External form has no alternative but to express inner beauty. At first sight, the world may appear to collapse when “perspective” collapses, a frightening experience with fascinating results. If truth be told, it is often most wise to stay clear of one’s own mind’s machinations. A sincere seeker’s movement is a right move to the […]
Listened to the voice of love. Listened to the voice of the beloved. O lover and O beloved, Who says you are distant? Who says you are far away? Who is this that makes me laugh? Who is this that makes me cry? Who is this that warms my heart? Who is this that makes […]
The Beloved’s gaze piercing through paradise, Her face shining, a radiant beauty, The beauty of the full moon, Leaps, like the crescent moon, Touched her pitch dark silken hair, My conscience is cleansed by each touch, Vitalized by the soul of souls, Bowed to the Light, in preparation for eternity In the heaven of her […]
Again I am raging, I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow;
I am all reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn;
whatever side you turn your face, I turn mine, by your soul.
I spoke in error; it is not surprising to speak in error in this
state, for this moment I cannot tell cup from wine, by your soul.
I am that madman in bonds who binds the “divs”;
I, the madman, am a Solomon with the “divs”, by your soul.
Whatever form other than love raises up its head from my
heart, forthwith I drive it out of the court of my heart, by your soul.
Come, you who have departed, for the thing that departs comes back;
neither you are that, by my soul, nor I am that, by your soul.
Disbeliever, do not conceal disbelief in your soul, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny, by your soul.
Out of love of Sham-e Tabrizi, through wakefulness or
nightrising, like a spinning mote I am distraught, by your soul.
Majnun the King of the Land of Desire. Unique in all ages and beauty is Layla, For Majnun the poets still pluck at the lyre. The sapling of Sorrow’s green Meadow is Layla, Majnun ever faithful her love to inspire. The Moon in the sky ruling heaven is Layla, Majnun but the sport of the […]
Herein is set forth the Ode spoken by Leyla in which she demonstrated her perfect understanding of Majnun. 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 […]
Muhammad Fuzuli (1498-1556), Ottoman poet, writer and thinker. He was also well versed in mathematics and astronomy LAYLA and MAJNUN
Herein is set forth the Manner in which Mejnun encountered Leyla, and how,
from this Meeting, the Crescent of his Love waxed to a Full Moon.
The world’s bright candle, early Spring, came new
And brought the bounteous gift of life restored,
And spread afar its veil of pearly blue,
And urged the nightingale to trill its song;
Spread far the limped wine of morning dew,
And filled the open’d tulip’s crimson cup;
Inflamed the rose that in the garden blew
Agleam with turquoise and the ruby’s glow
His friends about Mejnun now crowded thick
And urged a change of life, well knowing he was sick.
‘Mejnun, come, look around and see the rose,
That in the springtime now so gaily blows.
Now is the time when hope is born anew.
Come! Gather now thy friends! Thou hast a few!
No cloud art thou; rain not these salty tears:
Thou art no torrent; moan not; banish fears?
Let not the rose’s thorn thy bosom rend,
Nor for a pillow to the earth descend.
Come out to fields and woods, where grows the vine,
With all thy friends, come, sing and quaff the wine!
Come with thy friends, a-seeking out new ways;
Leave grief behind with winter’s chilly days.
‘Come, seek the vineyard where the age-long art
May banish grief. Take heed lest others smart.
Thou art the cypress of the age, the rose;
Wed not thyself to sorrow’s grief: seek those
Of joyous soul, for care is body’s woe,
And constant grief distills a poison slow.
Remember too, the rose of thy desire
May yet come forth. Feed not despair’s dull fire.
Come! Walk abroad, for these glad days of spring
May unsuspected joys and pleasure bring.’
Translated by Sofi Nuri
Fuzuli: "Don't ask Fuzuli for poems of praise or rebuke; I am a lover and speak only of love "
This is an ancient story, constantly retold in everyday life. Everyone knows that we have lost our beauty. It is so obvious that many people refuse to consider the idea that there is any such thing. No, they respond, human beings are rotten to the core, heartless and soulless, besotted with egotistic illusions, indifferent to […]
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