Ali Salami

Rumi: Ghazal 2130 [Whirlwind of Madness]

O lovers, O ardent souls, the sight of His visage ensnares the mind, casting one into a whirlwind of madness and fervor. Characters transform, worlds crumble in disarray.

Commence the quest for the Beloved, let the marketplace collapse; like the river’s current, surge forward headlong, turning the world upside down.

In the realm of love, become a Majnun, spinning like the celestial sphere; yet, those afflicted by such a malady ultimately find their cure, their solace.

To those who become dust at His feet, even angels bow. To the one who becomes His devoted servant, the splendid heavens itself become subservient.

His love takes the tormented heart in its grasp, inhaling its essence. How can a heart, touched and sensed by Him, not transform into something delightful?

He has wounded many a heart, stolen countless slumbers. His enchanting, narcissus eyes have even bound the hands of sorcerers.

All sovereigns are but paupers before Him; all beauties, mere gatherers of His benevolence. Even lions bow their heads to the dogs of His domain, submitting wholly.

Look to the heavens, observe the fortress of angels. Within His tower, within the citadel of His being, shine myriad lights, countless torches.

The keeper of His drumless, cymbal-less palace is none other than the Mind Enraptured. In His fortress, whoever He reveals Himself to, He nurtures, He elevates.

O moon, have you beheld His face, deriving your beauty from His? O night, have you seen His tresses? Nay, nay, nay. At most, you’ve glimpsed but a single strand of His hair.

This night, draped in mourning garbs, must surely grieve; like a widow cloaked in black, lamenting her lost consort.

But be wary, the night deceives, secretly reveling with Him. Blind it may be, yet it frowns upon seeing His eyes.

O night, I seek not your aid in this outcry, this lament; you are but a pawn in the orbit of fate, rolling aimlessly like a ball.

The one who becomes the ball in this orbit, akin to a heart, races headless, footless, before His will.

O our faces, turned saffron from the blush of the tulip; hearts impaled on sorrows as if by the comb in His hair.

Endure in love, for love is entirely about facing and seeing; it awaits you, it watches for you. In the vicinity of love, there’s nothing but visage, vision.

It lacks form, yet its sole endeavor is to shape. O heart, you cannot transcend form, image, for you are not of His kind.

Every pure heart discerns the voice of the soul from the earthly din; this voice is the roar of the lion, taking the guise of a gazelle.

Woven by the hand of the One God, yet it seems to emerge from the hand of a weaver, from the shuttle of a loom.

O souls, the Beautiful Weaver, O Face that turns our direction, the sky adorns and manifests this earth, and the earth is His consort.

My heart burns with jealousy for Him; my eyes are wells of tears for His sake. Yet, how can He be touched? Even the sea barely reaches His ankles.

This love has become my guest, striking and wounding my soul; such is His grace, His bounty, a hundredfold praises to His strength.

I’ve relinquished control, ceased my search, O Friend who wipes away all inquiries with Your divine erasure.

How long shall I persist, heart in my mouth? Abandon this heart’s folly and be silent. The heart, upon hearing His “Hu,” renders my cries, my pleas, utterly valueless.


ای عاشقان ای عاشقان آن کس که بیند روی او

شوریده گردد عقل او آشفته گردد خوی او

معشوق را جویان شود دکان او ویران شود

بر رو و سر پویان شود چون آب اندر جوی او

در عشق چون مجنون شود سرگشته چون گردون شود

آن کو چنین رنجور شد نایافت شد داروی او

جان ملک سجده کند آن را که حق را خاک شد

ترک فلک چاکر شود آن را که شد هندوی او

عشقش دل پردرد را بر کف نهد بو می‌کند

چون خوش نباشد آن دلی کو گشت دستنبوی او

بس سینه‌ها را خست او بس خواب‌ها را بست او

بسته‌ست دست جادوان آن غمزه جادوی او

شاهان همه مسکین او خوبان قراضه چین او

شیران زده دم بر زمین پیش سگان کوی او

بنگر یکی بر آسمان بر قلعه روحانیان

چندین چراغ و مشعله بر برج و بر باروی او

شد قلعه دارش عقل کل آن شاه بی‌طبل و دهل

بر قلعه آن کس بررود کو را نماند اوی او

ای ماه رویش دیده‌ای خوبی از او دزدیده‌ای

ای شب تو زلفش دیده‌ای نی نی و نی یک موی او

این شب سیه پوش است از آن کز تعزیه دارد نشان

چون بیوه‌ای جامه سیه در خاک رفته شوی او

شب فعل و دستان می‌کند او عیش پنهان می‌کند

نی چشم بندد چشم او کژ می‌نهد ابروی او

ای شب من این نوحه گری از تو ندارم باوری

چون پیش چوگان قدر هستی دوان چون گوی او

آن کس که این چوگان خورد گوی سعادت او برد

بی‌پا و بی‌سر می‌دود چون دل به گرد کوی او

ای روی ما چون زعفران از عشق لاله ستان او

ای دل فرورفته به سر چون شانه در گیسوی او

مر عشق را خود پشت کو سر تا به سر روی است او

این پشت و رو این سو بود جز رو نباشد سوی او

او هست از صورت بری کارش همه صورتگری

ای دل ز صورت نگذری زیرا نه‌ای یک توی او

داند دل هر پاک دل آواز دل ز آواز گل

غریدن شیر است این در صورت آهوی او

بافیده ی دست احد پیدا بود پیدا بود

از صنعت جولاهه‌ای وز دست وز ماکوی او

ای جان ما ماکوی او ، وی قبله ی ما کوی او

فراش این کو آسمان وین خاک کدبانوی او

سوزان دلم از رشک او گشته دو چشمم مشک او

کی ز آب چشم او تر شود ای بحر تا زانوی او

این عشق شد مهمان من زخمی بزد بر جان من

صد رحمت و صد آفرین بر دست و بر بازوی او

من دست و پا انداختم وز جست و جو پرداختم

ای مرده جست و جوی من در پیش جست و جوی او

من چند گفتم های دل خاموش از این سودای دل

سودش ندارد های من چون بشنود دل هوی او

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