Persian Songs

Just like goats bitten by a horsefly,
Dance the beauties of Zabulistan.

A light coat of rose tints their nails;
None may see them, save the sultan.

In each hand, a sistrum resounds;
A sabre is clenched in the fist of the turbaned eunuch.

But by the pale river where the lilies sleep,
The night wind starts up like a pirate.

He goes off to charm their hearts and their lips,
Under a pair of jealous eyes, in spite of the firman.

Oh dreamer, be proud. It has, this breeze,
Taken your words of love for its talisman.

I have constructed in my soul
A marvellous palace,
Full of scents of cinnamon,
Full of rippled reflections.

Sapphire, amber, emerald
Cover the pillars;
In silence there, prowl
Some sociable lions.

From ivory goblets,
On thick carpets,
Monarchs in groups
Drink golden wines.

Insulated like an island,
The palace walls plunge
Into the tranquil surface
Of a lake of quicksilver.

And everything seems immobile,
And yet everything is magnified,
Spreading out, like an oil spill,
It rises and deepens;

And over the mute waters,
And from the noiseless palace,
A reflected flame shoots up and
Grows brighter.

But, amidst all this enchantment,
Two things are problematic:
Within nothing sings, and
The sky is black above.

Oh, for the sound of a lyre,
Oh, for the palest blue,
I could forget this porphyry,
Fine pearls, and pure gold.

But the only thing that would restore them,
With a love sweet and cruel,
Forbids me my crown
Of harmony and heaven;

And so everything shines, everything rises,
Everything grows vast and beautiful,
The more the pain subdues me,
The more I am in my grave.

Oh proud young man, oh hunter of gazelles,
Pale horseman with a velvety glance,
Upon your steed with winged feet,
Transport me to a heaven full of love.

I’ve often, at night, on my terrace,
Wept tears while reaching toward you.
Vain effort! It’s merely a shadow that I embrace,
And my sobs, you can’t hear them.

Yet the sky makes me feel passionate and beautiful,
My soft lips are cherry red;
My voice sounds like the cooing of doves,
My hair glows under the sun’s rays.

But imprisoned and veiled,
Inside the palace, I die far from my true love.
Asking the flowers and the stars, why
Does my heart still beat - don’t you know?

My beloved, so terrible are your weapons,
Your long rifle, your lance, your dagger,
And worst of all, your dark, enchanting eyes,
That can pierce a heart with one glance.

Oh proud young man, oh hunter of gazelles,
His destiny and mine are one and the same.
Upon your steed with winged feet,
Toss in my sad heart among your bloody loot.

I’ve bridled my horse
and saddled him in gold.
We two, through this arid world,
Will dash away.

I have a cold heart, an unwavering gaze.
I love nothing and I fear nothing.
In its sheath, my saber chafes.
May it soon be drawn and strike true!

A turban around my head,
On my back, a white cloak,
I want to join the revelry
Where Death is in full howl;

A place where, at night, one torches the towns
While the inhabitants slumber,
Where, compared to the lowly masses,
One is greatest when one is strong.

I’d like, at the sound of my name, for monarchs
To hide their heads in their hands,
And for my saber to cut away the brands
Of servitude from the foreheads of humanity.

I long for the throng of my tents,
Of my long-maned horses,
For my dazzling banners,
My pikes, my tambourines,

They might be limitless, like a swarm
Of flies as the weather grows warm,
So that at my feet the whole universe bows,
Understanding how little they matter to me!

Seated on this white tomb
Let us open our hearts!
This marble, as night falls,
Its charm conquers all.

At the murmuring of our voices,
The dead man below will vibrate;
We’ll pluck the flower petals
From his Sahara.

If he had, before his last hour,
The love of someone,
He’ll believe, about the past he mourns,
That he can still smell its fragrance.

If he’d lived, without wanting
Another’s heart for his own,
He’ll say: I’ve lost my life,
as I’ve loved nothing.

You’ll jingle, my beauty,
Your golden ornaments,
To make my desire take wing
As the birds fall asleep.

And without fretting over things
Only to die afterwards,
We’ll say: Today roses,
Tomorrow cypresses!

Without pausing in hesitation,
On my tippy-toes,
I turn, I turn, I turn,
Like a falling leaf;
Just as at the moment we cross over,
The earth, the ocean, space,
Before my troubled eyes, they all pass,
radiating the same glow;
And I continue my circular movements,
Always, always accelerating,
With as little pleasure as anger,
Shivering in my own sweat.

In caves where water plunges,
Above the inaccessible rocks,
I turn, I turn, I turn,
Without the slightest concern for harm.
In the forests, on the shorelines;
Past the savage beasts
And their ravaging rivals,
Soldiers go with saber in hand,
Into the heart of the slave markets,
Near volcanoes brimming with lava,
Into the homes of Mongols and Slavs,
And I never stop turning.

Subject to laws which no one is above,
To laws governing stars in flight,
I turn, I turn, I turn;
My feet no longer touching the earth.
I ascend into the night sky,
Past the taciturn moon,
Past Jupiter and Saturn
I pass with a whistle,
And I cross the constellation Capricorn,
And I disappear into the gloomy chasm
Of complete and limitless night
Where I turn eternally.