Zaburi Ajam [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

24

No Jamshid’s memory, the wine

That fioweth in this inn of mine,

It is the pressing of my soul

That sparkleth in my Persian bowl.

Man like a billow quivereth

In eager quest of Being’s breath,

While yet his arrow lies encased

About annihilation’s waist.

Come, let us shatter (for we can)

Like Abraham this talisman;

Within the temple, idols be

Whatever I have seen, but thee.

Until thou deeply enterest

The very heart in Being’s breast,

To leave the gaze to speculate

Is wickedness, and sin most great.

To wander idly, without guide,

Peculiar pleasure is, beside;

Happy am I, that our abode

Is far, and ever winds the road.

The casual glance, that gave to me

The leave to wander, and to see,

‘Twas better far, that casual glance,

Than rapt attention to my chance.

Though I was nourished all my days

Where infidel to idol prays,

Behold, my opened lips impart

The secret of the Kaaba’s heart.