Part Nineteenth: The Fruit of the Second Seclusion

English Translation

In these first fifteen verses, the sage Nizami Ganjavi transitions from the rite of seclusion to reaping the “primordial harvest.” It is there that the spiritual wayfarer encounters the “Divine Manifestation” that rends the veils of time, discovering that the Divine yearning for humanity is manifold greater than man’s yearning for his Creator.

The fabric of life was woven upon the tapestry of eternity; all that was lost or had perished from one’s earthly days was compensated, in this sacred solitude, with a substitute far greater and more resplendent.

The ear listened intently to the nature of that message—one that dazzles the intellect—while the eye, in humble prostration, offered its tribute of reverence and awe.

The heart gathered longing from the sweet, enchanting smiles of fair beauties, while the gaze bestowed a radiance and splendor upon the eyes of the gazelles.

Thus, the Beloved—possessor of beauty, clad in linen—shone like the moon in that sacred place, he left my heart pierced by yearning, hollowed out like a reed stripped of its core.

The moon—which once scattered the radiance of joy across the nights—remained spellbound and bewildered until dawn, captivated by such exquisite beauty.

Whenever the light-feathered arrow of his wink was loosed, my soul would prostrate itself, kissing the earth in humble submission to that very gesture.

The candle’s wick grew heavy with tears of melting wax, dazzled by his brilliance, while the lamp’s flame—consumed by the heat of envy—sputtered and blistered.

And every act of cruelty or coldness he rained upon me—he, that beautiful beloved, radiant as the moon and clad in linen—was received by my heart as a sacred blessing, forever bound to unwavering devotion.

At times, he becomes the green grass and I the stream of water; at others, I am the fuller, while he is the purifying sun.

Intoxicated by that freshly plucked date—the fruit of union and intimate communion with the heart—which I gathered that night, I lost all sense of self; if I possessed any knowledge of what transpired, it was a state of utter unknowing.

For that new crescent moon—his face illuminated by radiance—outshone the crescent in the sky, veiling it from the gaze of its lovers with his own splendor.

He was captivated by the very one who was captivated by him, and the longing he bore for me far surpassed, a hundredfold, the longing I felt for him.

The heart yearned: What if the day never came to lift the veil from our blessed night?

If only this night had been graced with permanence and safety, it would have become the soul’s companion on the Day of Resurrection—the realm of eternity.

For the radiance of that night—bright as the sun—is something I forever seek but cannot find, not even in my dreams.

In this sublime passage, the sage Nizami Ganjavi paints a poignant, evocative scene, describing that night of solitude as a “night of spiritual ascension”—a night the moon lamented and the day envied. When the pillar of dawn burst forth, the morning arrived like a sword-wielding knight, tearing through the veil of night and bowing the lover’s head in tears of longing over the passing of that sacred union.

Never did I taste such ecstasy or delight as I did on that blessed night; and ever since that night bade me farewell and departed in peace, no night thereafter has ever brought me joy.

And so, throughout the night, I continue to cry out: “O Lord! O Lord!” Perhaps, on some night, I shall be graced with a revelation akin to the radiance of that night,

For it was a brilliant, luminous day, and never, ever a dark night. Outwardly, it was merely a night; yet in truth, it was a night of radiant spiritual ascension.

The moon—which draws treasures from the celestial firmament and illuminates the heavens—spent the entire night languishing in yearning, regret, and sorrow over the passing of that very night.

Even the day—which has made enmity toward the dark night its creed (for they never meet face-to-face; as one arrives, the other departs in an eternal cycle)—secretly longs to experience just one blessed night like that one.

While I was utterly lost in wonder, oblivious to all else, the morning suddenly burst through the door at the break of dawn, brandishing the sword of its light like a decisive knight.

For the sunlight—with its scorching rays—transformed the flowing tears poured from my eyelashes, heavy with sorrow for that night, flowing like running water across the courtyard of my solitude, a stream of anguish.

The clouds came dancing gently into the garden, while the sun’s mantle appeared in humble reverence, performing a prayer of submission and praise.

And at the basin of this spring—fashioned by the Maker of the Sun—how many pitchers and vessels belonging to folk like you and me have been shattered (as lives and mortal forms are brought to their end).

The firmament fixed the stars like nails upon a surface of pure silver, gilding them with sheets of gold drawn from the sun’s own radiance.

Morning—once heavy with slumber—rose and stirred with nimble haste, a dagger in hand, ready to spill the blood of darkness and obliterate the night.

There was no escape left for me but to surrender to this battle, and made my soul both a shield and a target for the blows of his piercing dagger.

At the break of dawn, he leapt across the stream to claim my soul; he struck the final, fatal blow to the thirsting one—killing me with longing—and destroyed the bridge behind him so there could be no turning back, as the morning light emerged.

Cries and moans rose from the ruins of my crumbling heart, and I addressed him, saying: “O Dawn—you who broke upon the poet’s night—is this my recompense and reward after such a long union?

For before your arrival, when I still had companions and loved ones, I possessed many candles that illuminated my night with warmth and serenity.”

In this final passage, the sage Nizami Ganjavi reveals the “greatest secret” behind all he has described regarding this spiritual retreat; he declares that the night, the gathering, the candle, and the incense were never merely sensory images, but rather “illuminations of the light of the spiritual Night of Power” within the sanctuary of the heart—where the trace of longing transforms into a lamp of guidance for spiritual wayfarers.

What use is there, O heart, when neither that night nor that candle remains? Existence has dissolved into utter nothingness, as if none of it had ever been.

So drive the thorn of pain into the one who once tasted the pure nectar of your soul, and unravel the work of the one who spun your wool into linen—treat time and the senses with the same cold detachment they show you.

And choose silence and quiet patience—the patience of one who burns inwardly. This is the only fitting outcome; for how easily consumed is one who is already burning.

When the morning beheld my weeping and the tears of my anguish over that night, it wept deep crimson blood—its twilight glow transformed—out of sheer compassion for my plight.

The threshing floor of day was scorched by the weight of my sorrow and existential grief, while the eye of the sun froze solid from the heat of my burning sighs.

Despite all the poisons I had swallowed, the cosmos granted me hope; for the serpent of night gifted me the Sun’s Filly—(the luminous, supreme theriac stone)—to serve as an antidote against those poisons.

Upon perceiving the lights of the spiritual dawn, I transcended my material consciousness and all the material knowledge I had previously acquired.

For whoever finds the path within this spiritual cradle—the cradle of the soul and spirit—attains gifts far greater than the mere light of the visible dawn.

And to you, whose nights have grown ashamed of your heedlessness, and whose days of material revelry have seen their faces blackened by the shame of delusion…

Know that I, who have characterized this night with such celestial attributes, did not craft that description save through true knowledge and a certain, mystical realization.

In its essence, the night is the veil of the solitude of singularity and oneness, while the candle at its heart is the very essence of inner insight.

The incense and rosewater that marked the close of the gathering were nothing but the tearful sighs of hearts bewildered and sorrowful with longing.

And all that grace and beauty gracing the gathering was naught but the light of the celestial Laylat al-Qadr (Night of Power) shining within the heart.

Who, then, is the favored one permitted to enter this veil, rippling with the hues of night? And who can polish away the rust from this veil, save the people of purity? The morning that learned the secret of the moth—in its burning and self-annihilation—kindled no candle in the cosmos more radiant than that very flame.

Strive, O seeker, to obtain from that candle but a single searing ember—a mark of burning born of longing—so that you may reach, just as Nizami did, the lamp of guidance and light.

Sufi and Gnostic Meanings

The Alchemy of Primordial Compensation (Line 1): “What has passed is transformed anew”; the poet affirms that a human life spent in outward striving or grueling religious asceticism is not lost. In the “realm of pre-eternity”—when the Gnostic attains the fruit of spiritual seclusion—every moment is compensated for by an eternal Sufi presence that transcends all temporal calculations.

The Secret of “shifteh-ye shifteh-ye khvish bud” (Line 12): This line embodies the essence of the “secret of divine orientation”; the spiritual wayfarer discovers that their love for the Truth was merely a reflection of the Truth’s love for them (“He loves them and they love Him”). Indeed, the desire of the Unseen to draw the servant close and bring him to the destination far exceeds the servant’s own desire—by a hundredfold.

The Exchange of Attributes and Annihilation (Line 9): “It became the greenery, and I, the stream…” Here, the poet employs visual imagery to depict the “Station of Union and Divine Manifestation.” The grass and the stream, as well as the fuller (garment cleaner) and the sun, represent pairings in which the ego dissolves, allowing the two parties to merge into a single, purified entity.

The Deprivation of Day and the Secret of Night: “If the night did not unveil our secrets…” In the poet’s mystical philosophy, the day symbolizes “multiplicity and the realm of separation,” whereas the night symbolizes “unity and concealment.” The heart’s fear that the day might burn away the veil of night mirrors the mystic’s fear of emerging from a state of spiritual rapture back into the clamor of the world.

Bewilderment and Supreme Intoxication: “I am unaware—had I but …” When the spiritual seeker reaps the fruit of Union (the fresh, ripe date), he attains the station of “Effacement and Annihilation” (Mahw and Fana’); here, his greatest knowledge becomes his utter ignorance of his own human existence.

The Secret of the “Night of Ascension, More Radiant than the Day” (Verse 18): “It was night, yet it was the Night of Ascension.” Here, the poet reaches the pinnacle of interpreting “seclusion” (khalwa); for the exoteric observer, night signifies darkness and stillness, but for the mystic knower (‘ārif), it is a “bright white day” (rūz-e safīd) because it serves as the arena for spiritual ascension. As the wayfarer ascends within the journey of the heart, the night becomes more luminous than the sun, and darkness transforms into a moment of divine unveiling.

The Sword of Morning and the Anguish of Separation (Verses 21, 26, 28): The poet personifies the arrival of morning as a “knight wielding a dagger” (tīgh-zanān / dashneh be-dast); this is because the dawn of day in the material realm brings an end to the hours of “intimate communion in seclusion.” “Morning breaks the bridge” (Bar-e pol shekast); meaning it severs the inner bond of connection, forcibly returning the spiritual wayfarer to the realm of separation and the senses.

The secret of “Bang-e ze-kharabat-e man” (The Cry from My Tavern of Ruin) [Line 29]: In the poet’s literature and in Irfan (mysticism), the “Kharabat” (Tavern of Ruin) signifies “the heart of the lover, wherein the structures of the ego and the rational intellect have collapsed.” The cry of the Kharabat is the lament of the soul that has tasted the sweetness of Divine Companionship, only to be stricken by the dawn of worldly obligation and human existence.

The Ascension of the Heart: “Bud-e shab, amma shab-e meraj bud” (It was night, yet it was the night of Ascension); Sufis affirm that every sincere wayfarer experiences a unique spiritual ascension of the heart during moments of solitude, as their soul journeys from the clay of the earth to the heavens of Divine Unveiling.

Surrender to Divine Decree: “Man ze-masafash separ andakhte” (I have cast down my shield before the battlefield of His decree); Among the stations of the Gnostic (‘ārif) is that when the vicissitudes of Divine Manifestation befall him—or when his spiritual state is withdrawn—he casts aside the shield of resistance and surrenders to the Divine Will in complete submission.

Revealing the Greatest Secret: “The Light of the Visions of Shab-e Qadr” (Verse 43): This verse serves as the “master key” to the entire nineteenth discourse; for Nizami declares that all the poetic details he recounted—regarding the night gathering, the candle, the wine, and the assembly—were merely metaphors for the “Shab-e Qadr” (Night of Power) within the innermost heart. The Night of Power is the moment of the “descent of the angels and the Spirit” upon the heart of the detached spiritual wayfarer.

The Duality of the “Serpent” (Mār) and the “Colt” (Mohreh) (Verse 36): “Mār-e Shabam mohreh-ye khorshid dād” (The serpent of my night yielded the sun-gem). Here, the poet draws upon an ancient folk legend claiming that certain snakes carry a precious stone in their heads—known as Mohreh-ye Mar (Snake’s Jewel)—capable of transforming venom into an antidote. From a mystical perspective, the darkness of night (symbolized by the serpent) is what grants the spiritual seeker the “Sun’s Jewel” (the wisdom of illumination); for it is from the darkness of seclusion that the light of Truth emerges.

Consider the equation of Dāgh (cauterizing mark/burning) and Cherāgh (lamp) in Verse 46: “Strive so that from that candle you attain the Dāgh / until, like Nizami, you attain the Cherāgh.” This constitutes the poet’s final counsel: attaining the “Lamp” (the light of spiritual insight) is not achieved through mere reading or wishful thinking, but rather through the burning anguish of the Dāgh—the searing of the heart with the yearning for Truth. Whoever has not tasted the pain of detachment shall not attain the radiance of knowledge.

The esoteric interpretation of the “Night of Power” (Laylat al-Qadr): “It was the light of the visions of the Night of Power.” For the people of the inner path (ahl al-batin), the Night of Power (Laylat al-Qadr) is not merely a span of time—whether in summer or winter—but rather “a state of the heart when the Light of the Truth manifests within it.” Thus, every moment spent in spiritual seclusion becomes superior to a thousand months of a life lived in heedlessness.

Experiential Gnosis (ma‘rifa dhawqiyya): The poet asserts that his words in Makhzan al-Asrar (The Treasury of Secrets) are not merely poetry conjured by the imagination, but rather “divinely bestowed, experiential knowledge” (‘ilm ladunni dhawqi). True knowledge is that which springs from a certain unveiling (kashf yaqini) that takes firm root in the heart of the spiritual wayfarer.

Vocabulary for Study:

Qasab: Fine flax or a hollow reed (symbolizing a vessel susceptible to ignition and influence).
Navak: A small, light, yet highly piercing arrow (symbolizing the gaze of spiritual insight or a piercing glance). Jāzar: The fuller, or the one who whitens and washes garments (symbolizing the spiritual seeker’s purity).
Ābilah: A blister or fluid-filled pustule (symbolizing the heat of envy or inner burning).
Hamnafas: A spiritual companion or soulmate; a kindred spirit.
Shab-khosh kardan: Bidding farewell and wishing a good night (symbolizing the end of the time of union).
Shab-e dāj: The pitch-black, intensely dark night.
Shab-e Mi‘rāj: The Night of Ascension (symbolizing the soul’s ascent to the Divine Presence).
Dishneh: The dagger or sharp knife (symbolizing the severing of the state of intimacy upon the break of dawn).
Teshneh-kushi: Killing the thirsty one or finishing him off (a metaphor for intense anguish/heartbreak).
Kham-kushi (Killing the Raw Self): Suppressing pain and exercising absolute patience without complaint (a symbol of spiritual maturity).
Mohreh-ye Khorshid (Sun-Bead): The luminous antidote-stone (a metaphor for the radiance of solar insight).
Mahd-e Ravan (Cradle of the Soul): The cradle of the spirit or the moving body (a symbol of the human vessel).
Zanjar-khvord (Rust-Eaten): Corroded by rust (a metaphor for the ran—the rust or veil—covering the heart and obscuring the light).
Dagh va Cheragh (Brand and Lamp): The ember of cauterization and the lamp (a duality representing the spiritual pain that guides one toward the light).

Arabic Translation

فِي هَذِهِ الْأَبْيَاتِ الْخَمْسَةَ عَشْرَةَ الْأُولَى، يَنْتَقِلُ الْحَكِيمُ نِظَامِي كَنْجَوِي مِنْ طَقْسِ الْعُزْلَةِ إِلَى جَنْيِ “الْمَحْصُولِ الْأَزَلِيِّ”؛ حَيْثُ يَلْتَقِي السَّالِكُ بِـ “التَّجَلِّي الْإِلَهِيِّ” الَّذِي يُمَزِّقُ حُجُبَ الزَّمَانِ، وَيَكْتَشِفُ أَنَّ الشَّوْقَ الْإِلَهِيَّ نَحْوَ الْإِنْسَانِ أَعْظَمُ بِأَضْعَافٍ مِنْ شَوْقِ الْإِنْسَانِ نَحْوَ خَالِقِهِ

لَقَدْ غُزِلَ نَسِيجُ الْعُمْرِ فَوْقَ بِسَاطِ الْأَزَلِ، وَكُلُّ مَا ضَاعَ وَفَنِيَ مِنَ الْحَيَاةِ كُوفِئَ فِي هَذِهِ الْخَلْوَةِ بِبَدِيلٍ أَعْظَمَ وَأَبْهَى

فَكَانَتِ الْأُذُنُ تُصْغِي إِلَى طِرَازِ تِلْكَ الرِّسَالَةِ الْمُبْهِرَةِ لِلْعُقُولِ، وَالْعَيْنُ خَاشِعَةً فِي سُجُودِهَا تُؤَدِّي التَّحِيَّاتِ وَالإِجْلَالَ

وَأقْتَضَبَ الْقَلْبُ شَوْقاً مِنْ بَسَمَاتِ الْحِسَانِ السُّكَّرِيَّاتِ، بَيْنَمَا كَانَتِ النَّظْرَةُ تُكْحِلُ أَعْيُنَ الْغَزَالَاتِ ضِيَاءً وَبَهَاءً

فَكان المَحبوب ذُو الحُسنِ الْمُتَسَرْبِلُ بِالْكَتَّانِ كَالْقَمَرِ في تلك البَقعة، قد جَعَلَ قَلْبِي مَثْقُوباً بلوعةٍ، كَالْقَصَبِ الْمُفَرَّغِ من محتواه

وَالْقَمَرُ الَّذِي كَانَ يَنْثِرُ ضِيَاؤُهُ فَرَحاً فِي اللَّيَالِي، بَقِيَ تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةَ حَتَّى الصَّبَاحِ حَائِراً مَشْدُوهاً أَمَامَ ذَاكَ الْحُسن

وكُلَّمَا أنْطَلَقَ سَهْمُ غَمْزَتِهِ خَفِيفَ الرَّيْشِ (سَهم صغير بنهايتهِ ريش كي يَنساب بُسرعة)، خَرَّتِ الرُّوحُ سَاجِدَةً تَقُبِّلُ الْأَرْضَ خُضُوعاً وَإسْتِسْلَاماً لتلك الغَمزة

وَأمْتَلَأَتْ أَهْدَابُ الشَّمْعَةِ دُمُوعاً (ذَوبان الشَّمْعِ) مِنْ بَرِيقِ نُورِهِ، وَأَصَابَتِ النَّارُ نور الْمِصْبَاحِ بِالْبَثَرَاتِ (رَمْزُ حَرَارَةِ الْحَسَدِ أَوْ الإحْتِرَاقِ) حَسَداً

وَكُلُّ جَوْرٍ وَظلمٍ أَمْطَرَنِي بِهِ بالجَفَاءً منهُ (المَحبوب ذُو الحُسنِ الْمُتَسَرْبِلُ بِالْكَتَّانِ كَالْقَمَرِ)، تَلَقَّاهُ الْقَلْبُ كَبَرَكَةٍ مُقَدَّسَةٍ مَقْرُونَةً بِالْوَفَاءِ الصَّادِقِ

فتَارَةً يُصبح هِو الْعُشْبَ الْأَخْضَرَ وَأَكُونُ أَنَا جَدْوَلَ الْمَاءِ، وَتَارَةً أَكُونُ أَنَا الْقَصَّارَ (مُنَظِّفُ/مُبيض الثِّيَابِ)، وَيكُونُ هِو الشَّمْسَ الْمُطَهِّرة

مِنْ ذَلِكِ الرُّطَبِ الْجَنِيِّ (ثَمَرَةِ الْوَصْلِ والخَلوة مع القلبِ) الَّذِي جَنَيْتُهُ تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةَ، أصَبحت غَائِبًا عَنْ وَعْيِي، إن كَان لدي علمٍ بما جَرى، فهو جَهل تَام

فإِنَّ ذَاكَ الْهِلَالَ الْجَدِيدَ الَّذِي أضاء وَجهه مِنَ النُّورِ، حَجَبَ هِلَالَ السَّمَاءِ عَنْ عُشَّاقِهِ بِبَهَائِهِ

فكَانَ مَفْتُونَاً بِمَنْ فُتِنَ بِهِ، وَكَانَ الشَّوْقُ الَّذِي يحْمِلُهُ نَحْوَي يَفُوقُ شَوْقِي مِائَةَ مَرَّةٍ له

فكان الْقَلْبُ يَتَمَنَّى: مَاذَا لَوْ لَمْ يَأْتِ النَّهَارُ ليكشف حِجَابَ لَيْلَتِنَا الْمُبَارَكَةِ؟

فلَوْ أَنَّ هَذِهِ اللَّيْلَةَ أقْتَرَنَتْ بِالْبَقَاءِ وَالسَّلَامَةِ، فستُصبح هِيَ قَرين الرُوح في يَوْمِ الْقِيَامَةِ حيث الْخُلُودِ

فإِنَّ ضِيَاءَ تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةِ، الَّذي كَانَ كَالشَّمْسِ إِشْرَاقًا، أَبْحَثُ عَنْهُ دَوْمًا فَلَا أَجِدُهُ، حَتَّى فِي الأحلامِ

فِي هَذَا الْمَقْطَعِ الْمَلَكُوتِيِّ، يَرْسُمُ الْحَكِيمُ نِظَامِي كَنْجَوِي لَوْحَةً إنْفِعَالِيَّةً شَجِيَّةً؛ حَيْثُ يَصِيفُ لَيْلَةَ الْخَلْوَةِ بِأَنَّهَا كَانَتْ “لَيْلَةَ مِعْرَاجٍ رُوحَانِيٍّ” (شب معراج)، فَتَحَسَّرَ عَلَيْهَا الْقَمَرُ وَحَسَدَهَا النَّهَارُ. وَحِينَمَا أنْفَجَرَ عَمُودُ الصُّبْحِ، جَاءَ الفَجْرُ كَالْفَارِسِ السَّافِرِ الْحَامِلِ لِلسَّيْفِ لِيُمَزِّقَ حِجَابَ اللَّيْلِ وَيُحْنِيَ هَامَةَ الْعَاشِقِ فِي دُمُوعِ الْحَسْرَةِ عَلَى إنْقِضَاءِ حَضْرَةِ الْوَصْلِ

ولَمْ تَطُبْ لِي نَشْوَةٌ أَوْ طَرَبٌ إِلَّا فِي تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةِ الْمُبَارَكَةِ، وَمُنْذُ أَنْ وَدَّعَتْنِي تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةُ وَبَارَكَتْ بِالسَّلَامِ، لَمْ تَطُبْ لِي لَيْلَةٌ بَعْدَهَا أَبَدًا

وَمِنْ أَجْلِ ذَلِكَ، أَظَلُّ أَهْتِفُ طَوَالَ اللَّيْلِ: يَا رَبُّ! يَا رَبُّ!، فلَعَلِّي فِي لَيْلَةٍ مَا أَحْظَى بِتَجَلٍّ يُشْبِهُ إِشْرَاقَ تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةِ

فقد كَانَتْ نَهَارًا أَبْيَضَ سَاطِعًا وَلَمْ تَكُنْ لَيْلَةً مُظْلِمَةً، أبداً؛ فقد كَانَتْ لَيْلَةً فِي الظَّاهِرِ، لَكِنَّهَا كَانَتْ فِي الْحَقِيقَةِ لَيْلَةَ مِعْرَاجٍ رُوحَانِيٍّ ناصَعة

فالْقَمَرُ الَّذِي يَسْتَخْرِجُ الْكُنُوزَ مِنْ عَقِيقِ السَّمَاءِ (لَعْلِ فَلَك)/ ينير السَماء بنورهِ، يَظَلُّ طَوَالَ اللَّيْلِ يَحْتَضِرُ باللَوْعَةً وَالحَسْرَةً والحزن، عَلَى فِوَاتِ تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةِ

وَحَتَّى النَّهَارُ الَّذِي أتَّخَذَ مِنْ مُعَادَاةِ اللَّيْلِ الظليم مَذْهَبًا لَهُ (لايلتقيان أبدا وجها لوجها، فأحَدهما يأتي والأخر ينَصرف، حيث يتعاقب الليل والنهار دائما للأبد)، يَتَمَنَّى فِي سِرِّهِ أَنْ يَظْفَرَ بِلَيْلَةٍ وَاحِدَةٍ مُبَارَكَةٍ كَتِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةِ

وَبَيْنَمَا كُنْتُ مُسْتَغْرِقًا مَذْهُولًا عَنْ كُلِّ شَيء، وإِذْا بِالصُّبْحِ يَقْتَحِمُ الْبَابَ بشُروق السَّحَرِ، مُشْهِرًا سَيْفَ ضِيَائِهِ كَالْفَارِسِ الْقَاطِعِ

فَقد حَول نُور الشَّمْسِ (أَشِعَّتُهَا المُحرقة) الدُّمُوعَ التي تَجْرِي منْهِمَرة مِنْ أَهْدَابِي حُزناً على تلك الليلةِ، لِتَسِيلَ كَالْمِيَاهِ الْجَارِيَةِ في صَحن خَلوتي، لَوْعَةً

فجَاءَ السَّحَابُ إِلَى الْبُسْتَانِ مُتَرَاقِصًا بِلُطْفٍ، وَبَدَا ثَوْبُ الشَّمْسِ خَاشِعًا يُؤَدِّي صَلَاةَ الْخُضُوعِ وَالتَّسْبِيحِ

وحَوْضَ هَذَا الْيَنْبُوعِ الَّذِي بَنَاهُ صَانِعُ الشَّمْسِ، كَمْ كَسَرَ مِنْ جِرَارٍ وَأَوَانٍ لأُنَاسٍ مِثْلِي وَمِثْلِكَ (فِي إِفْنَاءِ الْأَعْمَارِ وَالْقَوَالِبِ)

وثبتَ الْفَلَكُ النُّجُومَ كَالْمَسَامِيرِ فَوْقَ الْفِضَّةِ الصَّافِيَةِ، وَطَلَاهَا بِصَفَائِحَ مِنَ الذَّهَبِ الْخَالِصِ الْمُسْتَمَدِّ مِنْ وَجه (أشعة) الشَّمْسِ

وَنَهَضَ الصَّبَاحُ الَّذِي كَانَ ثَقِيلَ النَّوْمِ، مُسْرِعًا بِخِفَّةٍ، حَامِلًا الْخَنْجَرَ فِي يَدِهِ لِيُعْلِنَ سَفْكَ دِمَاءِ الظَّلَامِ (مَحْوَ اللَّيْلِ)

فلم يَكن أمامي مِن مَفر، سوى الإستسلام أَمَامَ مَعْرَكَتِهِ، وجَعلت رُوحِي دِرْعًا وَهَدَفًا لِضَرَبَاتِ خَنْجَرِهِ النَّافِذِ

فوَثَبَ وَقت السَّحَرُ طَالِبًا رُوحِي فَوْقَ الْجَدْوَلِ، فَأَجْهَزَ عَلَى الظَّامِئِ (قَتَلَنِي شَوْقًا) وَهَدم الْجِسْرَ خَلْفَهُ كي لايَعود للوراء (أشَرق الصباح)

فَأرْتَفَعَ الصُّرَاخُ وَالْأَنِينُ مِنْ خَرَابَاتِ قَلْبِي الْمُتَهَدِّمِ، فخاطبته قائلاً: أَيّهَا السَّحَرُ (الصباح بعد أن أشرقَ على ليلة الشَاعر)، أَهَذَا هُوَ جَزَائِي وَمُكَافَأَتِي بَعْدَ طُولِ الْوَصْلِ؟

فقَبْلَ مَجيئكَ، حِينَ كَانَ لِي أَنِيسٌ وَأَحِبَّةٌ، كَانَتْ لَدَيَّ شُمُوعٌ كَثِيرَةٌ تُنِيرُ لَيْلَتِي بِالدِّفْءِ وَالصَّفَاءِ

فِي هَذَا الْمَقْطَعِ الْأَخِيرِ، يَكْشِفُ الْحَكِيمُ نِظَامِي كَنْجَوِي عَنْ “السِّرِّ الْأَكْبَرِ” لِكُلِّ مَا وَصَفَهُ فِي هَذِهِ الْخَلْوَةِ؛ إِذْ يُعْلِنُ أَنَّ تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةَ وَالْمَجْلِسَ وَالشَّمْعَةَ وَالْبَخُورَ لَمْ تَكُنْ صُوَرًا حِسِّيَّةً أَبَدًا، بَلْ كَانَتْ “إِشْرَاقَاتِ نُورِ لَيْلَةِ الْقَدْرِ الرُّوحَانِيَّةِ” فِي مِحْرَابِ الْقَلْبِ، حَيْثُ يَتَحَوَّلُ أثر الشَّوْقِ إِلَى مِصْبَاحِ هِدَايَةٍ يَهْدِي السَّالِكِينَ

فَمَا النَّفْعُ يَا قَلْبُ وَتِلْكَ اللَّيْلَةُ وَذَاتُ الشَّمْعَةِ لَمْ يَبْقَيَا؟ لَقَدِ أسْتَحَالَ الْوُجُودُ إِلَى عَدَمٍ كَامِلٍ، حَتَّى كَأَنَّ شَيْئًا مِنْ ذَلِكَ لَمْ يَكُنْ موجودا

فأغْرِزْ شَوْكَةَ الْأَلَمِ فِيمَنْ نَالَ مِنْكَ صَفَاءَ الشَّهْدِ، وَأنْفُشْ غَزْلَ مَنْ غَزَلَ صُوفَكَ كَتَّانًا (عَامِلِ الدَّهْرَ وَالْحَوَاسَّ بِمَا تُعَامِلُكَ بِهِ مِنْ صَرْمٍ)

وأخْتَرِ الصَّمْتَ وَالصَّبْرَ الْهَادِئَ (صَبْرَ الْمُحْتَرِقِ فِي سِرِّهِ)؛ فَهَذَا هُوَ الصَّوَابُ، إِذْ مَا أَيْسَرَ أَنْ يُحْرَقَ مَنْ هُوَ مُحْتَرِقٌ فِي الْأَصْلِ

فَلَمَّا نَظَرَ الصَّبَاحُ إِلَى بُكَائِي وَدُمُوعِ حَسْرَتِي على تلك الليلة، بَكَى عَلَى حُمْرَةِ الشَّفَقِ دَمًا قَانِيًا مِنْ شَدَّةِ الشَّفَقَةِ عَلَى حَالِي

فَاحْتَرَقَ بَيْدَرُ النَّهَارِ مِنْ ثِقَلِ غَمِّي وحزني الْوُجُودِيِّ، وَتَجَمَّدَتْ عَيْنُ الشَّمْسِ مِنْ زَفَرَاتِ أَنْفَاسِي الْحَارة

وَرغْمَ كُلِّ السُّمُومِ الَّتِي تَجَرَّعْتُهَا، مَنَحَنِي الْفَلَكُ الْأَمَلَ؛ إِذْ أَهْدَانِي ثُعْبَانُ اللَّيْلِ (مُهْرَةَ الشَّمْسِ/حَجَرَ التَّرْيَاقِ الْأَعْظَمِ الْمُنِيرَ، لكي يكون ترياقا لي من هذه السموم/من الأساطير القديمة)

فَلَمَّا أَدْرَكْتُ أَنُوَارَ السَّحَرِ الرُّوحِيِّ، غِبْتُ عَنْ وَعْيِي الْمَادِّيِّ وعن كُلِّ مَعرفة مادية قد حَصلت عليها في السابق

فكُلُّ مَنْ وَجَدَ الطَّرِيقَ فِي هَذِا الْمَهْدِ الرُّوحِيَّةِ (مَهْدِ النَّفْسِ وَالرُّوحِ)، نَالَ هَدَايَا أَعْظَمَ وَأَكْثَرَ مِنْ مُجَرَّدِ نُورِ السَّحَرِ الظَّاهِرِ

ويَا مَنْ أَصْبَحَتْ كُلُّ لَيَالِيكَ خَجْلَى مِنْ غَفْلَتِكَ، وَأسْوَدَّتْ صَفَحَاتُ وُجُوهِ أَيَّامِ طَرَبِكَ الْمَادِّيِّ إنْخِدَاعًا

فأَنَا الَّذِي وَصَفْتُ هَذِهِ اللَّيْلَةَ بِهَذِهِ الصِّفَاتِ الْمَلَكُوتِيَّةِ، مَا صَغْتُ ذَلِكَ الوَصْفَ إِلَّا عَنْ مَعْرِفَةٍ وَذَوْقٍ عِرْفَانِيٍّ يَقِينِيٍّ

فَاللَّيْلُ فِي حَقِيقَتِهِ هُوَ سِتْرُ خَلْوَةِ التَّفَرُّدِ وَالْوَحْدَةِ، وَالشَّمْعَةُ فِي قَلْبِهِ هِيَ جَوْهَرُ الْبَصِيرَةِ الْبَاطِنِيَّةِ

وَعُودُ البخور وَمَاءُ الْوَرْدِ الَّذِي أُغلق بِهِ الْمَجْلِسُ، مَا كَانَ إِلَّا أَنِينَ دُمُوعِ مجموعة من حَيَارَى الْقُلُوبِ الْمَحْزُونَةِ شَوْقًا

وَكُلُّ ذَاكَ الْحُسْنِ وَالْجَمَالِ الَّذِي تَصَدَّرَ الْمَجْلِسَ، لَمْ يَكُنْ سِوَى نُورِ إِشْرَاقَاتِ لَيْلَةِ الْقَدْرِ الْمَلَكُوتِيَّةِ في القلبِ

فَمَنْ هُوَ الْمَقرب الْمَسْمُوحُ لَهُ بِدُخُولِ هَذَا الْحِجَابِ الْمُمَوَّجِ بِلَوْنِ اللَّيْلِ؟ وَمَنْ ذَا الَّذِي يَسْتَطِيعُ صَقْلَ صَدَأِ هَذَا الْحِجَابِ سِوَى أَهْلِ الصَّفَاءِ؟

وَالصَّبَاحُ الَّذِي تَعَلَّمَ سِرَّ الْفَرَاشَةِ فِي الإحْتِرَاقِ وَالْفَنَاءِ، لَمْ يُوقِدْ فِي الْكَوْنِ شَمْعَةً أَبْهَى مِنْ تِلْكَ الشَّمْعَةِ

فَاجْهَدْ نفسكَ يَا سَالِكُ لِكَيْ تَنَالَ مِنْ تِلْكَ الشَّمْعَةِ جَذْوَةَ كَيٍّ وَاحِدَةً (أثر إحتراق بالشوقِ)، لِتَصِلَ كَمَا وَصَلَ نِظَامِيُّ إِلَى مِصْبَاحِ الْهِدَايَةِ وَالْنور

المعاني الصوفية والعرفانية

كِيمِيَاءُ التَّعْوِيضِ الأَزَلِيِّ (الْبَيْتُ ١): “آنچه شده باز بدل یافته”؛ يُؤَكِّدُ الشاعر أَنَّ عُمْرَ الْإِنْسَانِ الْمُنْقَضِي فِي السَّعْيِ الظَّاهِرِ أَوْ الرِّيَاضَةِ الدينية الْمُضْنِيَةِ لَيْسَ ضَائِعًا، فَفِي “بِسَاطِ الْأَزَلِ”، حِينَمَا يَنَالُ الْعَارِفُ ثَمَرَةَ الْخَلْوَةِ، يُعَوَّضُ عَنْ كُلِّ لَحْظَةٍ بِحُضُورٍ صُوفِيٍّ أَبَدِيٍّ يَفُوقُ كُلَّ حِسَابَاتِ الزَّمَانِ

سِرُّ “شِيفْتِهٔ شِيفْتِهٔ خُويش بُود” (الْبَيْتُ ١٢): هَذَا الْبَيْتُ هُوَ جَوْهَرُ “سِرِّ التَّوَجُّهِ الْإِلَهِيِّ”؛ إِذْ يَكْتَشِفُ السَّالِكُ أَنَّ مَحَبَّتَهُ لِلْحَقِّ لَمْ تَكُنْ إِلَّا إنْعِكَاسًا لِمَحَبَّةِ الْحَقِّ لَهُ (“يُحِبُّهُمْ وَيُحِبُّونَهُ”). بَلْ إِنَّ رَغْبَةَ الْغَيْبِ فِي جَذْبِ الْعَبْدِ وَإِيصَالِهِ تَتَجَاوَزُ رَغْبَةَ الْعَبْدِ نَفْسِهِ بِمِائَةِ ضِعْفٍ

تَبَادُلُ الصِّفَاتِ وَالْفَنَاءُ (الْبَيْتُ ٩): “گه شده او سبزه و من جوی آب…”؛ يَسْتَخْدِمُ الشاعر هُنَا صُوَرًا بَصَرِيَّةً لِـ “مَقَامِ الِاتِّحَادِ وَالتَّجَلِّي”؛ فَالْعُشْبُ وَالْجَدْوَلُ، وَالْقَصَّارُ (مُنَظِّفُ الثِّيَابِ) وَالشَّمْسُ، هِيَ ثُنَائِيَّاتٌ تَتَذَوَّبُ فِيهَا الْأَنَانِيَّةُ لِيَصِيرَ الطَّرَفَانِ كِيَانًا وَاحِدًا مُمَحَّصًا

حِرْمَانُ النَّهَارِ وَسِرُّ اللَّيْلِ: “اگر شب ما را نشدی پرده‌سوز”؛ النَّهَارُ فِي عِرْفَانِ الشاعر هُوَ رَمْزُ “الْكَثْرَةِ وَعَالَمِ التَّفْرِقَةِ”، بَيْنَمَا اللَّيْلُ هُوَ رَمْزُ “الْوَحْدَةِ وَالإسْتِتَارِ”. خَوْفُ الْقَلْبِ مِنْ إِحْرَاقِ النَّهَارِ لِقِنَاعِ اللَّيْلِ هُوَ خَوْفُ الْعَارِفِ مِنْ خُرُوجِهِ مِنْ حَالَةِ الْجَذْبِ عَوْدَةً إِلَى الضَّوْضَاءِ

الذَّهَوْلُ وَالسَّكْرَةُ الْعُلْيَا: “بی‌خبرم گر خبری داشتم”؛ حِينَمَا يَجْنِي السَّالِكُ ثَمَرَةَ الْوَصْلِ (الرُّطَبَ الْجَنِيَّ)، يَصِلُ إِلَى مَقَامِ “الْمَحْوِ وَالْفَنَاءِ”؛ حَيْثُ يُصْبِحُ أَعْظَمُ عِلْمٍ عِنْدَهُ هُوَ جَهْلُهُ التَّامُّ بِوُجُودِهِ الْبَشَرِيِّ

سِرُّ “لَيْلَةِ الْمِعْرَاجِ الَّتِي أَبْهَى مِنَ النَّهَارِ” (الْبَيْتُ ١٨): “بود شب، اما شب معراج بود”؛ هُنَا يَصِلُ الشاعر إِلَى الذِّرْوَةِ فِي تَأْوِيلِ “الْخَلْوَةِ”؛ فَاللَّيْلَةُ عِنْدَ أَهْلِ الظَّاهِرِ ظَلَامٌ وَسُكُونٌ، لَكِنَّهَا عِنْدَ الْعَارِفِ هِيَ “نَهَارٌ أَبْيَضُ” (روز سفید) لِأَنَّهَا مَسْرَحُ الْمِعْرَاجِ الرُّوحِيِّ. حِينَمَا يَرْتَقِي السَّالِكُ فِي مِعْرَاجِ قَلْبِهِ، يُصْبِحُ اللَّيْلُ أَنْوَرَمِنَ الشَّمْسِ، وَيَسْتَحِيلُ الظَّلَامُ كَشْفًا لَاهُوتِيًّا

سَيْفُ الصَّبَاحِ وَحَسْرَةُ الْإِنْقِطَاعِ (الْأَبْيَاتُ ٢١، ٢٦، ٢٨): يُجَسِّدُ الشاعر ظُهُورَ الصَّبَاحِ فِي صُورَةِ “فَارِسٍ يَحْمِلُ خَنْجَرًا” (تیغ‌زنان / دشنه به دست)؛ لِأَنَّ طُلُوعَ النَّهَارِ فِي عَالَمِ الْمَادَّةِ يُنْهِي سَاعَاتِ “الْأُنْسِ فِي الْخَلْوَةِ”. الصَّبَاحُ يَكْسِرُ الْجِسْرَ (بر او پل شکست)؛ أَيْ أَنَّهُ يَقْطَعُ حَبْلَ الْوَصْلِ الْبَاطِنِيِّ لِيُعِيدَ السَّالِكَ إِكْرَاهًا إِلَى عَالَمِ التَّفْرِقَةِ وَالْحَوَاسِّ

سِرُّ “بَانِگ زِ خَرَابَاتِ مَن” (الْبَيْتُ ٢٩): “الْخَرَابَاتُ” فِي أَدَبِ الشاعر وَالعِرْفَانِ هِيَ “قَلْبُ الْعَاشِقِ الَّذِي تَهَدَّمَتْ فِيهِ أَبْنِيَةُ الْأَنَانِيَّةِ وَالْعَقْلِ الظَّاهِرِ”. صُرَاخُ الْخَرَابَاتِ هُوَ أَنِينُ الرُّوحِ الَّتِي تَذَوَّقَتْ حَلَاوَةَ المَعِيَّةِ ثُمَّ فُجِعَتْ بِشُرُوقِ نَهَارِ التَّكْلِيفِ وَالْبَشَرِيَّةِ

الْمِعْرَاجُ الْقَلْبِيُّ: “بود شب، اما شب معراج بود”؛ يُؤَكِّدُ الصُوفِيَّةُ أَنَّ لِكُلِّ سَالِكٍ صَادِقٍ مِعْرَاجًا قَلْبِيًّا يَخْتَصُّ بِهِ فِي خَلَوَاتِهِ، إِذْ يَسْرِي بِرُوحِهِ مِنْ طِينِ الْأَرْضِ إِلَى سَمَاوَاتِ الْمُكَاشَفَةِ

الإسْتِسْلَامُ لِلْقَضَاءِ: “من ز مصافش سپر انداخته”؛ مِنْ مَقَامَاتِ الْعَارِفِ أَنَّهُ إِذَا نَزَلَتْ بِهِ صُرُوفُ التَّجَلِّي أَوْ سُلِبَتْ مِنْهُ الْحَالَةُ الرُّوحِيَّةُ، يُلْقِي دِرْعَ الْمُقَاوَمَةِ وَيَسْتَسْلِمُ لِلْإِرَادَةِ الْإِلَهِيَّةِ فِي خُضُوعٍ كَامِلٍ

كُشْفُ السِّرِّ الْأَعْظَمِ: “نُورِ خَيَالَاتِ شَبِ قَدْر” (الْبَيْتُ ٤٣): هَذَا الْبَيْتُ هُوَ “مِفْتَاحُ الْقَفْلِ” لِلْمَقَالَةِ التَّاسِعَةَ عَشْرَةَ كُلِّهَا؛ إِذْ يُصَرِّحُ نِظَامِي أَنَّ كُلَّ التَّفَاصِيلِ الشَّاعِرِيَّةِ الَّتِي ذَكَرَهَا عَنِ السَّهْرَةِ وَالشَّمْعِ وَالْشراب وَالْمَجْلِسِ، لَمْ تَكُنْ سِوَى إسْتِعَارَاتٍ لِـ “لَيْلَةِ الْقَدْرِ” (شب قدر) فِي بَاطِنِ الْقَلْبِ، لَيْلَةُ الْقَدْرِ هِيَ زَمَنُ “تَنَزُّلِ الْمَلَائِكَةِ وَالرُّوحِ” عَلَى قَلْبِ السَّالِكِ الْمُتَجَرِّدِ

ثُنَائِيَّةُ “الْمَارِ” وَ”مُهْرَه” (الْبَيْتُ ٣٦): “مار شبم مهره خورشید داد”؛ يَعْتَمِدُ الشاعر هُنَا عَلَى أُسْطُورَةٍ شَعْبِيَّةٍ قَدِيمَةٍ تَقُولُ إِنَّ بَعْضَ الْأَفَاعِي تَحْمِلُ فِي رَأْسِهَا حَجَرًا كَرِيمًا (مهرهٔ مار) يُحِيلُ السَّمَّ تَرْيَاقًا، وَعِرْفَانِيًّا: ظَلَامُ اللَّيْلِ (الثُّعْبَانُ) هُوَ الَّذِي يَمْنَحُ السَّالِكَ “مُهْرَةَ الشَّمْسِ” (حِكْمَةَ الْإِشْرَاقِ)؛ فَمِنْ ظُلْمَةِ الْخَلْوَةِ يَنْبَثِقُ نُورُ الْحَقِيقَةِ

مُعَادَلَةُ “دَّاغِ” وَ”چَرَاغِ” (الْبَيْتُ ٤٦): “کوش کز آن شمع به داغی رسی / تا چون نظامی به چراغی رسی”؛ هَذِهِ هِيَ الْوَصِيَّةُ الْخِتَامِيَّةُ لِلشاعر؛ فَالْوُصُولُ إِلَى “الْمِصْبَاحِ” (نُورِ الْبَصِيرَةِ) لَا يَتِمُّ بِمَحْضِ الْقِرَاءَةِ أَوْ التَّمَنِّي، بَلْ بِلَوْعَةِ “الْكَيِّ” (الداغ – إحْتِرَاقِ الْقَلْبِ بِشَوْقِ الْحَقِّ)؛ فَمَنْ لَمْ يَذُقْ أَلَمَ التَّجَرُّدِ، لَنْ يَنَالَ ضِيَاءَ الْمَعْرِفَةِ

تَأْوِيلُ “لَيْلَةِ الْقَدْرِ” الْبَاطِنِيَّةِ: “نور خیالات شب قدر بود”؛ لَيْلَةُ الْقَدْرِ عِنْدَ أَهْلِ الْبَاطِنِ لَيْسَتْ سَاعَاتٍ زَمَنِيَّةً صَيِفِيَّةً أَوْ شِتَوِيَّةً فَقَطْ، بَلْ هِيَ “حَالَةُ الْقَلْبِ حِينَمَا يَتَجَلَّى فِيهِ نُورُ الْحَقِّ”، فَتَصِيرُ كُلُّ لَحْظَةٍ فِي خَلْوَتِهِ خَيْرًا مِنْ أَلْفِ شَهْرٍ مِنْ عُمْرِ الْغَفْلَةِ

الْمَعْرِفَةُ الذَّوْقِيَّةُ (آن صفت از معرفتی کرده‌ام): يُؤَكِّدُ الشاعر أَنَّ كَلَامَهُ فِي “مَخْزَنِ الْأَسْرَارِ” لَيْسَ شِعْرًا تُخَُيِّلُهُ الْأَفْكَارُ، بَلْ هُوَ “عِلْمٌ لَدُنِّيٌّ ذَوْقِيٌّ”؛ فَالْمَعْرِفَةُ الْحَقِيقِيَّةُ هِيَ الَّتِي تَنْبَثِقُ عَنْ كَشْفٍ يَقِينِيٍّ يَسْتَقِرُّ فِي صَدْرِ السَّالِكِ

كَلِمَاتٌ لِلْتَّعَلُّمِ

قَصَب: الْكَتَّانُ الرَّقِيقُ أَوْ الْقَصَبُ الْمُفَرَّغُ (رَمْزُ الْهَيْكَلِ الْقَابِلِ لِلِاشْتِعَالِ وَالتَّأَثُّرِ)
نَاوَک: السَّهْمُ الصَّغِيرُ الْخَفِيفُ الشَّدِيدُ النَّفَاذِ (رَمْزُ نَظَرَةِ الْبَصِيرَةِ أَوْ الْغَمْزَةِ)
جَازَر: الْقَصَّارُ أَوْ مَن يُبَيِّضُ الثِّيَابَ وَيُغَسِّلُهَا (رَمْزُ طَهَارَةِ السَّالِكِ)
آبِلِه: الْبَثَرَةُ أَوْ الْحَبَّةُ الْمُمْتَلِئَةُ بِالْمَاءِ (رَمْزُ حَرَارَةِ الْحَسَدِ أَوْ الِاحْتِرَاقِ)
هَمْنَفَس: الْقَرِينُ أَوْ الْأَنِيسُ فِي الرُّوحِ وَالنَّفَسِ
شَب‌خُوَش كَرْدَن: الْوَدَاعُ وَتَمَنِّي لَيْلَةٍ سَعِيدَةٍ (رمز إنْقِضَاءِ زَمَنِ الْوَصْلِ)
شَبِ دَاج: اللَّيْلَةُ الْمُظْلِمَةُ الشَّدِيدَةُ السَّوَادِ
شَبِ مِعْرَاج: لَيْلَةُ الْمِعْرَاجِ (رَمْزُ إرْتِقَاءِ الرُّوحِ إِلَى الْحَضْرَةِ الْإِلَهِيَّةِ)
دِشْنِه: الْخَنْجَرُ أَوْ السِّكِّينُ الْحَادَّةُ (رمز بَتْرِ حَالَةِ الْأُنْسِ بِطُلُوعِ الْفَجْرِ)
تَشْنِه كُشِى: قَتْلُ الْعَطْشَانِ أَوْ الإِجْهَازُ عَلَيْهِ (كِنَايَةٌ عَنْ شِدَّةِ الْحَسْرَةِ)
خَامْ‌كُشِى: كَتْمُ الْأَلَمِ وَالصَّبْرُ الْمُطْلَقُ بِلَا شَكْوَى (رَمْزُ النَّضْجِ الرُّوحِيِّ)
مُهْرِهٔ خُورْشِيـد: حَجَرُ التَّرْيَاقِ الْمُنِيرُ (إستعَارَةٌ عَنْ ضِيَاءِ الْبَصِيرَةِ الشَّمْسِيَّةِ)
مَهْدِ رَوَان: مَهْدُ الرُّوحِ أَوْ الْجَسَدُ الْمُتَحَرِّكُ (رمز هَيْكَلِ الْإِنْسَانِ)
زَنِجَارْخُوَرد: الْمُتَآكِلُ بِالصَّدَأِ (إستعَارَةٌ عَنْ رَانِ الْقَلْبِ الْمَحْجُوبِ عَنِ النُّورِ)
دَاغ و چَرَاغ: جَذْوَةُ الْكَيِّ وَالْمِصْبَاحُ (ثُنَائِيَّةُ الْأَلَمِ الرُّوحِيِّ الَّذِي يَهْدِي إِلَى النُّورِ)

Persian Text

1

عمر بر آن فرش ازل بافته
آنچه شده باز بَدَل یافته

2

گوش در آن نامه تحیت‌رسان
دیده در آن سجده تحیات‌خوان

3

تنگ دل از خنده ترکان شکر
سرمه بر از چشم غزالان نظر

4

تُرک قصب‌پوش من آنجا چو ماه
کرده دلم را چو قصب رخنه‌گاه

5

مه که به شب دست برافشانده‌بود
آن شب تا روز فرو مانده‌بود

6

ناوکِ غمزه‌ش چو سبک‌پَر شدی
جان به زمین بوسه برابر شدی

7

شمع ز نور‌ش مژه پر اشک داشت
چشم ِ چراغ آبله از رشک داشت

8

هر ستمی که به جفا درگرفت
دل به تبرک به وفا برگرفت

9

گه شده او سبزه و من جوی آب
گه شده من گازر و او آفتاب

10

زان رطب آن شب که بری داشتم
بی‌خبرم گر خبری داشتم

11

کان مه نو کاو کمر از نور داشت
ماه نو از شیفتگان دور داشت

12

شیفتهٔ شیفتهٔ خویش بود
رغبتی از من صد ازو بیش بود

13

دل به تمنا که «‌چه بودی ز روز
گر شب ما را نشدی پرده سوز‌؟

14

امشب اگر جفت سلامت شدی
هم‌نفس روز قیامت شدی‌»

15

روشنیِ آن شبِ چون آفتاب
جویم بسیار و نبینم به خواب

16

جز به چنان شب طربم خوش نبود
تا شب‌خوش کرد شبم خوش نبود

17

زان همه شب یارب یارب کنم
بو که شبی جلوهٔ آن شب کنم

18

روز سفید آن نه شب داج بود
بود شب‌، اما شب معراج بود

19

ماه که بر لعل فلک کان کند
در غم آن شب همه شب جان کند

20

روز که شب‌دشمنی‌اش مذهب است
هم به تمنای چنان یک شب است

21

من شده فارغ که ز راه سحر
تیغ‌زنان صبح درآمد ز در

22

آتش خورشید ز مژگان من
آب روان کرد بر ایوان من

23

ابر به باغ آمده بازی‌کنان
جامهٔ خورشید نمازی‌کنان

24

حوضهٔ این چشمه که خورشید بست
چون من و تو چند سبو را شکست

25

چرخ ستاره زده بر سیم ناب
زر طلی از ورق آفتاب

26

صبح گران‌خسب سبک‌خیز شد
دشنه به‌دست از پی خون‌ریز شد

27

من ز مصافش سپر انداخته
جان سپرِ دشنهٔ او ساخته

28

در پی جانم سحر از جوی جَست
تشنه‌کُشی کرد و بر او پل شکست

29

بانگ برآمد ز خرابات من
ک«ای سحر اینست مکافات من‌»

30

پیشترک زین که کسی داشتم
شمع شب‌افروز بسی داشتم

31

آن‌شب و آن‌شمع نماندم چه سود‌؟
نیست چنان شد که تو گویی نبود

32

نیش در آن زن که ز تو نوش خُوَرد
پشم در آن کش که ترا پنبه کرد

33

خام‌کشی کن که صواب آن بود
سوختن سوخته آسان بود

34

صبح چو در گریه من بنگریست
بر شفق از شفقتِ من خون گریست

35

سوخته شد خرمن روز از غمم
چشمهٔ خورشید فسرد از دمم

36

با همه زهر‌م فلک امید داد
مار شبم مهره خورشید داد

37

چون اثرِ نورِ سحر یافتم
بی‌خبر‌م گرچه خبر یافتم

38

هر که درین مهد روان راه یافت
بیشتر از نور سحر‌گاه یافت

39

ای ز خجالت همه شب‌های تو
رو سیه از روز طرب‌های تو

40

من که ازین شب صفتی کرده‌ام
آن صفت از معرفتی کرده‌ام

41

شب صفت پرده تنهایی است
شمع در او گوهر بینا‌یی است

42

عود و گلابی که بر او بسته شد
ناله و اشک دو سه دل‌خسته شد

43

وآن‌همه خوبی که در‌آن صدر بود
نور خیالات شب قدر بود

44

محرم ِاین پرده زنگی‌نوَرد
کیست در این پرده زنگار خوَرد‌؟

45

صبح که پروانگی آموخته‌ست
خوشتر ازان شمع نیفروخته‌ست

46

کوش کز آن شمع به داغی رسی
تا چو نظامی به چراغی رسی