Rumi مولانا - Masnavi

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بشنو از نی چون حکایت می کند

از جدایی ها شکایت می کند

کز نیستان تا مرا ببریده اند

در نفیرم مرد و زن نالیده اند

سینه خواهم شرحه شرحه از فراق

تا بگویم شرح درد اشتیاق

هر کسی کاو دور ماند از اصل خویش

باز جوید روزگار و صل خویش

من به هر جمعیتی نالان شدم

جفت بد حالان و خوش حالان شدم

هر کسی از ظن خود شد یار من

از درون من نجست اسرار من

سر من از ناله ی من دور نیست

لیک چشم و گوش را آن نور نیست

تن ز جان و جان ز تن مستور نیست

لیک کس را دید جان دستور نیست

آتش‌است این بانگ بای و نیست باد

هر که این آتش ندارد نیست باد

آتش عشق است کاندر نی فتاد

جوشش عشق است کاندر می فتاد

نی حریف‌ هر که از یار ی برید

پرده هایش پرده ها ی ما درید

همچو نی ز هر ی و تریاقی که دید

همچو نی دمساز و مشتاقی که دید

نی حدیث راه پر خون می کند

قصه های عشق مجنون می کند

محرم این هوش جز بی هوش نیست

مر زبان را مشتری جز گوش نیست

در غم ما روز ها بی گاه شد

روز ها با سوز ها همراه شد

روز ها گر رفت گو رو باک نیست

تو بمان ای آن که چون تو پاک نیست

هر که جز ماهی ز آبش سیر شد

هر که بی روزی است روزش دیر شد

در نیابد حال پخته هیچ خام

پس سخن کوتاه باید و السلام

بند بگسل باش آزاد ای پسر

چند باشی بند سیم و بند زر

گر بریزی بحر را در کوزه ای

چند گنجد قسمت یک روزه ای

کوزه ی چشم حریصان پر نشد

تا صدف قانع نشد پر در نشد

Listen to the ney, how it tells this sad tale,

Lamenting separations (from the One beyond scale):

"Ever since they ripped me from my reed bed home,

The sound of my flute makes men and women groan.

I seek a chest now yearns to carve every vein,

Until we give a full account of longing's pain.

Every soul that remains far from their origin,

Searches for their true home, again and again.

In every gathering, I become the wailing one.

Pairing with both happy and unhappy ones.

All that become my friend through thoughts they frequent, 

Has not searched deep inside me for my secrets.

My secret is not very far from my wail.

But eye and ear can't see the light behind this veil. (7)

Body and soul are not veiled from each other,

yet none can see the soul beyond the body's cover.

My clamor is not the passing wind, but burning fire.

May he or she be nothing if they don't have this desire.

It is the flame of love

It is the enthusiasm of love.

Anyone who has cut me from my Beloved is an enemy.

His veils tear our veils for all to see.

Such ney that has left and saw the cure.

Saw harmony and yearning together so pure.

The ney's tradition makes the path so bloodied

That only Majnoon can tell these love stories.

This memory is close, but it's not senseless.

The customer's language is not heard. (14)

In our sorrow, our dark days cease to have an end

Both sorrow and days follow the same path as friends.

If these days leave, let them leave with no fear.

Only you remain, for none is as pure as you, dear.

All, but fish, from His water become satisfied.

Those without daily bread, their days' length magnifies.

If one is raw, they will never know ripe's essence.

Therefore, I'll keep my words short and leave your presence.

O Son, break through your chains and pass this threshold.

How long will you be a slave to silver and gold?

If the grand ocean is held within your pot

How much treasure and fortune are in your lot?

The pot of greedy eyes never gets filled.

The pearl's shell never opens, until its heart is thrilled. (21)

All whose worldly garments have been torn by Love

Are cleansed of all greed and faults to rise above.

Be happy, O Love, our happy transaction.

You are the doctor of all our disease and affliction.

You are the remedy of our pride and self-conceit.

Our Plato and Galen whose wisdom is so sweet.

Love has made this body of dust rise to the sky.

The mountains came here dancing, nimble and sly.

Love came and filled Mt. Sinai, dear lovers.

Sinai became drunk and Moses couldn't recover.

If I was joined together with someone like me,

Like the ney, I too would have a long speech.

All that separate from He who speaks their tongue generally,

Become dumb, even though they have a hundred melodies. (28)

When the rose leaves and the garden is withered,

You will no longer hear the nightingale's tale delivered.

The Beloved is all, the lover its veil spread.

The former is alive while the latter is just dead.

If one is not concerned about this Love,

he or she is left as a wingless dove.

How could I be conscious then or thereafter,

When the light of my Friend isn't here or hereafter?

Love wills for this Word to be out in the open.

If the mirror cannot reflect, is it alas broken?

Why doesn't your mirror reflect, do you know?

Because rust is still on its face to show.

Listen, O friends! to this tale's admonition.

It is surely an assessment of our current condition. (35)

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Original translation by Najim Mostamand