At Dawn, When My Sigh Rises Like Smoke
Khaqaniخاقانی
صبح دم چون کله بندد آه دود آسای من
At dawn, when my smoke-like sigh spreads out its canopy,
چون شفق در خون نشیند چشم شب پیمای من
my night-measuring eye sits in blood like the red of twilight.
مجلس غم ساخته است و من چو بید سوخته
Grief has set out its feast, and I, like a burnt willow, wait
تا به من راوق کند مژگان می پالای من
for my wine-straining lashes to strain wine for me.
A note for readers
The opening couplets of a qasida of sleepless grief, often counted among Khaqani’s prison poems, the habsiyat. Khaqani is known for his learned, densely allusive style: here the eyelashes that drip tears of blood are pictured as a strainer filtering wine for a feast of sorrow.
More poemsشعرهای دیگر
یک عمر می‌توان سخن از زلف یار گفت
در بند آن مباش که مضمون نمانده است
One could speak for a lifetime of the beloved’s tresses;
do not fret that there are no themes left.
A Lifetime on the Beloved’s Tresses
بلبلی برگ گلی خوش رنگ در منقار داشت
و اندر آن برگ و نوا خوش ناله‌های زار داشت
A nightingale held in its beak a rose petal of lovely colour,
and with that petal and its song it made sweet, piteous laments.
A nightingale held a rose petal
ستاره ای بدرخشید و ماه مجلس شد
دل رمیده ما را رفیق و مونس شد
A star shone out and became the moon of the gathering,
became friend and companion to our startled heart.