How many nights…

radha under the moon




By God, how many nights I have spent
in the sweetness of life, apart from the watchman
Drinking my wine with the beloved as my companion
as the glasses of love’s joys go ’round
I reached by goal, beyond whatever I had hoped
Longing, though it be perfect, for this pleasure to stay with me forever




فلِلّهِ، كَم من لَيلَة ٍ قد قَطَعتُها                   بِلَذّة ِ عيشٍ، والرّقيبُ بِمَعزلِ
ونقلي مدامي والحبيبُ منادمي                وأقداحُ أفْراحِ المَحَبّة ِ تَنجَلي
ونلتُ مُرادي، فوقَ ما كنتُ راجياً،            فواطَرَبا، لو تَمّ هذا ودامَ لي

Amir Khusrau



Many nights I was with a moon, where have all those nights gone?
Night has come again, but now it’s black from the smoke of my cries
Happy where the nights I spent with her, sometimes drunk, sometimes giddy
My world goes dark when I remember those nights
I repeat the tale of her eyebrows and lashes over and over again
just like children reciting the surah of “Nun wa qalam” at school
What would happen if one night she asked a lonely stranger beneath her walls
how he passes these lonely nights?
Come, you who are the life of every form,
let lovers—forms without life—live again in your alley
Even though you’ve taken my heart and soul, look at me
See how nicely that smile came from those lips into these eyes
Don’t grieve for your life Khusrau, though the Friend slays you
For the beautiful faced ones have so many sects that act like this.


hookah under the blankets



بسي شب با مهي بودم کجا شد آن همه شبها                             کنون هم هست شب، ليکن سياه از دود ياربها
خوش آن شبهاکه پيشش بودمي گه مست و گه سرخوش                جهانم مي شود تاريک چون ياد آرم آن شبها
همي کردم حديث ابرو و مژگان او هر دم                               چو طفلان سوره نون والقلم خوانان به مکتبها
چه باشد گر شبي پرسد که در شبهاي تنهايي                            غريبي زير ديوارش چگونه مي کند شبها
بيا، اي جان هر قالب که تا زنده شوند از سر                           به کويت عاشقان کز جان تهي کردند قالبها
اگر چه دل بدزديدي و جان، اينک نگر حالم                            چه نيکو آمد آن خنده، درين ديده ازان لبها
مرنج از بهر جان، خسرو، اگر چه مي کشد يارت                     که باشد خوبرويان را بسي زين گونه مذهبها