Muhammed Fuzuli (1498-1556)


Translated by Sofi Nuri

Herein is set forth the Ode spoken by Leyla in which she
demonstrated her perfect understanding of Mejnun.

Though lovely, she who never makes a gift
Of all her beauty to her lover dear
Remains imperfect, lacking still the clear
Bright spirit of perfection. Little shrift
Is due to Beauty that attracts no Love:
Incapable of being loved is she
Who still attraction holds not: for above
Its mere possession is the power of lovely face.
For ever kept in secret hidden place
Where those who value not may never see,
Where those, that lack the knowledge mystical,
God's handiwork find all unmagical.
That man who seeks a sweet communion
With beauty, but with flesh needs union.
But he who knows of sweet perfection found,
Twixt union and separation finds
No difference, for he knows how each is bound
To each, afar and near the spirit binds
While en his loved one every lover spends
The riches of his life, forgiving all
The cruelties that from his loved one fall.
All beauties haply seek to gain their end
By sweet coquettish airs, the lover true
Knows well reality stays not in new
Sweet scented lock, or freshly painted mole.
No beauty of itself may make him whole.

Fuzuli, see how in the world so wide
Thou roamest, still ascetic, still untried
Within thy ignorance all unaware
Of how they end, all those who true love dare.

Herein is set forth the Epilogue to this Section of the
Story of Leyla and Mejnun.

The Moon had scarcely closed her poem sad
When 'fore her eyes the camel driver rode,
A camel cow with quickly running man
As swift as morning breeze came o'er the plain.
And thus the rose-cheeked, jasmine breasted maid
Was 'ware her absence was no longer hid,
That swiftly now the desert suffered search.
She knew that dark suspicion ever dwelled
Within the rival's heart, knew, too, that grief
Apportioned to the heart afflicts the soul.
Full well she knew that not an instant lost
Since her withdrawal and the search began
And thus, ere yet the thorn could reach the rose
The rose unto the garden bade farewell.
Before Mejnun her absence had embraced
She fled, with quickly moving, tireless feet,
While he, the seeker, seeking now the Sun
Retarded now his hot impatient haste,
Enjoyed the satisfaction in the heart
That comes of goal achieved, and turned his thoughts
To easy finding of a halting place.
Then joyful, with the royal falcon caught
He left it in its nest. The gardener
Rejoiced again to have his sapling near,
While Mejnun, left again in loneliness
Again to sorrow turned his every thought,
Again found friendship with the snake and ant.
With strength exhausted, full of restlessness,
He had no choice nor will, but turned his steps
Once more unto the desert's dreary waste.

Herein is set forth the Miraj of Mejnun's Virtues and an Expression of
the Degree of the Goodness of his Moral Qualities.

The King of Kings in all the land of Grief and sore Distress
Mejnun, by name, still cherishing his sorrow and his pain,
So pure in soul that over all the world
His like had ne'er in any former age
Been known of man: that prosp'rous City of God
Preserved his seat, a reverence deeply was paid
In sacred trust by every spirit's dear shade.
The hatred early bestowed by the wickedness Adam begat
Left him now all alone, committed to solitude sad.
Whene'er the beast in his hand he clasped, ferocity wild
Departed and gained as a friend this human, fashioned of clay;
The beast and the bird in its flight his outward associates grew
While angels hymning their songs his inner spirit embraced.
So kindly his every mood, so gentle his every thought
He found him free of the crowd, absolved from the pain that it brought.
This roamer throughout all the world knew nothing of heat or of cold
He knew the esteem of the world, he counted possession as naught.
His body became full of light, no eating or drinking defiled
The purity found in his soul. Such purity had he acquired
Through unreality's cloud his eye like an arrow had sped
And scattering every doubt had left only truth clear revealed.
For rank or degree his respect had slight as his confidence grown
His aim through Creation to find the divine Creator subHme.
In subtle distinction of thought he balanced the meaning of words
With voice no less gentle than sweet, his style so sweet, manner straight,
Each instant he lifted his voice and chanted in grieving tones
The birds of the air spread their wings and poised them aloft on the
Sometimes a gazel he composed, sometimes a kaside sweet
Yes, he so hardly oppressed, so battered, by cruelty sang,
In anguish, heavenly songs that chanted each saint in his turn
That many a welt belov'd friend he gained with his voice raised in song.
They brought to completion his words, again and again sang his praise
And thus in the regions of man, this stranger bereft of his joy
A new and especial renown from his music gained a new fame.
His voice and his mind in their chains, his beauty fettered to grief
Had riveted prisoner made of those who a competence owned.
For all who attain to his state, perfection's high apex attain
Alone may be worthy of praise, alone may perfection claim.
In manifestation of this Mejnun in an ode set it down
Repeating in musical voice these verses written in heat.

Herein is set forth the Ode recited by Mejnun.

The world which seems a prosperous City fair
Is but a waste to those beyond the world:
Yet mid the waste, mid all its foetid air
The mighty treasure of all health is curled.

So wise the image worshipper, so high
In self esteem his imitation stays:
That we who know Reality's sad sigh
Know how in ignorance he spends his days.

Those lacking knowledge deem the world a drink
Of easeful comfort: we, the doctors, know
For we have filled the cup e'en to its brink,
And drunken, knowing blood will only flow.

We know possession of the world's estate
Proves nothing fruitful, be he young or old.
Time was they thought that Suteyman the Great
Owned all-But Suleyman has long been cold!

Fuzuli! Thou hast named as things apart
And separate: the wineshop and the place
Of worship: we who thought thy wit and art
Were great, now hide the shamed, deceived face.

Herein is related the Manner in which the
Spring of Leyla's Life reached its Autumn.

Now Saki, let the merriment of wine
Brim up and fill each overflowing eye:
Let beaded cup make still incessant round
For on a mirthful journey now thy course
Is firmly set: let not endeavour fail:
Make full the pleasure of the men of worth;
In orgy pass the tulip covered cup
To all who seek the madness of its bliss.
But, more than all, let it o'erbrim for me,
Now resting still half drunk, with heavy chains
That fetter still my soul to angry grief.
The orgy of the men of mirth is sweet
Were all its aim concentred on one goal;
So beautiful the carpet of delight
Were perseverance in its laying found.
The writer of the history of time
Who tells in words the state of every day,
To this sad story, now approaching close
Its ending, this conclusion sadly makes:
That Leyla, finding naught of comfort left,
Nor knowing union with her only love,
Now parted sadly from the mad Mejnun,
And ceased relation with the busy world,
And gave her soul no further second's thought.
The season came when Day's all plundering hand,
(The hand that still controls the passing time)
The carpet of her rosary sublime
All folded up, while fields and gardens all
Became a gloomy house of mourning dark,
Enlivened only with the crow's harsh cry.
The tulip wept and let its petals droop
As Leyla's petals drooped in spirit too,
And like to Mejnun, withered in his pain
The branches of the judas tree were shrunk.
The lightning injured all the stately trees,
They quivered, growing thin and pale of face,
The candle of the hyacinth expired,
And with the tulip fell in lonely death.
The sirsir,**4 roaming cold and fatal wind,
O'er all the vineyard spread a darkness drear,
While still the rose in fear of wind's assault,
And tulip, from the cruel morning breeze
Left all their clothes upon the vineyard bare
And lost their rubies on the mountain high.
Each river now, cold blooded as a snake,
Distilled a poison from each tremoured wave;
The rain that fell from heaven to the earth
Fell down in drops as sharp as head of spear.
So heavy o'er the vineyard lay the curse
Of cruel juggling with the season's change
That water turned to iron twixt eve and dawn,
And armour made of mingled links and spears
That matched the strength of all the vineyard's iron.

One day when thus the season was unkind,
To ease her of her load of heavy grief,
Distressful Leyla to the garden passed
And saw no sign of rose or tulip left.
She saw how every kind of leaf and fruit
Had vanished from the legion of the trees,
That joy of meadow green had passed away,
That now at last, in full maturity,
Defeat of joy had reached its apogee.
From living nature all of strength had gone,
No lustre rested in the faded leaf;
She saw the garden as the House of Death
And all her soul burned up with tenderness.
And now in anguish of her burning heart
She told her grief to all the garden bare:

'O, frozen garden, with thy frozen sigh
Tell all thy sorrows to one sad as thee.
I, too, am thin and wasted, like to thee,
My rose has died and left me pale as thee,
And sorrowful, without admittance sad
To that propriety, his presence dear,
His very garden now lies closed to me.
Yet still a vital difference is found
Twixt thy estate and mine. Though captive now
In Winter's grim embrace, her icy arm
Will melt in time with Spring's restoring fire,
While I have never hope of union.
Thus claim I greater sorrow, deeper care
Than that which now oppresses all thy life.'

Thus far she spoke when heavy weariness
And sorrow growing more than she could bear
Made Leyla, weeping, turn her pallid eye
To heaven, seeking now its kindly grace.

Herein is related the Manner in which Leyla made known to her Mother
the Terms of her last will, and the Manner of her Departure from this
World with the Name of her Beloved on her Lips.

Now to her God her secret Leyla told
Relating all the prayer within her heart:

'O Thou, sweet Fowler in the mighty field.
Whose vastness only Judgement Day can yield;
O King upon Uprightness' Golden Throne,
Whose great Omnipotence we all must own;
See how I bum with fire and deep dismay:
See how my life is vexed each living day!
See now how weary of my body grown,
How unacceptable to love I'm known,
Still resting as a candle in the night
Of Love's dread Separation, angry spite
That leaves me now in anguish and despair,
That closes life in misery and care.
The world's great cruelty has made me bum
In torment, while my days still weary turn,
And thus to welcome death I fondly yearn.
'So foolish was I, thinking in my pride
That, still enduring, then, before I died,
My soul at last the union of peace
Would sweetly know, and all my torture cease.
But I, the sun resplendent, in the ray
Of light, great constellation of the day
Know now that all my body is a screen
That hides me from the love that lovers mean.
Thus, mighty God, my supplication hear,
And show the path to sweet extinction clear.'

So pure the maiden's prayer it soared aloft
And soon was answered, as a change was seen
O'er all her temperament and easy health.
Her troubles grew and weakness mounted high
With growing fever, sapping energy
Destroying all her fairy hue of face
As waxen candle held too dose the fire:
A beaded perspiration dewed her brow
And shrunk her beauty as the lovely rose
Is shrunk by drying out the precious drops
To make rose water in the precious phial.
Such frailty besieged her body tall
That last upon a couch she lay unseen,
And all who sought to speak, approaching near
Her litter, but with difficulty saw
That bed had occupant, so wasted thin
And fairy frail she lay, awaiting Death
That now his many reins about her spread,
And one by one each sign of safety slew.
Thus Leyla, knowing now that joyous peace,
Sweet peace of death, was hourly drawing near,
Resolved, as final sign of living love
To tell (all shamefumess apart and set aside)
Her mother all the secret of her heart.
'O, Mother, cure of many troubles sore,
The light of all my candle of desire,
The hidden arrow of my sorrow now
I still endure although it pierce my soul.
The road to Death lies ready at my foot,
And duty to a mother now I pay.
Know, therefore, how, though many moons have gone,
Thy daughter, Leyla, to the sword of love
Has fall'n a glad and mourning victim sad.
Tis love that sets my fevered blood aflame.
No other fever courses in my vein.
The pain of love's affliction all explain.
Yes, I, thy daughter, weak and wretched grown,
Confess the misery that love has brought
From loving of the moon-faced Idol pure,
And turning all to nothing with desire
For him alone! My every thought was spent
In anxious supplication for his love.
Yet never once, no, not a single day
Was born that gave the hoped for onion,
And now my heart, in anguish of desire
All unfulfilled, has nothing left to hope,
And thus its Kismet waits with open arms.
Think not that, I, alone, dishevelled, sad,
Thus grieve in loneliness. He too, is sad
With love's dear sorrow, moist of cheek and eye,
And addict, like to me, in love's embrace
Stays deep in sorrow; more, his scattered wits
All crazed, in vales of deep calamity
Now tarry unrelieved.
'Say I am mad!
Perchance 'tis true; but he in madness held
Has changed his name from Qays to Mad Mejnun.
His days in simple grief sought only me,
Each day in darkness closed, all unfulfilled.
His great desire, while deep enduring shame
The shame of love he never could attain
Enrolled him 'mong the legends of the world,
A byword and a scoof for all who heard.
Yet not in vain his sighs and deep laments:
Would not his fiery sighs consume my heart?
Now sits an added trouble on my brow,
As deep in shame I part from all this earth.
'O, mother dear, companion of my life,
Dear sympathizing friend and helpmate near,
As now I leave to join another world,
And bidding dear goodbye, depart unseen;
When, lacking then a daughter, heavy grief
Becomes thy portion, when abroad you go
And wander grieving o'er the barren sand
And spiteful rocks that in the desert grow;
When such becomes thy conduct, chance may yet
Bestow the path that leads to Mejnun's land.
Should this befall, my bitter grief recount.
Be mindful, reaching him, that all of grace
Within him dwells; fall humbly at his feet,
His favour ask, soliciting a prayer
For roe, the guilty Leyla, now embraced
Within the arras of Death, cold comforter.
Make known to him, O mother dear
That Leyla. the unfortunate, has died
For love of him, his name upon her lips.
Say: "Leyla, in thy love found sense of word,
Nor knew no contradiction of her course."
The words of this poor addict then recall
And say: "O, thou, that talk'st of loyalty in love,
Thy intimacy has an inmate now;
Thy friend at last is happy, free and glad:
Come now and join her. never make delay
Nor show thee negligent while still she waits.
If thou, indeed art loyal, now take the path
That leaves both world and patience, seeking me.
Now came that we, as lovers true, may find
Our heart's desire, where never strangers scold.
The path to sweet security I take
Where never slander or ill-wishing friend
May mar our bliss. All this I tell thee now,
In God's Great Name, start now, if thy desire
It be to live with me in perfect bliss." '

Then Leyla closed her last sweet dying thought
And started on her last long voyaging.
Her friend and lover lingered on her lips,
And seeking still for union, gave her soul.
Yet mourn her not, for none within the world
But still is mortal; Fortune's turning wheel
Holds none of constancy: the world itself
Is but a seven-headed dragon fierce
That still rejects the sweet anxiety
That holds its friendships in too great esteem.
In every act of grace the world conceals
A thousand cares, each drop of honey sweet
The world distils is mixed with deadly bane.
Time still revolves, as well the sage does know
Who set in verses all the Destiny
Of those who gain the world, then swiftly go:
And gave in numbers of his wisdom's store
To guide and help each luckless living soul.

Herein is set forth the Ode composed by the Sage
to explain Ike Philosophy of Life.

The world in which thou sufferest the fetters of the heart
Is bitter grief and drudgery, let not the spirit smart
That finds itself a-wandering, a-seeking for a place
Of deadly self-extinction, for it is a lovely place.
Remembering the loneliness that dwells within the grave,
Beware of all disgust, nor yet as madman savage rave;
Still follow in the road that all mankind has had to tread:
Each handful of the earth may hold a human dead.
Each building thou constructest rests ever insecure:
If in the world thou buildest it, it never will endure.
In long Eternity erect thy mansion that its term
Exist in long eternity, on sure foundations firm.
Death saves the soul from danger and from all pollution's fear
Its alchemy an elegant elixir makes appear.
Perfection of the love of man is found alone in Death
Tread now the path of wisdom shown with every fleeting breath.
Indeed it is the Seal's design to cause this great effect
And show the image to be true beyond all known defect.
In time of Spring the garden enter where the tulips blow
Nor let despite obstruct thy gaze that on the earth they grow.
Each atom has a double state, of Jam1*5 and Jamshyd made,
For Jam the cup that Jamshyd fills, his reckoning full paid.
The peoples of the world remain to self a wretched slave,
Nor comprehend the value of the sorrow that it gave:
'Tis but Fuzuli who retains the knowledge heaven gave,
Who thus to separation takes an easy passage brave.

Herein is set forth the Epilogue that follows the Death of Leyla.

Leyla, the Rose of the Garden fair
Faded and dropped in the cold Winter air:
Her Spring was forgotten as fast under foot
Her life, by life trampled, now withered its root.
Her mother, distressful, uncovered her head
O'erwhelmed by the tears that her reddened eyes bled,
Her camphor she poured on the saffron alone
And bitter of heart uttered dolorous moan.
Thus sighing and moaning she wept in distress
Her sorrow was great such as none could suppress.
The road of funeral mourning she took
While multitudes gathered, averting the look
That doubled the cause of its sorrowing state,
With honour and reverence, mourning her fate,
In sad stony silence they built her a tomb
Her body now turning to earth's dusty womb,
While high in the Apex of Heaven her soul
Achieved its own unity, found itself whole.
Thus Leyla in spiritual unity found
That in Death she and Love were in happiness bound;
So back to Creation, the Great Ocean, she
Returned as the raindrops return to the sea.

Herein is set forth the Manner in which Mejnun was informed of the
Death of Leyla, and how, full of Longing, he departed from this World.

All those who gathered from the troubled field
Ill-omened roses of calamity
And strewed the flowers of grief o'er all the world
While scribbling in the books of history
The sorrows of the ages, thus set out
This tale of Leyla's end.
The loyal Zayd
Unfortunate and deeply sorrowing friend
The news received and straightly took the road
That led to Mejnun, whom he thus informed:
'O, Mejnun! Broken toy of Fortune's spite!
Thy actions all are vain, no more the right
To hope thy fierce appeals may win thee peace.
Let now thy supplications ever cease.
The market closed, roll up thy carpet plain,
Now sever thy connection with the chain
That linked thee still with her who now in death
Has parted, naming thee with parting breath.
For love of thee thy Leyla gave her life,
No more content to live in ceaseless strife.
Now Mejnun fives alone; the Moon is dead:
A sacrifice to thee is she to whom
Thou madest sacrifice. Now beauty's joy
Has ta'en the road that all must needs employ,
The joyful road that leads to heaven's grace,
Enjoying now a prosp'rous holy place.'

Now Mejnun, hearing all this heavy news
Drew such a sigh from out his burning heart
That all its clamour in the higher world,
Where Leyla held her seat, was clearly heard.
Yes, Leyla, his beloved, heard his cry
But naught of hope remained that love could yet
Awaken love from heavy sleep of death.
One moment only, loud his shout was heard
Then swooning and insensible he fell
Unconscious on the ground: then heaven's tears
The Autumn of his days bedewed with grief,
While still to Zayd torrents of reproach
Were heaped in anguish.
'Saki, what is here?
Thou, Saki, full of grief and earthly fear,
What sin is mine that in thy tyranny
Thou makest now a feast of cruelty?
Explain thy purpose, why destroy my life
Why now destroy my heart with torment rife?
So merciless thy action; killing now
The luckless and unfortunate! O thou,
Great goblet holder of the poisoned cup.
That holds the torture that I still must sup,
Within my soul thy cruelty is fire
That bums with passing of my soul's desire.
Why gainst the ant betray such venomed spite?
Gainst steel the bottle yet must lose the fight.
Beware that unredeemed act insane,
Do now a noble act and balance pain.
Replace this sin with blessing, to the land
Where love resides, where lovers understand
The pains of love, make me a candle clear
That by the tomb of love is ever near.'

Now Mejnun started, hand entwined with Zayd,
To seek the tomb where Leyla lay interred,
And God defend us! when he reached the place
And saw the spot that held the rosy-cheeked,
He fell to earth and close embraced the tomb.
He rent his breast and tore a bloody niche
That matched the niche that decked her resting place.
Upon his head, as dust upon the grave,
He poured the barren desert's angry sand,
While on the tomb his bloody bitter tears
Fell streaming till the stone was crimsoned o'er.
His tears now watered all the barren earth
And stored themselves beneath its barren crust,
While some, more restless, lay as lucent pearls
All scattered broadcast o'er the Idol's tomb.
And then, to all his tears he made address
In these dull accents:
'Separation's night
Knows thou, its star of darkness. Know thy task
Is now to shine and glitter in the sky
From which the sun is banished ever more.
The Moon has now a constellation won
So far aloft that e'en the morning breeze
No more may reach to fan her lofty seat.
If aught of generosity remain
Stay not above, but enter now the earth
And make enquiry of her resting place.
Discover where now rests the peerless pearl,
Uncover Fortune's sad calamity
And make it known: hear now my holy prayer,
Make supplication, kissing both her feet,
And tell her this, the secret of my heart!

'O candle of my life, why now refrain
Why now, 'gainst me, the hardly used of Fate,
Conceal thyself from these my seeking eyes?
The world once held the wine cup of regret;

We both did deeply drink. While yet the fames
Of mad intoxication in us both
Did rise apace, yet from the orgy fierce
Thy path was quickly ta'en. Within the night
A candle rare, illuminating life
Wert thou, attracting all the fire
That came to thee of pleasures sweet of love.
And yet, though fiercely burning the days,
Thy patience wearied, all thy strength was sped,
And all thy dear endurance was consumed.
No more for nights of sleeplessness thy strength
Remained, for now thy hazel eye
To sleep was all inclined, and sleeping now
Companion to my troubles en the road,
O Moon, can fellow traveller desert
His road companion, seeking other paths?
O Earth, let now thy boast address the skies
That now this purest pearl, companion dear,
Now rests within thy hard and stony breast.
O snake, raise not objection to her lock
That curls around her yet lamenting heart.
And thou, O Ant, no molestation make
Of that, her mole, for still the desolate
And grieving soul is tied with heavy chains
To that dear blemish of her lovely face.
O Life make now an end to all thy coil,
For dark within the eye the dreary world
Now love is lost. With love the world was sweet:
With love's departure all is nothingness.
O, soul, a sad farewell now quickly take
Nor seem with sickly man to strive afresh;
Abandon strife, for now I welcome death
And ask him graciously to banish pain,
Destroying all my grievous suffering.
Yea, save me from the suffering of grief
And give the world glad tidings of my end.
And give my mirror of corroding rust,
Rend now the curtain of my great esteem;
Lift now the barrier that yet remains;
Confer the favour of a close approach
To that still lovely Idol of my soul.
My love proposes blessed union dear,
In privacy, where never strangers lurk
With venomed tongues and evil slandering.
'Twere grievous fault should I decline to go,
And thus, O Death, 'tis meet to grant thy aid.
For God's dear sake let not thy succour lag
In giving help, for aB prosperity
Each every day averts her lovely face.
O Lord, I need no body now, nor soul,
If Love be not: I need no more the world.
Absolve me now of life's bewilderment
Let all humiliation fly afar
Nor let me more in misery endure.'

With moaning thus be quite forsook himself
While still this poem poured from out his mouth.

Herein is set forth the Ode recited by Mejnun as suitable to the Occasion.

Consumed with desolation lies my soul
Still seeking union with love's dear cheek;
While Love's dear countenance
Of healing all compact
In weary search I pass my endless days
Each moment knowing an affliction deep
Of separation sore.
A nightingale sad moaning in the brake
No more than I
In vain endeavour thrills the midnight hour;
Yet I, the fair rose garden of desire
Solicit still while in the fettered care
That sees my constant weeping sad appeal.
No more in this sad market that the world calls life
My goods a purchaser
May find howe'er I try.
Then hear my plea and in another world
A market let me find,
And vanished from all earthly misery
With weakened body, wounded soul at rest.
In sweet extinction from the troubled world
I peace and mart may both securdy find.
Yet, wishing still for death within the night
Of desolation,
How pursue my course? My cup of grief
O'erflows its plenty,
And thus to ease excess
A dear companion at my side I need.
A permanency marks the union
Of love divine: within the mortal world
I may not linger while my love awaits
Its promised union.
For mark, Fuzuli, how my wish to die
In sweet contentment, knowing no other road
Save that the sweet necessity inspires
The parting as it now inspireth me.

Herein is set forth the Epilogue that follows on the Death of Mejnun.

The secret of his heart now clearly told
Decree came granting Mejnun all his wish.
The Grace of God to rescue swiftly came
Fulfilling all the purpose of his soul.
He plucked the roses in the garden bright
Of hope: from Death's decanter drank the wine,
Embraced his Idol in her darkling tomb
And spent his soul in service of its alms.

'O, Leyla,' soft he murmured in release
Of all his hold upon his parting life,
And thus this sad unresting lover left
The world and all its grief for Paradise.

If justly one may think, conclusion plain
Is reached, that love may do no more than this:
And this, the highest point that love may reach,
Can but instil a marvel in the breast.
At times it seems that Love within the hand
Retains the soul in careful watch all day,
That when revolving time has swiftly sped
An auth'rization granting to the soul
Permits a journey to a better land.
While yet his Idol dwelt within the world,
The world remained his only resting place.
But, Leyla gone, he followed without thought
Spontaneously from this too dreary world.
His sad condition Zayd sadly saw
And, loudly mourning, rent his collar off,
And wailing in an agony of grief,
His outcry reached the apex of the sky.
He wept so grievously that mighty crowds
Fast gathered round his sighs' consuming flames,
And, crowding still, they looked with awestruck eye
At him who darkly lived and starkly died,
And saw him sunk upon the waiting tomb
While still his love made scattered pearls of love.
And all, in common sympathy, bewailed
His passing, and a burial decreed
With fine ablution bathing all his limbs,
They made him fitting for his resting place.
Then slow they opened up the tomb of love,
And laid him there with tender loving care:
Beside his fellow sufferer at last
The man of sorrows to his love was joined.

His spirit now in sympathy supreme
Was Joined to hers he sought above the skies,
While on the earth at last his body joined
The body he had worshipped unto death.
Now fell the barriers to great desire
At last the seeker found his search fulfilled.
The tomb a double resting place became
Of two great shahs, and in one mansion now
A single constellation held two moons.
In awe inspiring love a sign was made
And placed upon the entrance to the tomb,
That all who passed the story sad could read
And make their passion known to all the world.
While still in circumambulation slow
The crowds made circuit of the holy place,
It grew in honour as the years unrolled
And came to be a lovers' pilgrimage.
See now the sweet reward of love divine
If but clear understanding opes the eyes!

Herein is related the Dream of Zayd concerning Leyla and Mejnun.

Now dose to the tomb of the martyrs dwelt Zayd
Where signs of his loyalty grew on each side.
Full many a gift did he make to that tomb
New building erecting while yet there was room
While ever the warmth of his heart did incline
To harbour the candle that brightly it shine.
When slowly infiltering, sand of the plain
Had sullied the tomb, then his tears, fell as rain
And eyelashes proudly became as a broom
And swept up the garbage and tidied the room.
Each instant he mourned with his tears ever fresh
Time passed and the faithful companion distressed
In body now frail as in spirit oppressed
Against the fair tomb for a moment released
Relaxed into slumber with forehead uncreased.
And sleeping he saw through the eye of a dream
Within a glad garden two beauties supreme,
Their faces he saw with all pleasure aglow,
No fear, grief or trouble did either face show.
Each countenance spoke of all joy and delight
No stranger a-gossiping saddened the sight.
A thousand sweet angels attended each moon
As faithful loyal servants. Now Zayd in a swoon
All drowned with his slumber said:
'Say who are these
Bright Moons? Are they princes? Recount their degrees.
What Garden of Paradise this here I lie?
What people are these that with happiness cry?'

The answer he had, showed the garden of joy
As the sweet field of paradise lovers enjoy,
While mid all the huris and beautiful boys
Sweet Leyla and Mejnun did gladly rejoice.
This valley of peace the dear lovers enjoyed
And loved with a pleasure that time never cloyed.
The Garden of Paradise mansion became
Of them who in love and in death loved the same.
While fairy faced huris, with mnist'ring grace
Assisted by beautiful youths every trace
Of hardship of labour withheld from the eye
And laughter encouraged with never a sigh.
Thus clearly is shown that if God's great decree
Is followed implicitly, all may be free,
And patience in trouble that mutilates life
May yet earn a Paradise empty of strife.

When Zayd awoke from his slumber of peace
His dream in a torrent of words found release,
And telling the story the people around
In pilgrimage sought for the sanctified ground.

Herein is set forth the Epilogue to the History of Leyla and Mejnun.

O saki, see my sad position changed,
Bereft indeed of strength to utter words.
Henceforth thy cup withhold. No more thy wine
In sweet libation pour, for I am drunk
With joy and sorrow. Let thy mercy sweet
Incline, for all my days in slumber wrapped
I lately passed, not knowing how 'twill end.
The capital of all my life is spent;
My hand is empty; none of profit stays
Of all the dealings of my lengthy life.
See, Saki, how this cruelty endures
And makes this alteration in my state,
' But causing yesterday a weary flood
Of glist'ning pearls to flow from out my eyes,
I railed at Fortune, told her she was cruel
No moment was I free from grief and woe.
Thy turning wheel revolves against thy friends,
And tortures all perfection found in man.
Had Mejnun nurtured been in ignorance
Thy hair had all grown grey obeying him:
His foreman then, thy instantly expressed
Approval, would have gained: but Mad Mejnun,
For reason he was born a man of skill,
And prudence knew, possessing insight clear,
Was sadly lowered from the rank of those
His equals, sinking still, with honour gone,
And all esteem departed in disgrace.
Had Leyla been, indeed a shameless one,
Or loveless and disloyal as thyself,
Thy time had not been spent in torture cruel,
Thy wheel had spun more closely thy desire.
But since the maid, all virtuous, virtue loved,
And understanding in perfection claimed,
Thou mad'st her life a wretched misery
By ever holding out the hand of grief,
And breeding deep bewilderment and pain.
And if, O Tyrant, I were man of lies
Thy helping hand would not in darkness lie,
A happy end I yet might find in thee.
Thy wheel would quickly turn and bring me rest.
But since I claim a decent dignity,
And hold roe fast to honour, thou, in hate
Thy pleasure take'st, bestowing misery
And sorrow every weary lagging hour.
Thus, knowing naught of honour, claiming none.
Thy wheel still turning passes slowly on
Now Fortune my reproof had heard,
And thus made answer:
'Thou of little mind,
Who talkest, still unheedful of the truth
That deeply lies where few can drag it forth,
Unskilled thou art, not knowing every point
Of wisdom; still in sweet accord I turn,
And tell thee this so-called blind cruelty
Is loyalty and deep philosophy.
The fault is thine: thy actions all are wrong.
The teacher of the spirit of thy sect
Is merely air: in poetry thy boast
Still, wearing falsehood wicked as a badge.
That sweet perfection, called by thee Mejnun,
Through thee found knowledge and ability;
'Twas thou that called him mad, and madman named;
His cruelty and torment came of thee.
While Leyla, Moon of all Perfection named
I hid behind the curtain's heavy veil,
Her, madest thou, 'fore people a disgrace,
The butt of all a thousand slanders foul.
Then, too, 'twas thou that charged a cruelty
To Nevfel brave, then, changing thy attack,
Staunch Ibni Salam to thy venomed words
Accused of tyranny, was basely dead.
Thou therefore stand ashamed, absurd thy plaint,
For where is Ibni Salam, where Nevfel?
A story in thy verses thou would'st tell,
Thus finding just excuse for idle speech,
And now, with idle words exhausted, speed
With all the living dead and calumnied,
The dead themselves thy victims now are made
And thus the grave no more protection yields.
The time is near when all the public mind
Of this thy crime will stand it firm convinced,
And accusation sternly will be made.
Think carefully and find an answer clear
For this thy spirit's torture growing near.

Herein is set forth the Poet's Answer to the Criticism of Fortune.

O Parrot, in a plot of idle words
Still chattering, a feeble critic still,
Of sad Fuzuli's sadly written words,
Be not deceived if yet the changing skies
Should slander thee and name thee liar foul.
Spend not thy substance calling poems bad,
Nor yet fatigue thy critic soul in vain.
The merchandise that makes the poet's store
Is never easy found, for words are jewels
Close guarded in the heart's dear treasury.
That still to all the herd is closely locked.
The door once opened, personality
With all its attributes made manifest
The poet only knows. The soul remains
For those who have the wisdom to observe
A lonely word, and only foolishness
Can deem the soul may show a difference.
And thus, invoking God's so dreaded Name.
Fuzuli asks what evil may .be found
In words that make the dead to live anew.
Or where the sin that makes the world rejoice
In telling o'er the sad unhappy tale
Of Leyla fair and Mejnun nobly mad?

Herein is set forth the Explanation of the Writing of the Book, and the
Date when the Door that led to this Result was first opened.

O travelling pen, split reed, now wom to naught,
O fellow traveller not vainly sought,
With growing effort, keeping still thy pace,
Thou reachest now thy final resting place.
God's sweet compassion on thee in thy need,
For all thy proffered help was help indeed,
And now the ancient building lives again,
And prospers, sadly born of grievous pain.
With silvered tears the outer walls are built.
The inner spread with ambergris and gilt.
The treasured jewels of sweet affliction rest
Within its fast secured chest.
Each window opens as a channel clear
Through which the blood is cooled in passing near.
A garden sweet is now in beauty made
Within its bosom thousand tulips laid,
While of the thousand, each one fiercely bums
As still the heart's consuming blood fast turns
To sweet abundant streams that succour bring
While all the lovely eyelashes may sing
In cloudy unison, bestowing tears
To see how Death all earthly sorrow clears.
That day that saw the end of my desire,
That tempted me thus feebly to aspire
To join with Leyla Mejnun's mighty name
In magic verses, that the world might claim
A masterpiece of love made manifest
In showing still these lovers, nobly blessed,
Saw love at last, as constant as the sun,
In life though parted, dead they ruled as ONE.


Post this article to Facebook