. در نهانخانة جانم، گل ياد تو، درخشيد باغ صد خاطره خنديد، عطر صد خاطره پيچيد: يادم آم كه شبي باهم از آن كوچه گذشتيم پر گشوديم و در آن خلوت دلخواسته گشتيم ساعتي بر لب آن جوي نشستيم. تو، همه راز جهان ريخته در چشم سياهت. من همه، محو تماشاي نگاهت. آسمان صاف و شب آرام بخت خندان و زمان رام خوشة ماه فروريخته در آب شاخهها دست برآورده به مهتاب شب و صحرا و گل و سنگ همه دل داده به آواز شباهنگ يادم آيد، تو به من گفتي: - ” از اين عشق حذر كن ! لحظهاي چند بر اين آب نظر كن، آب، آيينة عشق گذران است، تو كه امروز نگاهت به نگاهي نگران است، باش فردا، كه دلت با دگران است ! تا فراموش كني، چندي از اين شهر سفر كن ! با تو گفتم:” حذر از عشق ! ؟ - ندانم سفر از پيش تو؟ هرگز نتوانم، نتوانم ! روز اول، كه دل من به تمناي تو پر زد، چون كبوتر، لب بام تو نشستم تو به من سنگ زدي، من نه رميدم، نه گسستم ...“ باز گفتم كه : ” تو صيادي و من آهوي دشتم تا به دام تو درافتم همه جا گشتم و گشتم حذر از عشق ندانم، نتوانم ! “ اشكي از شاخه فرو ريخت مرغ شب، نالة تلخي زد و بگريخت ... اشك در چشم تو لرزيد، ماه بر عشق تو خنديد ! يادم آيد كه : دگر از تو جوابي نشنيدم پاي در دامن اندوه كشيدم. نگسستم، نرميدم. رفت در ظلمت غم، آن شب و شبهاي دگر هم، نه گرفتي دگر از عاشق آزرده خبر هم، نه كني ديگر از آن كوچه گذر هم ... بي تو، اما، به چه حالي من از آن كوچه گذشتم ALLEY Without you , Mhtabshby again I passed the alley , All I got tons of eyes , staring searched for you , I was overflowing joy of meeting my cup , I love it that I was crazy . In Nhankhanh soul , you mentioned goals , shine Garden hundred memories smiled , Perfume hundred memories complex : I remember one night together 've Passing through the streets Gshvdym and filled the crowded Dlkhvasth Gshtym Hourly weather sat on the lip . You poured all the secrets of the world in the eye Syaht . I all , watching your eyes . Serene and calm night Fortune smiling and time -ROM Cluster month collapsed in the water Branches to meet the moon Night and the desert and mud and rock Del given all the singing nightingale I remember you said to me : - " Beware of thy love ! Instantaneous few make this water , Water Yynh passing love is You look at the way you look at today is concerned , Be tomorrow , that your heart is with Dgran ! To forget , some of these make a trip ! I told you : " Beware of love ! - I do not know Before you travel ? I can not ever , I can not ! The first day , I request that my heart did fill , Because the pigeon , I sat down the roof edge You gave me the rock , I'm not Rmydm not Gsstm ... " I open that : " You and me fishing deer Dshtm Draftm hooked up to seek and searched everywhere Beware of love do not know , I can not ! " Lacrimal branch Collapsed Hen night , and ran Bgrykht Nalh bitterness ... Shaking with tears in my eyes , Love the moon laughs ! I remember that : other than I heard not answer Skirts painted in foot grief . Ngsstm , Nrmydm . Sadness was in darkness , that night and other nights too , Not touched the other 's hurt from love , No longer the street you pass time ... Without you , but , what I have while I passed the alley !
اشعار مولانا” به زبان انگلیسی+ترجمه Hail Love, hail Love, because Love is divine It is tender, it is beautiful and benign What passion, what passion, we are burning like the sun It is hidden and obscure, it is an obvious sign. We’ve fallen, we’ve fallen, it is hard to rise up We know not, we know not, this complex chaotic design. زهی عشق، زهی عشق که ما راست خدایا چه نغز است و چه خوب است و چه زیباست خدایا چه گرمیم، چه گرمیم از این عشق چو خورشید چه پنهان و چه پنهان و چه پیداست خدایا فتادیم، فتادیم بدان سان که نخیزیم ندانیم، ندانیم چه غوغاست خدایا ********* Each breath is a song of love From left and right, pass us by We’ll return to the world above Such fate no-one can defy. We have come from the skies Befriended angels in heaven To the same place we will rise To that city past skies seven. We are above the skies And angels we transcend Why should we compromise? The House of Songs is our end. With good fortune may we live Fate is contradictory, Gladly our lives may we give Worldly pride victory. هر نفس آواز عشق میرسد از چپ و راست ما به فلک میرویم عزم تماشا که راست ما به فلک بودهایم یار ملک بودهایم باز همان جا رویم جمله که آن شهر ماست خود ز فلک برتریم وز ملک افزونتریم زین دو چرا نگذریم منزل ما کبریاست گوهر پاک از کجا عالم خاک از کجا بر چه فرود آمدیت بار کنید این چه جاست ******* Go to sleep Leave me alone At nights I leap Up, on my own. With waves of desire Day and night, all alone Compassion inspire Else vengeful fits are thrown. From me run away Afflictions I’ve sown For wholeness must pray Else hardships are grown. رو سر بنه ببــــالین تنهــــا مـــرا رهـــا کـــــن ترک من خـــــراب شبگرد مبتـــــــــلا کــــــن مایم و مــــوج ســودا شب تــــا بروز تنـــهــــا خـــــواهی بیا ببخشاء خـــواهــی برو جفا کــن از من گـــریــز تـــا تو هـــم در بــــلا نیفتــــی بگزین ره سلامت تــــــرک ره بـــــلا کــــــــن ********* I need a lover and a friend All friendships you transcend And impotent I remain You are Noah and the Ark You are the light and the dark Behind the veil I remain You are passion and are rage You are the bird and the cage Lost in flight I remain You are the wine and the cup You are the ocean and the drop While afloat I remain یار مرا غار مرا عشق جگرخوار مرا یار تویی غار تویی خواجه نگهدار مرا نوح تویی روح تویی فاتح و مفتوح تویی سینه مشروح تویی بر در اسرار مرا نور تویی سور تویی دولت منصور تویی مرغ که طور تویی خسته به منقار مرا قطره تویی بحر تویی لطف تویی قهر تویی قند تویی زهر تویی بیش میازار مرا ******* Upon which path did I tread So I return, all else I dread; From Beloved being apart In the creed of Love is being misled. If I find another in the whole town Ain’t but a sign pointing to the Beloved. I said this is no easy path In each step a thousand traps spread آن ره که من آمدم کدامست ای دل تا باز روم که کار خامست ای دل در هر گامی هزار دامست ای دل نامردان را عشق حرامست ای دل اندر همه شهر اگر کسی هست والله که اشارتی تمامست گفتم که مگر رهیست آسان در هر قدمی هزار دامست ******** Alas that beautiful beloved where hence? Alas that graceful Goddess where hence? In our midst like a candle brightly shone Where hence, alas, without us where hence? Like a shivering leaf my heart constantly moan Beloved left at midnight, where hence? عجب آن دلبر زیبا کجا شد عجب آن سرو خوش بالا کجا شد میان ما چو شمعی نور میداد کجا شد ای عجب بیما کجا شد دلم چون برگ میلرزد همه روز که دلبر نیم شب تنها کجا شد
