Status Updates From مخزن الاسرار

Be floating like a rose on the waves of spring, so that
you may not be anchored in garden like a thorn, so that
you can go on bravely, when autumn you are seeing…

O you, who are weighing the wind, all of your words are
but a measure of loss...
your
measure is empty and life’s span is full,
That, to which you are a slave, is but a coin of silver…
that, by which you are alive, is but a breath… a shiver!

Life spent on carpet woven in eternity is spent in profit:
ear hails it for that work, eyes read adoration songs in it.
Laughter of its beauties saddens sweetness, and sight
takes collyrium from eyes of the fair gazelles… outright.
It is there that my beloved, who is like the moon, who is
in muslin, broke my heart like a reed... that easy to do is!
The moon, which had already thrown away the night…

I, on such a night without a moon, was the nightingale
of that paradise without a garden that one could unveil.
I was then mingling with speech the blood of my heart
and I was also lighting a fire with the water of my heart.
And when I held conversation with the words of myself
while I was alone I was pondering on counsel of myself:
the Angel of solitude called out to me...

their love was like the season, like the fair flowers 
freshly strewn upon the path now opening to their
sweet, melting words that are soft as Summer air.

دل که به شادی غم دلی می گرفت
چشمه خورشید به گل می گرفت
مونس غمخواره غم وی بود
چاره گر می زده هم می بود


این دو بیت بخشی از ثمره خلوت اول نظامیه...


که واقعا دوسش داشتم
اینکه وقتی غمگینی فقط همنشینی با غمت ارومت میکنه و نه دنبال شادی گشتن

خودمم نمی‌فهمم چرا دارم از خوندنش لذت می‌برم. فکر کنم تنها چیزی که دانشکده‌ی ادبیات هنوز نتونسته ازم بگیره لذت دقیق‌خوندن یک متنه.