Lovin’ you is easy, ’cause you’re beautiful
Makin’ love with you is all I wanna do
Lovin’ you is more than just a dream come true
And everything that I do is out of lovin’ you
No one else can make me feel the colors that you bring
Stay with me while we grow old, and we will live each day in springtime
‘Cause lovin’ you has made my life so beautiful
And every day of my life is filled with lovin’ you
Lovin’ you, I see your soul come shinin’ through
And every time that we-, ooh, I’m more in love with you
No one else can make me feel the colors that you bring
Stay with me while we grow old, and we will live each day in springtime
‘Cause lovin’ you is easy, ’cause you’re beautiful
And every day of my life is filled with lovin’ you
Lovin’ you, I see your soul come shinin’ through
And every time that we-, ooh, I’m more in love with you
I Am So Drunk From Thy Love That I No Longer Know Myself,
I Am In Wonderment In This Drunkenness And Yet Remain Silent.
Being Away From Thee Is Not Possible, Nor Is Thy Embrace Full Of Love,
Yet Bewildered Am I From The Perfume Of Thy Black Hair.
Unveil Thy Face, O Saki, For My Soul Is In Quest.
Give A Gulp Of That Wine That Will Remove My Breath And Mind.
In This Monastery Full Of Affliction I Have Accepted Much Suffering
With This Thought—That One Day I Would Drink The Wine Of Gnosis.
In This World I Have Thee, I Have Thee Alone.
Union With Thee Is The Goal Of My Life; I Continue To Strive On This Path.
The Fervor For Meeting Thee Burns Within Me Like Fire,
I Continue To Burn In This Fire Though I Am Annihilated And Silent.
We have seen the turning of thy face to heaven. And now verily We shall turn you toward a qibla [direction of prayer] which is dear to thee. So turn thy face toward the Inviolable Place of Worship, and ye, wheresoever ye may be, turn your faces toward it. Lo! Those who have received the Scripture know that is the Truth from their Lord. And Allah is not unaware of what they do.
Qur’an 10:87
We revealed to Moses and his brother, “Appoint houses for your people in Egypt and make your houses a qibla [direction of prayer], and establish worship. And give good news to the believers.”
Qur’an 2:155
To god belong the East and West, and wheresoever you turn, there is the face of God.
“Do you think my qibla is only here [before me]? By God, your bowing and prostrating are not concealed from me; I can see you even though you are behind my back.”
-Hadith
Rumi
Since the qibla of the soul has been hidden
everyone has turned his face to a different corner
(Masnavi 5:328-337)
Original:
قبله‌ی جان را چو پنهان کرده‌اند
هر کسی رو جانبی آورده‌اند
The Kaaba of Gabriel and the celestial spirits is a Lote-tree;
the glutton’s qibla is a cloth laden with dishes of food.
The qibla of the Knower is the light of union with God;
the qibla of the philosopher’s mind is fantasy.
The qibla of the ascetic is God, the Gracious;
the qibla of the flatterer is a purse of gold.
The qibla of the spiritual is patience and long-suffering;
the qiblah of form-worshippers is an image of stone.
The qibla of those who live in the inward is the Bounteous One;
the qibla of those who worship the outward is a woman’s face.
(Masanvi 6, 1896–1900)
Original:
کعبه‌ی جبریل و جانها سدره‌ای ** قبله‌ی عبدالبطون شد سفره‌ای
قبله‌ی عارف بود نور وصال ** قبله‌ی عقل مفلسف شد خیال
قبله‌ی زاهد بود یزدان بر ** قبله‌ی مطمع بود همیان زر
قبله‌ی معنی‌وران صبر و درنگ ** قبله‌ی صورت‌پرستان نقش سنگ
قبله‌ی باطن‌نشینان ذوالمنن ** قبله‌ی ظاهرپرستان روی زن
By virtue of that Light the calf becomes a qibla of (Divine) grace;
without that Light the qibla becomes (a symbol of) infidelity and an idol.
The licence that comes from self-will is error;
the licence that comes from God is perfection.
In that quarter where the illimitable Light has shone,
infidelity has become faith and the Devil has attained unto Islam.
Original:
عجل با آن نور شد قبله‌ی کرم ** قبله بی آن نور شد کفر و صنم
کفر ایمان گشت و دیو اسلام یافت ** آن طرف کان نور بی‌اندازه تافت
(Masnavi 6: 2073)
Within the Ka‘ba the rule of the qibla does not exist:
what matter if the diver has no snow-shoes?
Do not seek guidance from the drunken:
why dost thou order those whose garments are rent in pieces to mend them?
The religion of Love is apart from all religions:
for lovers, the (only) religion and creed is—God.
Original:
در درون کعبه رسم قبله نیست ** چه غم ار غواص را پاچیله نیست
تو ز سر مستان قلاووزی مجو ** جامه چاکان را چه فرمایی رفو
تو ز سر مستان قلاووزی مجو ** جامه چاکان را چه فرمایی رفو
(Masnavi 6:1768-1770)
Since the Hand of God has made the Qibla manifest,
henceforth deem searching to be disallowed.
Hark, avert your face and head from searching,
now that the Destination and Dwelling-place has come into view.
If you forget this Qibla for one moment, you will become in thrall to every worthless qibla (object of desire).
When you show ingratitude to him that gives you discernment, the thought that recognises the Qibla will dart away from you.
Original:
قبله را چون کرد دست حق عیان ** پس تحری بعد ازین مردود دان
هین بگردان از تحری رو و سر ** که پدید آمد معاد و مستقر
ک زمان زین قبله گر ذاهل شوی ** سخره‌ی هر قبله‌ی باطل شوی
چون شوی تمییزده را ناسپاس ** بجهد از تو خطرت قبله‌شناس
Amīr Khusrow
Every sect has a faith, a Qibla to which they turn,
I have turned my face towards the crooked cap (of Nizamudin Aulia)
The whole world worships something or the other,
Some look for God in Mecca, while some go to Kashi (Banaras),
So why can’t I, Oh wise people, fall into my beloved’s feet?
Every sect has a faith, a Qibla.
Original:
هر قوم راست راهي، ديني و قبله گاهي
من قبله راست كرديم ،بر سمت كج كلاهي
…
Transliteration:
Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay,
Mun qibla raast kardam, bar samt kajkulaahay.
Sansaar har ko poojay, kul ko jagat sarahay,
Makkay mein koyi dhoondhay, Kaashi ko koi jaaye,
Guyyian main apnay pi kay payyan padun na kaahay.
Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay…
Mirza Ghālib
The one to whom I bow is beyond senses’ boundaries
The qiblah itself’s a pointer for those who can see
Original:
ہے پرے سرحدِ ادراک سے اپنا مسجود
قبلے کو اہلِ نظر قبلہ نما کہتے ہیں
Ibn ‘Arabi:
Contemplate the house: for sanctified hearts,
its lights shine openly
They look at it through God, without a veil,
and its august and sublime secret appears to them.
and famously:
My heart has become receptive to every form
A meadow for gazelles, and a cloister for the monks
A house for the idols, and the pilgrim’s Ka’aba
The tablets of the Torah, pages of the Qur’an
My religion is love’s own and wheresoever turn
Her caravan, that love is my religion and my faith
We have an example in Bishr, lover of Hind and her sister,
The perhaps most obvious poetic lines to cite are Rūmī's:
The qibla of the glutton, that is the table-cloth. The qibla for the gnostic: the light of union with God, … The qibla of those who worship the form: an image of stone …
Several of Rumi’s most musical ghazals begin with this refrain
Translation:
O Lovers, O lovers, the time has come to leave this world
In my soul’s ears resound the traveling drums from Heaven
Behold, the driver has risen and made ready the files of camels,
And begged us to acquit him of blame: why, O travelers, are you asleep ?
These sounds before and behind are the din of departure and of the camel-bells;
With each moment a soul and a spirit is setting off into the Void.
From these stars like inverted candles, from these blue awnings of the sky
There has come forth a wondrous people, that the mysteries may be revealed.
A heavy slumber fell upon thee from the circling spheres:
Alas for this life so light, beware of this slumber so heavy!
O soul, seek the Beloved, O friend, seek the Friend,
O watchman, be wakeful: it behooves not a watchman to sleep.
On every side is clamor and tumult, in every street are candles and torches,
For to-night the teeming world gives birth to the world everlasting.
Thou wert dust and art spirit, thou wert ignorant and art wise;
He who has led thee thus far will lead thee further also.
How pleasant are the pains he makes thee suffer while he gently draws thee to himself!
His flames are as water. Do not frown upon him.
To dwell in the soul is his task, to break vows of penitence is his task;
By his manifold artifice these atoms are trembling at their core.
O ridiculous puppet that leapest out of thy hole, as if to say, ‘I am the lord of the land,’
How long wilt thou leap? Abase thyself, or they will bend thee like a bow.
Thou didst sow the seed of deceit, thou didst indulge in derision,
Thou didst regard God as nothing: see now, O miscreant!
O ass, thou wert best with straw; thou art a caldron: thou wert best black;
Thou wert best at the bottom of a well, O disgrace of thy house and family!
In me there is Another by whom these eyes sparkle;
If water scalds, it is by fire; understand this.
I have no stone in my hand, I have no quarrel with anyone,
I deal harshly with none, because I am sweet as a garden of roses.
Mine eye, then, is from that source and from another universe;
Here a world and there a world: I am seated on the threshold.
On the threshold are they alone whose eloquence is mute;
It is enough to utter this intimation: say no more, draw back thy tongue.
(trans. R.A. Nicholson)
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان هنگام کوچ است از جهان
در گوش جانم می رسد طبل رحیل از آسمان
نک ساربان برخاسته قطارها آراسته
از ما حلالی خواسته چه خفته‌اید ای کاروان
این بانگ‌ها از پیش و پس بانگ رحیل است و جرس
هر لحظه‌ای نفس و نفس سر می کشد در لامکان
زین شمع‌های سرنگون زین پرده‌های نیلگون
خلقی عجب آید برون تا غیب‌ها گردد عیان
زین چرخ دولابی تو را آمد گران خوابی تو را
فریاد از این عمر سبک زنهار از این خواب گران
ای دل سوی دلدار شو ای یار سوی یار شو
ای پاسبان بیدار شو خفته نشاید پاسبان
هر سوی شمع و مشعله هر سوی بانگ و مشغله
کامشب جهان حامله زاید جهان جاودان
تو گل بدی و دل شدی جاهل بدی عاقل شدی
آن کو کشیدت این چنین آن سو کشاند کش کشان
اندر کشاکش‌های او نوش است ناخوش‌های او
آب است آتش‌های او بر وی مکن رو را گران
در جان نشستن کار او توبه شکستن کار او
از حیله بسیار او این ذره‌ها لرزان دلان
ای ریش خند رخنه جه یعنی منم سالار ده
تا کی جهی گردن بنه ور نی کشندت چون کمان
تخم دغل می کاشتی افسوس‌ها می داشتی
حق را عدم پنداشتی اکنون ببین ای قلتبان
ای خر به کاه اولیتری دیگی سیاه اولیتری
در قعر چاه اولیتری ای ننگ خانه و خاندان
در من کسی دیگر بود کاین خشم‌ها از وی جهد
گر آب سوزانی کند ز آتش بود این را بدان
در کف ندارم سنگ من با کس ندارم جنگ من
با کس نگیرم تنگ من زیرا خوشم چون گلستان
پس خشم من زان سر بود وز عالم دیگر بود
این سو جهان آن سو جهان بنشسته من بر آستان
بر آستان آن کس بود کو ناطق اخرس بود
این رمز گفتی بس بود دیگر مگو درکش زبان
“The time of meeting and union has come”
Translation:
O Lovers, O Lovers the time of union and meeting has come
A call came from heaven proclaiming
“Moon-faced beauties, come hither
The fiery wine has come, O demon of grief, go sit in a corner!
O death-pondering soul, you too go! O immortal Saqi, come now!
O drunk ones, O drunk ones, The enraptured whirling one has come
The chains of his locks have captured us and our heart’s yearning has captured him
O you on which the seven heavens are drunk
We are but a bead in your hands
O you from whose being ours is
A hundred greetings, welcome!
O sound of the reed with sweet stories
In your sound is the taste of sugar
From your sound comes the fragrance of faithfulness
night and day!
Begin again and tune those notes
Open those veils
for all good souls
O sun of our happy meeting
Be quiet, don’t tear the veil, drink the bowl of the silent
be a concealer (sattar), be a concealer (sattar), get used to God’s clemency
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان آمد گه وصل و لقا
از آسمان آمد ندا کای ماه رویان الصلا
ای سرخوشان ای سرخوشان آمد طرب دامن کشان
بگرفته ما زنجیر او بگرفته او دامان ما
آمد شراب آتشین ای دیو غم کنجی نشین
ای جان مرگ اندیش رو ای ساقی باقی درآ
ای هفت گردون مست تو ما مهره‌ای در دست تو
ای هست ما از هست تو در صد هزاران مرحبا
ای مطرب شیرین نفس هر لحظه می‌جنبان جرس
ای عیش زین نه بر فرس بر جان ما زن ای صبا
ای بانگ نای خوش سمر در بانگ تو طعم شکر
آید مرا شام و سحر از بانگ تو بوی وفا
بار دگر آغاز کن آن پرده‌ها را ساز کن
بر جمله خوبان ناز کن ای آفتاب خوش لقا
خاموش کن پرده مدر سغراق خاموشان بخور
ستار شو ستار شو خو گیر از حلم خدا
“I am an ancient lover”
This is a popular Afghan song attributed to Rumi, but I haven’t found it in a written collection, so it may be part of the oral tradition:
Translation:
O Lovers, O lovers, I am an ancient lover
O honest ones, O honest one, I am an ancient lover
At that time when the light of my love passed through the heavenly world
I myself was all there, I am an ancient lover
Adam was not, but I was; the world was not, but I was
Before all the worlds, I was, I am an ancient lover
I was with Noah in the ark, I was with Joseph in the well
In the fire with Abraham I was, I am an ancient lover.
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان من عاشق دیرینه ام
ای صادقان ای صادقان من عاشق دیرینه ام
این دم که نور عشق من از عالم علوی گذشت
آنجا همه خود من بودم ، من عاشق دیرینه ام
آدم نبود و من بودم ، عالم نبود و من بودم
پيش از همه عالم بودم ، من عاشق دیرینه ام
با نوح در كشتي بودم با يوسف اندر چاه بودم
در نار بودم با خليل من عاشق ديرينه ام
“O Lovers, I turn dust into gems”
Translation:
O Lovers, O Lovers, I turn dust into gems
O singers, O singers, I fill your drums with gold
“Oh thirsty souls! Oh thirsty souls! Today I am giving water to drink!
I will transform this dustbin into paradise, a celestial pool.”
“Oh helpless men! Oh helpless men! Relief has come! Relief has come! I turn everyone with a wounded and aching heart into a sultan, a Sanjar.
“Oh helpless men! Oh helpless men! Relief has come! Relief has come! I turn everyone with a wounded and aching heart into a sultan, a Sanjar.
Oh elixir! Oh elixir! Look at me, for I transmute a hundred monasteries into mosques, a hundred gallows into pulpits!
Oh unbelievers! Oh unbelievers! I unfasten your locks! For I am the absolute ruler: I make some people believers, others unbelievers!
Oh sir! Oh sir! You are wax in my hands! If you become a sword, I will make you a cup; if you become a cup, I will make you into a sword.
You were a sperm-drop and became blood, then you gained this harmonious formcome to me, oh son of Adam! I will make you even more beautiful.
I turn grief into joy and guide the lost, I make the wolf into Joseph and poison into sugar!
Oh sakis! Oh sakis! I have opened my mouth in order to marry every dry lip to the lip of the cup!
Oh rosegarden! Oh rosegarden! Borrow roses from my rosery! Then I will place your sweet herbs next to the lotus. Oh heaven! Oh heaven! You will become even more bewildered than the narcissus when I make dust into ambergris, thorns into jasmine.
“Oh Universal Intellect! Oh Universal Intellect! Whatever you say is true. You are the ruler, you are munificentlet me stop my speaking.”
Translation From: William Chittick’s Sufi Path of Love
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان من خاک را گوهر کنم
وی مطربان ای مطربان دف شما پرزر کنم
ای تشنگان ای تشنگان امروز سقایی کنم
وین خاکدان خشک را جنت کنم کوثر کنم
ای بی‌کسان ای بی‌کسان جاء الفرج جاء الفرج
هر خسته غمدیده را سلطان کنم سنجر کنم
ای کیمیا ای کیمیا در من نگر زیرا که من
صد دیر را مسجد کنم صد دار را منبر کنم
ای کافران ای کافران قفل شما را وا کنم
زیرا که مطلق حاکمم مؤمن کنم کافر کنم
ای بوالعلا ای بوالعلا مومی تو اندر کف ما
خنجر شوی ساغر کنم ساغر شوی خنجر کنم
تو نطفه بودی خون شدی وانگه چنین موزون شدی
سوی من آ ای آدمی تا زینت نیکوتر کنم
من غصه را شادی کنم گمراه را هادی کنم
من گرگ را یوسف کنم من زهر را شکر کنم
ای سردهان ای سردهان بگشاده‌ام زان سر دهان
تا هر دهان خشک را جفت لب ساغر کنم
ای گلستان ای گلستان از گلستانم گل ستان
آن دم که ریحان‌هات را من جفت نیلوفر کنم
ای آسمان ای آسمان حیرانتر از نرگس شوی
چون خاک را عنبر کنم چون خار را عبهر کنم
ای عقل کل ای عقل کل تو هر چه گفتی صادقی
حاکم تویی حاتم تویی من گفت و گو کمتر کن
Another one not found in the books,
“I am found”
Translation:
O Lovers, O Lovers, I am found, I am found!
From the face of that love I myself became enflamed with love, enflamed with love
The beloved says go and be disgraced in our love
I will be ashamed of asceticism, I will be disgraced, disgraced
My friend, if it becomes scary, I will put a belt around my waist
In infidelity, if I am sincere, I will be half-afraid, afraid
From the water of mercy, drops fall on me until I leave
How long will I be like that? I became the sea, the sea
The Saqi gives such wine, that from its dregs I am afflicted with pain
The taverns have all become wine, I’ve become wine
I am lost because for a while like a particle in his sun
Each particle of me became the sun, I am found, I am found.
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان پیدا شوم پیدا شوم
بر روی آن مهروی خود شیدا شوم شیدا شوم
معشوقه گر گوید برو در عشق ما رسوا شوی
من زهد را یکسو نهم رسوا شوم رسوا شوم
یارم اگر ترسا شود زنار بندم بر میان
در کفر اگر صادق نیم ترسا شوم ترسا شوم
زان آب رحمت قطره یی بر من فشان تا وا رهم
تا کی صدف باشم چنین؟ دریا شوم دریا شوم
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان پیدا شوم پیدا شوم
بر روی آن مه روی خود شیدا شوم شیدا شوم
معشوقه گر گوید برو در عشق ما رسوا شوی
من زهد را یکسو نهم رسوا شوم رسوا شوم
ساقی چنین می میدهد زان دُرد درد آلوده ام
میخانه ها را سر بسر صهبا شوم صهبا شوم
شد مدتی گم گشته ام چون ذره در خورشید او
هر ذره ام خورشید شد پیدا شوم پیدا شوم
“We’ve fallen into a whirlpool”
Translation:
O Lovers, O Lovers, today we and you have fallen into a whirlpool—who knows how to swim?
Though the world’s torrent should overflow and every wave become like a dromedary, why shall the waterfowl worry? It is the bird of the air that should be anxious.
Our faces are lighted up with gratitude, schooled as we are in wave and sea, inasmuch as ocean and flood are life-increasing to the fish.
Elder, hand us a towel; water, let us plunge into you; Moses son of ‘Imr ̄an, come, smite the water of the sea with your staff!
This wind concocts in every head a different passion; let my passion be for yonder cupbearer, and you may have all the rest!
Yesterday yon saki on the way snatched the caps of the drunkards; today he is giving yet more wine, preparing to strip us of our robes.
O envy of the Moon and of Jupiter, with us, yet hidden from sight like a peri, gently, gently you are drawing me on—will you not say whither?
Wherever you go, you are with me still, you who are my eyes and my brightness; if you will, draw me to drunkenness, if you will, transport me to annihilation.
Know that the world is like Mount Sinai, and we like Moses
are seekers; every moment an epiphany arrives and cleaves the mountain asunder.
One portion becomes green, one portion becomes narcissus- white; one portion becomes a pearl, one portion ruby and amber.
You who seek to behold Him, gaze upon this mountain chain of His. O mountain, what wind has blown upon you? We have become intoxicated with the echo.
O gardener, gardener, why have you come to grapple with us? If we have carried off your grapes, you have carried off our purse!
Translation from: Arberry, Mystical Poems of Rumi
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان امروز ماییم وشما
افتاده در غرقابه‌ای تا خود که داند آشنا
گر سیل عالم پر شود هر موج چون اشتر شود
مرغان آبی را چه غم تا غم خورد مرغ هوا
ما رخ ز شکر افروخته با موج و بحر آموخته
زان سان که ماهی را بود دریا و طوفان جان فزا
ای شیخ ما را فوطه ده وی آب ما را غوطه ده
ای موسی عمران بیا بر آب دریا زن عصا
این باد اندر هر سری سودای دیگر می‌پزد
سودای آن ساقی مرا باقی همه آن شما
دیروز مستان را به ره بربود آن ساقی کله
امروز می در میدهد تا برکند از ما قبا
ای رشک ماه و مشتری با ما و پنهان چون پری
خوش خوش کشانم می‌بری آخر نگویی تا کجا
هر جا روی تو با منی ای هر دو چشم و روشنی
خواهی سوی مستیم کش خواهی ببر سوی فنا
عالم چو کوه طور دان ما همچو موسی طالبان
هر دم تجلی می‌رسد برمی‌شکافد کوه را
یک پاره اخضر می‌شود یک پاره عبهر می‌شود
یک پاره گوهر می‌شود یک پاره لعل و کهربا
ای طالب دیدار او بنگر در این کهسار او
ای کُه چه باد خورده‌ای ما مست گشتیم از صدا
ای باغبان ای باغبان در ما چه درپیچیده‌ای
گر برده‌ایم انگور تو تو برده‌ای انبان ما
“Whoever sees his face”
Translation:
Lovers, lovers, whoever sees His face, his reason becomes distraught, his habit confounded.
He becomes a seeker of the Beloved, his shop is ruined, he runs headlong like water in his river.
He becomes in love like Majnun, head spinning like the sky; whoever is sick like this, his remedy is unobtainable.
The angels prostrate before him who became God’s dust, the Turk of heaven becomes the servant of him who has become His Hindu [slave].
His love places the aching heart on his hand and smells it; how did not that rejoice which has become His.
Many a breast He has wounded, many a sleep He has barred; that magical glance of His has bound the hand of the magicians.
Kings are all His beggars, beauties clippings of His [beauty], lions drop their tail on the earth before His street-dogs.
Glance once at heaven, at the fortress of the spiritual ones, so many lamps and torches on His towers and battlements.
The keeper of His fortress is Universal Reason, that king without drum and tabor; he alone climbs that fortress who no longer possesses his own ownness.
Moon, have you seen His face and stolen beauty from Him? Night, have you seen His hair? No, no, not one hair of Him.
This night wears black as a sign of mourning, like a black- robed widow whose husband has gone into the earth.
Night makes a pretense and imposture; secretly it makes merry, its eye closes no eye, its brow is set awry.
Night, I do not believe this lamenting of yours; you are running like a ball before the mallet of fate.
He who is struck by His mallet carries the ball of happiness, he runs headlong like the heart about His street.
Our cheeks are like saffron through love of His tulip bed, our heart is sunk like a comb in His hair.
Where is love’s back? Love is all face, back and face belong to this side, His side is only face.
He is free of form, His business is all form-fashioning. O heart, you will never transcend form because you are not single with Him.
The heart of every pure man knows the voice of the heart from the voice of clay; this is the roaring of a lion in the form of His deer.
What is woven by the hand of the One becomes revealed, becomes revealed from the workmanship of the weaver and his hand and shuttle.
O souls His shuttle, O our qibla His street, heaven is the sweeper of this street, this earth its mistress.
My heart is burning with envy for Him, my eyes have be- come His water bags: how should He be wet with tears, while the sea is up to His knees?
This love has become my guest, struck a blow against my soul; a hundred compassions and a hundred blessings to his hand and arm!
I flung away hand and foot and had done with searching; my searching is dead before His searching.
Often I said, “O heart, be silent to this heart’s passion”; my ha is useless when my heart hears His hu.
Translation from Arberry, Mystical Poems of Rumi
Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان آن کس که بیند روی او
شوریده گردد عقل او آشفته گردد خوی او
معشوق را جویان شود دکان او ویران شود
بر رو و سر پویان شود چون آب اندر جوی او
در عشق چون مجنون شود سرگشته چون گردون شود
آن کو چنین رنجور شد نایافت شد داروی او
جان ملک سجده کند آن را که حق را خاک شد
ترک فلک چاکر شود آن را که شد هندوی او
عشقش دل پردرد را بر کف نهد بو می‌کند
چون خوش نباشد آن دلی کو گشت دستنبوی او
بس سینه‌ها را خست او بس خواب‌ها را بست او
بسته‌ست دست جادوان آن غمزه جادوی او
شاهان همه مسکین او خوبان قراضه چین او
شیران زده دم بر زمین پیش سگان کوی او
بنگر یکی بر آسمان بر قلعه روحانیان
چندین چراغ و مشعله بر برج و بر باروی او
شد قلعه دارش عقل کل آن شاه بی‌طبل و دهل
بر قلعه آن کس بررود کو را نماند اوی او
ای ماه رویش دیده‌ای خوبی از او دزدیده‌ای
ای شب تو زلفش دیده‌ای نی نی و نی یک موی او
این شب سیه پوش است از آن کز تعزیه دارد نشان
چون بیوه‌ای جامه سیه در خاک رفته شوی او
شب فعل و دستان می‌کند او عیش پنهان می‌کند
نی چشم بندد چشم او کژ می‌نهد ابروی او
ای شب من این نوحه گری از تو ندارم باوری
چون پیش چوگان قدر هستی دوان چون گوی او
آن کس که این چوگان خورد گوی سعادت او برد
بی‌پا و بی‌سر می‌دود چون دل به گرد کوی او
ای روی ما چون زعفران از عشق لاله ستان او
ای دل فرورفته به سر چون شانه در گیسوی او
مر عشق را خود پشت کو سر تا به سر روی است او
این پشت و رو این سو بود جز رو نباشد سوی او
او هست از صورت بری کارش همه صورتگری
ای دل ز صورت نگذری زیرا نه‌ای یک توی او
داند دل هر پاک دل آواز دل ز آواز گل
غریدن شیر است این در صورت آهوی او
بافیده ی دست احد پیدا بود پیدا بود
از صنعت جولاهه‌ای وز دست وز ماکوی او
ای جان ما ماکوی او ، وی قبله ی ما کوی او
فراش این کو آسمان وین خاک کدبانوی او
سوزان دلم از رشک او گشته دو چشمم مشک او
کی ز آب چشم او تر شود ای بحر تا زانوی او
این عشق شد مهمان من زخمی بزد بر جان من
صد رحمت و صد آفرین بر دست و بر بازوی او
من دست و پا انداختم وز جست و جو پرداختم
ای مرده جست و جوی من در پیش جست و جوی او
من چند گفتم های دل خاموش از این سودای دل
سودش ندارد های من چون بشنود دل هوی او
“Enjoy every moment of life”
Original:
عیش‌هاتان نوش بادا هر زمان ای عاشقان
وز شما كان شكر باد این جهان ای عاشقان
نوش و جوش عاشقان تا عرش و تا كرسی رسید
برگذشت از عرش و فرش این كاروان ای عاشقان
از لب دریا چه گویم لب ندارد بحر جان
برفزوده‌ست از مكان و لامكان ای عاشقان
ما مثال موج‌ها اندر قیام و در سجود
تا بدید آید نشان از بی‌نشان ای عاشقان
گر كسی پرسد كیانید ای سراندازان شما
هین بگوییدش كه جان جان جان ای عاشقان
گر كسی غواص نبود بحر جان بخشنده است
كو همی‌بخشد گهرها رایگان ای عاشقان
این چنین شد وان چنان شد خلق را در حقه كرد
بازرستیم از چنین و از چنان ای عاشقان
ما رمیت اذ رمیت از شكارستان غیب
می جهاند تیرهای بی‌كمان ای عاشقان
چون ز جست و جوی دل نومید گشتم آمدم
خفته دیدم دل ستان با دلستان ای عاشقان
گفتم ای دل خوش گزیدی دل بخندید و بگفت
گل ستاند گل ستان از گلستان ای عاشقان
زیر پای من گل است و زیر پاهاشان گل است
چون بكوبم پا میان منكران ای عاشقان
خرما آن دم كه از مستی جانان جان ما
می نداند آسمان از ریسمان ای عاشقان
طرفه دریایی معلق آمد این دریای عشق
نی به زیر و نی به بالا نی میان ای عاشقان
تا بدید آمد شعاع شمس تبریزی ز شرق
جان مطلق شد زمین و آسمان ای عاشقان
And this poem by Amir Hushang Ebtahaj that begins in the same way:
Original:
ای عاشقان، ای عاشقان پیمانه ها پر خون کنید
وز خون دل چون لاله ها رخساره ها گلگون کنید
آمد یکی آتش سوار، بیرون جهید از این حصار
تا بردمد خورشید نو شب را ز خود بیرون کنید
آن یوسف چون ماه را از چاه غم بیرون کشید
در کلبه ی احزان چرا این ناله ی محزون کنید
از چشم ما آیینه ای در پیش آن مه رو نهید
آن فتنه ی فتانه را برخویشتن مفتون کنید
دیوانه چون طغیان کند زنجیر و زندان بشکند
او زلف لیلی حلقه ای در گردن مجنون کنید
دیدم به خواب نیمه شب خورشید و مه را لب به لب
تعبیر این خواب عجب، ای صبح خیزران، چون کنید؟
نوری برای دوستان، دودی به چشم دشمنان
من دل بر آتش می نهم، این هیمه را افزون کنید
زین تخت و تاج سرنگون تا کی رود سیلاب خون؟
این تخت را ویران کنید، این تاج را وارون کنید
چندین که از خم در سبو خون دل ما می رود
ای شاهدان بزم کین پیمانه ها پرخون کنید
Where’s the good news of union that from this life I rise?
I am a holy bird, from this world’s net I arise
And I swear by your love, that if you call me your slave
that up from the world’s sovereignty and rank I will arise
O Lord, from the cloud of your guidance, let rain fall
Before the time when, from the midst, dust-like I will arise
Sit beside my grave with a musician and with wine
So that with your scent dancing from the tomb I will arise
Rise and show your stature, O idol of sweet moves
So that from this life and world, dancing I arise
Although I’m old, hold me tight in your arms for one night
So that at morning light, young, from your embrace I’ll arise
On the day of my death, take a break to visit me
So that Hafez, from this life and this world, will arise
Original:
مژده وصل تو کو کز سر جان برخیزم
طایر قدسم و از دام جهان برخیزم
به ولای تو که گر بنده خویشم خوانی
از سر خواجگی کون و مکان برخیزم
یا رب از ابر هدایت برسان بارانی
پیشتر زان که چو گردی ز میان برخیزم
بر سر تربت من با می و مطرب بنشین
تا به بویت ز لحد رقص کنان برخیزم
خیز و بالا بنما ای بت شیرین حرکات
کز سر جان و جهان دست فشان برخیزم
گر چه پیرم تو شبی تنگ در آغوشم کش
تا سحرگه ز کنار تو جوان برخیزم
روز مرگم نفسی مهلت دیدار بده
تا چو حافظ ز سر جان و جهان برخیزم
Moriya Sen’an
Translation:
Bury me when I die beneath a wine barrel in a tavern. With luck, the cask will leak.
Original:
我死なば
酒屋の瓶の下にいけよ
もしや雫の
もりやせんなん
Ware shinaba sakaya no kame no shita ni ikeyo moshi ya shizuku no mori ya sen nan
(note the pun on the poet’s name “Moriya Sen’an” and the last line:
“with luck the cask will leak”—”mori ya sen nan”)
Hafez
Translation:
One whose heart has been revived by love can never die
Our everlastingness is engraved upon the cosmic scroll
Original:
هرگز نمیرد آن که دلش زنده شد به عشق ثبت است بر جریده عالم دوام ما
Translation:
When I am dead, open my grave and see
The cloud of smoke that rises round thy feet:
In my dead heart the fire still burns for thee;
Yea, the smoke rises from my winding-sheet!
Original:
بگشای تربتم را بعد از وفات و بنگر
کز آتش درونم دود از کفن برآید
Translation: Gertrude Bell
Me
Lips scalded by love’s tongues of flame
Can never taste death’s bitter pain
Emily Dickinson
Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality
Nay, it is Deity—
Unable they that love—to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity
Macedonio Fernández-Creíyo Yo
Translation:
Love’s reach does not to everything extend, for
it cannot shake or break the stab of Death.
Yet little can Death take
if in a loving heart the fear of it subsides.
Nor can Death much take at all, for it cannot
drive its fear into the heart where Love resides.
That if Death rule over Life, Love over Death.
Original:
No a todo alcanza Amor, pues que no puede
romper el gajo con que Muerte toca.
Mas poco Muerte logra
si en corazón de Amor su miedo muere.
Mas poco Muerte logra, pues no puede
entrar su miedo en pecho donde Amor.
Que Muerte rige a Vida; Amor a Muerte.
If thou commit me to the grave, say not “Farewell, farewell”
For the grave is a curtain hiding the communion of paradise
After beholding descent, consider resurrection
Why should setting be injurious to the sun and moon?
To thee it seems a setting, but ’tis a rising’
Tho’ the vault seems a prison, ’tis the release of a soul
What seed went down into the earth but it grew?
Why this doubt of thine as regards the seed of man?
What bucket was lowered but it came out brimful?
Why should the Joseph of the Spirit complain of the well?
Shut thy mouth on this side, and open it beyond
For in placeless air will by thy triumphal song.
(From R.A. Nicholson, Selected Poems form the Divani Shamsi Tabriz, p. 94-96)
Original:
به روز مرگ چو تابوت من روان باشد
گمان مبر که مرا درد این جهان باشد
برای من مگری و مگو دریغ دریغ
به دوغ دیو درافتی دریغ آن باشد
جنازه‌ام چو ببینی مگو فراق فراق
مرا وصال و ملاقات آن زمان باشد
مرا به گور سپاری مگو وداع وداع
که گور پرده جمعیت جنان باشد
فروشدن چو بدیدی برآمدن بنگر
غروب شمس و قمر را چرا زبان باشد
تو را غروب نماید ولی شروق بود
لحد چو حبس نماید خلاص جان باشد
کدام دانه فرورفت در زمین که نرست
چرا به دانه انسانت این گمان باشد
کدام دلو فرورفت و پر برون نامد
ز چاه یوسف جان را چرا فغان باشد
دهان چو بستی از این سوی آن طرف بگشا
که های هوی تو در جو لامکان باشد
Clare Harner
Do not stand By my grave, and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night. Do not stand By my grave, and cry— I am not there, I did not die.
Say unto brethren when they see me dead,
And weep for me, lamenting me in sadness:
“Think ye I am this corpse ye are to bury?
I swear by God, this dead one is not I.
I in the Spirit am, and this my body
My dwelling was, my garment for a time.
I am a treasure: hidden I was beneath
This talisman of dust, wherein I suffered.
I am a pearl; a shell imprisoned me,
But leaving it, all trials I have left.
I am a bird, and this was once my cage;
But I have flown, leaving it as a token.
I praise God who hath set me free,
and made For me a dwelling in the heavenly heights.
Ere now I was a dead man in your midst,
But I have come to life, and doffed my shroud.”
(Translation by Martin Lings)
Original:
قل لإخوان رأوني ميتا فبكوني ورثوني حزنا
أتظنون بأني ميتكم ليس هذا الميت والله أنا
أنا في الصور وهذا جسدي كان لباسي وقميصي زمنا
أنا در قد حواني صدف طرت عنه وبقى مرتهنا
أنا عصفور وهذا قفصي كان سجني فتركت السجنا
أشكر الله الذي خلصني وبنا لي في المعالي وطنا
كنت قبل اليوم ميتا بينكم فحييت وخلعت الكفنا
Zheng Ting
Translation:
Illusion appears, illusion ceases The biggest illusion among all is our body Once a pacified heart finds its place There’s no such body to look for
Original:
幻生還幻滅
大幻莫過身
安心自有處
求人無有人
John Donne-“Death, Be Not Proud”
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy … ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.
I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see
no one behind me. I see no one ahead of me.
All this light is for me. I walk. I become lighter. I fly
then I become another. Transfigured. Words
sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger
mouth: “If you don’t believe you won’t be safe.”
I walk as if I were another. And my wound a white
biblical rose. And my hands like two doves
on the cross hovering and carrying the earth.
I don’t walk, I fly, I become another,
transfigured. No place and no time. So who am I?
I am no I in ascension’s presence. But I
think to myself: Alone, the prophet Muhammad
spoke classical Arabic. “And then what?”
Then what? A woman soldier shouted:
Is that you again? Didn’t I kill you?
I said: You killed me … and I forgot, like you, to die.
From : https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52551/in-jerusalem
Original:
في القدس، أَعني داخلَ السُّور القديمِ،
أَسيرُ من زَمَنٍ إلى زَمَنٍ بلا ذكرى
تُصوِّبُني. فإن الأنبياءَ هناك يقتسمون
تاريخَ المقدَّس… يصعدون إلى السماء
ويرجعون أَقلَّ إحباطاً وحزناً، فالمحبَّةُ
والسلام مُقَدَّسَان وقادمان إلى المدينة.
كنت أَمشي فوق مُنْحَدَرٍ وأَهْجِسُ: كيف
يختلف الرُّواةُ على كلام الضوء في حَجَرٍ؟
أَمِنْ حَجَر ٍشحيحِ الضوء تندلعُ الحروبُ؟
أسير في نومي. أَحملق في منامي. لا
أرى أحداً ورائي. لا أرى أَحداً أمامي.
كُلُّ هذا الضوءِ لي. أَمشي. أخفُّ. أطيرُ
ثم أَصير غيري في التَّجَلِّي. تنبُتُ
الكلماتُ كالأعشاب من فم أشعيا
النِّبَويِّ: ((إنْ لم تُؤْمنوا لن تَأْمَنُوا)).
أَمشي كأنِّي واحدٌ غيْري. وجُرْحي وَرْدَةٌ
بيضاءُ إنجيليَّةٌ. ويدايَ مثل حمامتَيْنِ
على الصليب تُحلِّقان وتحملان الأرضَ.
لا أمشي، أَطيرُ، أَصيرُ غَيْري في
التجلِّي. لا مكانَ و لا زمان . فمن أَنا؟
أَنا لا أنا في حضرة المعراج. لكنِّي
أُفكِّرُ: وَحْدَهُ، كان النبيّ محمِّدٌ
يتكلِّمُ العربيَّةَ الفُصْحَى. ((وماذا بعد؟))
ماذا بعد؟ صاحت فجأة جنديّةٌ:
هُوَ أَنتَ ثانيةً؟ أَلم أَقتلْكَ؟
قلت: قَتَلْتني… ونسيتُ، مثلك، أن أَموت.
Tamim Al-Barghouti
In Jerusalem:
(Translated by Houssem Ben Lazreg in Transference 5(1) Fall 2017:61-65)
We passed by the home of the beloved
but the enemy’s laws and wall turned us away
I said to myself, “Maybe, that is a blessing”
What will you see in Jerusalem when you visit?
You will see all that you can’t stand
when her houses become visible from all sides When meeting her beloved, not every soul rejoices Nor does every absence harm
If they are delighted when meeting before departure such joy cannot remain kindled
For once your eyes have seen Jerusalem
You will only see her, wherever you look.
In Jerusalem, a greengrocer from Georgia,
annoyed with his wife,
thinks of going on vacation or painting his house
In Jerusalem, a middle-aged man from Upper Manhattan holds a Torah and teaches Polish boys its commandments In Jerusalem, an Ethiopian policeman
seals off a street in the marketplace,
A machine gun hangs from the shoulder of a teenage settler, A person wearing a yarmulke
bows at the Wailing Wall,
Blonde European tourists who don’t see Jerusalem at all but spend most of the time taking pictures of each other
beside a Palestinian woman selling radishes in public squares all day long
In Jerusalem, there are walls of basil
In Jerusalem, there are barricades of concrete
In Jerusalem, the soldiers marched with heavy boots over the clouds
In Jerusalem, we were forced to pray on the asphalt
In Jerusalem, everyone is there but you.
And History turned to me and smiled:
“Have you really thought that you would overlook them
and see others?
Here they are in front of you;
They are the text while you are the footnote and margin
O son, have you thought that your visit would remove, from the city’s face, the thick veil of her present, so that you may see what you desire?
In Jerusalem, everyone is there but you.
Jerusalem is the wandering deer
As fate sentenced it to departure
You still chase her since she bid you farewell
O son, calm down for a while, I see that you began to faint” In Jerusalem, everyone is there but you.
O historian, wait,
The city has two timelines:
One foreign, serene, with steady steps as if it is walking asleep
The other wears a mask and walks secretly with caution
And Jerusalem knows herself,
Ask the people there, everyone will guide you
Everything in the city
has a tongue which, when you ask, will reply
In Jerusalem, the crescent becomes more curved like an embryo
Bending towards other crescents over the domes
And over the years, their relation developed to be like a father to a son
In Jerusalem, the stones of the buildings are quoted from the Bible and the Quran
In Jerusalem, beauty is octagonal and blue
On top of it, lies a golden dome
that looks like, I think, a convex mirror
Reflecting the face of the heavens
Playing with it, drawing it near
Distributing the sky, like aid in a siege for those in need
If people appeal to God after Friday sermon
In Jerusalem, the sky is shared by everyone,
We protect it and it protects us
And we carry it on our shoulders
If time oppresses its moons.
In Jerusalem, the marble columns are dark
as though their veins were smoke
Windows, high in mosques and churches,
took dawn by hand, showing him how to paint with colors
He says, “like this”
but the windows reply, “no, like this”
And after long debate, they compromise
as the dawn is free when outside the threshold
But if he wants to enter through God’s Windows
He has to abide by their rules
In Jerusalem there’s a school built by a Mameluke who came from beyond the river,
was sold at a slave market in Isfahan
to a merchant from Baghdad, who traveled to Aleppo,
and gave the Mameluke to Aleppo’s Prince
Fearing the blueness in the Mameluke’s left eye,
the Prince gave him to a caravan heading for Egypt
where soon, he became the vanquisher of the Moguls and the Sovereign Sultan
In Jerusalem, the scent of Babylon and India
are at an herbalist’s shop in Khan El Zeit
I swear, it is a scent with a language that you will understand if you listen;
It says to me
when tear gas canisters are being fired
“Don’t worry”
And as the gas wanes, that scent fills the air again and says:
“You see?”
In Jerusalem, contradictions get along, and wonders cannot be denied
People check them out like pieces of old and new fabric
and miracles there are tangible.
In Jerusalem, if you shake hands with an old man or touch a building you will find, engraved on your palm, my friend, a poem or two
In Jerusalem, despite successive calamities
a breeze of innocence and childhood fills the air
And you can see doves fly high
announcing, between two shots, the birth of an independent state
In Jerusalem, the rows of graves
are the lines of the city’s history while the book is the soil
Everyone has passed through
For Jerusalem welcomes all visitors, whether disbelievers or believers
Walk through, and read the headstones in all languages
You will find the Africans, the Europeans, the Kipchaks, the Slavs, the Bosniaks, the Tatars, the Turks, the believers, the disbelievers,
the poor and the rich, the hermits, and the miscreants
Here lie all sorts of people that ever walked the earth
They were the footnotes of the book, now they are the main text before us.
Is it just for us that the city has become too small?
Oh chronicler! What made you exclude us?
Re-write and think again, for I see that you made a grave mistake
The eyes close, then look again
The driver of the yellow car heads north, away from the city’s gates. And now Jerusalem is behind us
I could glance at her through the right wing-mirror
Her colors have changed before the sunset
Then, a smile sneaked onto my face
and said to me when I looked close and careful,
“Oh you who weep behind the wall, are you a fool?
Have you lost your mind?
Do not weep because you were excluded from the main text
O Arab, do not weep, and know for sure
that whomever is in Jerusalem
It is only you I see.”
Original:
مَرَرْنا عَلــى دارِ الحبيب فرَدَّنا
عَنِ الدارِ قانونُ الأعادي وسورُهافَقُلْتُ لنفســي رُبما هِيَ نِعْمَةٌ
فماذا تَرَى في القدسِ حينَ تَزُورُها
تَرَى كُلَّ ما لا تستطيعُ احتِمالَهُ
إذا ما بَدَتْ من جَانِبِ الدَّرْبِ دورُهاوما كلُّ نفسٍ حينَ تَلْقَى حَبِيبَها تُـسَرُّ
ولا كُلُّ الغـِيابِ يُضِيرُهافإن سـرَّها قبلَ الفِراقِ لِقاؤُه
فليسَ بمأمـونٍ عليها سـرُورُهامتى تُبْصِرِ القدسَ العتيقةَ مَرَّةً
فسوفَ تراها العَيْنُ حَيْثُ تُدِيرُها***
في القدسِ، بائعُ خضرةٍ من جورجيا برمٌ بزوجته
يفكرُ في قضاءِ إجازةٍ أو في في طلاءِ البيتْفي القدس، توراةٌ وكهلٌ جاءَ من مَنْهاتِنَ العُليا يُفَقَّهُ فتيةَ البُولُونِ في أحكامها
في القدسِ شرطيٌ من الأحباشِ يُغْلِقُ شَارِعاً في السوقِ..
رشَّاشٌ على مستوطنٍ لم يبلغِ العشرينَ،
قُبَّعة تُحَيِّي حائطَ المبكَىوسياحٌ من الإفرنجِ شُقْرٌ لا يَرَوْنَ القدسَ إطلاقاً
تَراهُم يأخذونَ لبعضهم صُوَرَاًمَعَ امْرَأَةٍ تبيعُ الفِجْلَ في الساحاتِ طُولَ اليَومْفي القدسِ دَبَّ الجندُ مُنْتَعِلِينَ فوقَ الغَيمْفي القدسِ صَلَّينا على الأَسْفَلْتْ
في القدسِ مَن في القدسِ إلا أنْتْ!***
وَتَلَفَّتَ التاريخُ لي مُتَبَسِّماً
أَظَنَنْتَ حقاً أنَّ عينَك سوفَ تخطئهم،! وتبصرُ غيرَهم
ها هُم أمامَكَ، مَتْنُ نصٍّ أنتَ حاشيةٌ عليهِ وَهَامشٌ
أَحَسبتَ أنَّ زيارةً سَتُزيحُ عن وجهِ المدينةِ، يا بُنَيَّ، حجابَ واقِعِها السميكَ
لكي ترى فيها هَواكْ
في القدسِ كلًّ فتى سواكْ
وهي الغزالةُ في المدى، حَكَمَ الزمانُ بِبَيْنِها
ما زِلتَ تَرْكُضُ إثْرَهَا مُذْ وَدَّعَتْكَ بِعَيْنِها
رفقاً بِنَفسكَ ساعةً إني أراكَ وَهَنْتْ
في القدسِ من في القدسِ إلا أَنْتْ
***
يا كاتبَ التاريخِ مَهْلاً، فالمدينةُ دهرُها دهرانِ
دهر أجنبي مطمئنٌ لا يغيرُ خطوَه وكأنَّه يمشي خلالَ النومْ
وهناك دهرٌ، كامنٌ متلثمٌ يمشي بلا صوتٍ حِذار القومْ
والقدس تعرف نفسها..
إسأل هناك الخلق يدْلُلْكَ الجميعُ
فكلُّ شيء في المدينة
ذو لسانٍ، حين تَسأَلُهُ، يُبينْ
في القدس يزدادُ الهلالُ تقوساً مثلَ الجنينْ
حَدْباً على أشباهه فوقَ القبابِ
تَطَوَّرَتْ ما بَيْنَهم عَبْرَ السنينَ عِلاقةُ الأَبِ بالبَنينْ
في القدس أبنيةٌ حجارتُها اقتباساتٌ من الإنجيلِ والقرآنْ
في القدس تعريفُ الجمالِ مُثَمَّنُ الأضلاعِ أزرقُ،
فَوْقَهُ، يا دامَ عِزُّكَ، قُبَّةٌ ذَهَبِيَّةٌ،
تبدو برأيي، مثل مرآة محدبة ترى وجه السماء مُلَخَّصَاً فيها
تُدَلِّلُها وَتُدْنِيها
تُوَزِّعُها كَأَكْياسِ المعُونَةِ في الحِصَارِ لمستَحِقِّيها
إذا ما أُمَّةٌ من بعدِ خُطْبَةِ جُمْعَةٍ مَدَّتْ بِأَيْدِيها
***
وفي القدس السماءُ تَفَرَّقَتْ في الناسِ تحمينا ونحميها
ونحملُها على أكتافِنا حَمْلاً إذا جَارَت على أقمارِها الأزمانْ
في القدس أعمدةُ الرُّخامِ الداكناتُ
كأنَّ تعريقَ الرُّخامِ دخانْ
وَهْوَ يقول: ?لا بل هكذا?،
فَتَقُولُ: ?لا بل هكذا?،
حتى إذا طال الخلافُ تقاسما
فالصبحُ حُرٌّ خارجَ العَتَبَاتِ لَكِنْ
إن أرادَ دخولَها
فَعَلَيهِ أن يَرْضَى بحُكْمِ نوافذِ الرَّحمنْ
***
في القدس مدرسةٌ لمملوكٍ أتى مما وراءَ النهرِ،
باعوهُ بسوقِ نِخَاسَةٍ في أصفهانَلتاجرٍ من أهلِ بغدادٍ
أتى حلباً فخافَ أميرُها من زُرْقَةٍ في عَيْنِهِ اليُسْرَى،
فأعطاهُ لقافلةٍ أتت مصراً
فأصبحَ بعدَ بضعِ سنينَ غَلاَّبَ المغولِ وصاحبَ السلطانْ
في القدس رائحةٌ تُلَخِّصُ بابلاً والهندَ في دكانِ عطارٍ بخانِ الزيتْ
واللهِ رائحةٌ لها لغةٌ سَتَفْهَمُها إذا أصْغَيتْ
وتقولُ لي إذ يطلقونَ قنابل الغاز المسيِّلِ للدموعِ عَلَيَّ: ?لا تحفل بهم?
وتفوحُ من بعدِ انحسارِ الغازِ، وَهْيَ تقولُ لي: ?أرأيتْ!?
في القدس يرتاحُ التناقضُ، والعجائبُ ليسَ ينكرُها العِبادُ،
كأنها قِطَعُ القِمَاشِ يُقَلِّبُونَ قَدِيمها وَجَدِيدَها،
والمعجزاتُ هناكَ تُلْمَسُ باليَدَيْنْ
في القدس لو صافحتَ شيخاً أو لمستَ بنايةً
لَوَجَدْتَ منقوشاً على كَفَّيكَ نَصَّ قصيدَةٍ
يا بْنَ الكرامِ أو اثْنَتَيْنْ
في القدس، رغمَ تتابعِ النَّكَباتِ، ريحُ براءةٍ في الجوِّ، ريحُ طُفُولَةٍ،
فَتَرى الحمامَ يَطِيرُ يُعلِنُ دَوْلَةً في الريحِ بَيْنَ رَصَاصَتَيْنْ
***
في القدس تنتظمُ القبورُ، كأنهنَّ سطورُ تاريخِ المدينةِ والكتابُ ترابُها
الكل مرُّوا من هُنا
فالقدسُ تقبلُ من أتاها كافراً أو مؤمنا
أُمرر بها واقرأ شواهدَها بكلِّ لغاتِ أهلِ الأرضِ
فيها الزنجُ والإفرنجُ والقِفْجَاقُ والصِّقْلابُ والبُشْنَاقُ
والتتارُ والأتراكُ، أهلُ الله والهلاك، والفقراءُ والملاك، والفجارُ والنساكُ،
فيها كلُّ من وطئَ الثَّرى
كانوا الهوامشَ في الكتابِ فأصبحوا نَصَّ المدينةِ قبلنا
يا كاتب التاريخِ ماذا جَدَّ فاستثنيتنا
يا شيخُ فلتُعِدِ الكتابةَ والقراءةَ مرةً أخرى، أراك لَحَنْتْ
العين تُغْمِضُ، ثمَّ تنظُرُ، سائقُ السيارةِ الصفراءِ، مالَ بنا شَمالاً نائياً عن بابها
والقدس صارت خلفنا
My Heart Is In The East
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
My heart is in the east, and the rest of me at the edge of the west. How can I taste the food I eat? How can it give me pleasure? How can I keep my promise now, or fulfill the vows I’ve made While Zion remains in the Cross’s reign1, and I in Arab chains? With pleasure I would leave behind all the good things of Spain, If only I could gaze on the dust of our ruined Holy Place.
