I die of love for him, perfect in every way,
Lost in the strains of wafting music.
My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body
And I do not wonder at his beauty.
His waist is a sapling, his face a moon,
And loveliness rolls off his rosy cheek
I die of love for you, but keep this secret:
The tie that binds us Is an unbreakable rope.
How much time did your creation take, O angel?
So what! All I want is to sing your praises.
My Queen, how much longer must I stay
Outside your door when you hold full sway
O’er my heart. Mis’ry is all I feel
I suffer anguish when you’re away
And every night I toss and turn
Your heartless wiles will kill me one day
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 50th birthday.
I passed in a garden
with the gaits of the wind.
I saw the owner of garden
with the art of love
in the look of a rose.
The branches of all the
trees were ornamented with
the blossom of the apple.
Bravo, the art of the charm
of the spring. The green
velvet of the grass has
spread its skirt for seeing
the munificence in the
hearts of my companions.
Flowing with the joy, a pond
in the garden took the fishes
that song the love melodies to
the abode of dream. Bravo, the
art of the charm of the spring.
I heard the joy of love in
the clamour of hundred
swallows. Then I saw the
feast of the trees that had
the branches ornamented
with the blossoms of love.
They song together the
melody of unity: bravo
the art of the charm of
the spring.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 65th birthday.
This is the scent of homesickness that is in the air
Perhaps,
The scent of my homesick brothers
The extraordinary scent of a torn shirt
Wafting in the breeze.
No!
This can’t be the scent of a wolf’s bite
I recognise the scent of defencelessness from afar:
The scent of a wounded leopard
In the misty text of the forest
The scent of the resonance of horses’ neighs
in the quiet mountain rocks.
The scent of scorched cotton
Smelt by the moon
The scent of a dove’s blue feathers
in a well.
This bluster of restlessness,
When it blows,
The subdued hearts of ours
Covet the redolence of old excuses.
And our old wounds again,
Anticipating a new hazard,
Yawn.
It’s as if the scent of exodus is in the air.
We present this work in honor of the poet’s 85th birthday.
Do not leave me alone
Open your eyes
Look, your youth is gone.
I want to be twenty years old
I want to be thirty years old
I want to be this year’s flower when spring comes
Do not leave me alone
Open your eyes
Look, your youth is gone.
How soon will the winter cold come?
It comes and covers the snow with flowers
Nothing has colored Hanam anymore
My white hair is a sign.
How many memories of love in this white hair
The heart falls in love again
This is a hope
How many memories of love
In this white hair
My heart will fall in love again, that’s a hope.
I wanted to be the owner of the gift
whose garden has flowers and nightingales
Like the days of youth again
Be happy and be a firecracker.
How many memories of love
In this white hair
My heart falls in love again…
This is a hope
How many memories of love
In this white hair
My heart will fall in love again, that’s a hope.
Do not leave me alone
Open your eyes and see, your youth is gone.
I want to be twenty years old
I want to be thirty years old
I want to be this year’s flower when spring comes
Do not leave me alone
Open your eyes
Look, your youth is gone.
We present this work in honor of the 90th anniversary of the poet’s death
I.
It’s the season of wine, meadows, and Rose
The court of spring is cleared of choughs and crows
Generous clouds now water Rey more freely than Khotan
The caged bird and I both long for our own land
How wayward are you, Heaven!
How vicious are you, Heaven!
You’re headed to vengeance, O Heaven!
You have no faith
You have no creed—no creed
O Heaven!
II.
Tulips have bloomed from the blood of the youths of our land
Lamenting those cypresses, Cypress can no longer stand
A mourning nightingale creeps under Rose’s shadow
And Rose, like me, has torn her robe in sorrow
How wayward are you, Heaven!
How vicious are you, Heaven!
You’re headed to vengeance, O Heaven!
You have no faith
You have no creed—no creed
O Heaven!
III.
Asleep are the vakeels, corrupt are the viziers
They have plundered the silver and gold of Iran
Lest they leave our home a ruin
God, judge the emirs, dry the paupers’ tears
How wayward are you, Heaven!
How vicious are you, Heaven!
You’re headed to vengeance, O Heaven!
You have no faith
You have no creed—no creed
O Heaven!
IV.
Capsize the earth with tears
If you have a fistful of Iran’s soil, pour it over your head
Manifest your honour, beware of dark days
Let your bosom be a shield before enemy spears
How wayward are you, Heaven!
How vicious are you, Heaven!
You’re headed to vengeance, O Heaven!
You have no faith
You have no creed—no creed
O Heaven!
V.
At the foe’s hands I howl in pain
Whoever fears death is by fear slain
The lovers’ dance of death is not a game of chess
If you have courage, prepare for campaign
How wayward are you, Heaven!
How vicious are you, Heaven!
You’re headed to vengeance, O Heaven!
You have no faith
You have no creed—no creed
O Heaven!
VI.
‘Aref relies not on days since the dawn of days
Like Khayyam, he holds no hand but the wine cup’s
Gives his heart only to the beloved’s curls
Trades not a hundred lifetimes of shame for one with a name
How wayward are you, Heaven!
How vicious are you, Heaven!
You’re headed to vengeance, O Heaven!
You have no faith
You have no creed—no creed
O Heaven!
We go to the country to welcome the sorrow of the country, because we are deprived of our feet, we go with our heads
We have gone this way a hundred times and we are going once again, we are going to welcome Sagar.
Since it is not possible to walk, we turn to Dostnameh and go with the wings of a pigeon
Now, fresh anxiety is falling on my hair, a breeze is blowing, my leaves are falling from Shiraz.
Eisham’s lips sing to every age, but Shionam’s tongue pours a thousand praises every time
I have a heart that says salt in the embrace of the ointment for its sore wounds and yawns after yawns.
I wonder if the patterns of our patience will come true, that the love of this plan will pour immeasurably.
We present this work in honor of the 15th anniversary of the poet’s death.
A lone tree I am
in this far reaching desert
on this sorrowful plain
I have no soul mate
no one whose steps tread in unison with mine
the friendly murmur of streams
the happy rush of springs
die in a space far away
and my ear
fills with parched strains of solitude
In this desert
I have terrifying companions;
hail of pain, cloud of fear,
and wild downpour of sorrows
within me howls the clamor of
wolves of loneliness.
In this darkness of night
my heart does not quicken
with thoughts of tomorrow.
I lay the foundation of this word by naming the One
by the name of the giving almighty, creator of the skies and heavens
creator of what is and what is not, all-knowing of the speech of birds
aware of what is written on an empty board, a flame in the sad hearts of lovers
A flower arising from thorn blossoms, but soon
withers no flower grows in the garden of naught, lest it weeps upon itself
Shahin rise in the middle like a falcon, live like the rook, and not the queen
lay out a pleasant verse from king Ardashir’s deed
seek victory from the all-giving, and bring the divine word to your lips
so the forlorn can see Him, and harvest from the crop of this bond
like the enchanted they weep, ecstatic, intoxicated, and eager
when Hegai saw the king in pursuit of charm
with the courage of a lion he told the tale of Esther
when the tranquil dawn arrives, the stars lose their luster
as one bright flame burns, a hundred other flames fade
what is more pleasant than the kind companion, and how could one live without it?
Life with the beloved companion is greater than eternal life
Esther appears like the morning star, shining bright as the moon and the sun
the eager king sat at his bed, drinking wine in the memory of the moon
intoxicated he fell like a tired stranger at the end of an arduous road
he marveled at the luminecesne of Esther, and praised her beauty
he took his heart’s desire from her beauty, with a bond and an engagement
with whom can I share my heart’s secret, as I wipe my face with my blood
so the king may hear of my condition and free me from this pain
the evil Haman who just arrived through the door
my heart aches from his wrong-doing through day and night
he fights my kind with sharp blades and claws
as Esther revealed the adversary to the king, Ardashir was overcome with anger
“does he not fear me, or does he assume himself king?”
towards Haman’s tribe, they rushed one by one
As they followed Esther’s order, they invaded the enemy
see the seashell, the treasures it holds from the fallen drop of rain
it wears the garment of patience and tolerates the world’s adversary
My heart still hankers after her,
My past life haunts me still, as strong as ever;
We said, “Together we’ll grow old”
And I’ve grown old, and she’s still young as ever.
Poets Corner 