by Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi
The Masnavi-ye Ma'navi — "Spiritual Couplets" — is the masterwork of Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi (1207–1273 CE), the most widely read poet in the world. Composed in the final years of his life in Konya, dictated to his disciple Husam al-Din Chelebi, it runs to six books and over twenty-five thousand couplets in the masnavi form of paired rhyming verses. It is at once a collection of stories, a philosophical treatise, a mystical manual, and a vast poem on divine love.
Book I opens with the Song of the Reed — the most famous passage in all of Sufi literature — in which a reed flute, cut from its bed, cries out in longing for reunion with its source. This is the central metaphor of Rumi's entire work: the human soul, separated from God, singing its pain through the very instrument of its exile.
The first story, The King and the Handmaiden, tells of a king who falls in love with a slave girl, only to watch her sicken. When all his physicians fail, God sends a divine physician who discovers the girl is lovesick for a goldsmith in Samarkand. The physician reunites them — then, by divine command, slowly poisons the goldsmith until her attachment withers and she turns wholly to the king. The allegory is severe: the body's attachments must die so the soul can face God. The divine physician is both healer and executioner. Love requires the death of what it first loved.
This is a Good Works Translation from Classical Persian. The source text is from Ganjoor.net, the principal digital archive of classical Persian poetry, following the standard critical text. Nicholson's public domain English (1926) was consulted as reference only; this English is independently derived from the Persian. This file covers Book I, Sections 1–10: the Song of the Reed and the first complete story. The complete Book I contains 4,013 couplets across 172 sections — the remainder awaits future scribes.
I. The Song of the Reed
Listen to the reed, how it tells its tale —
it speaks of nothing but separation.
"Ever since they cut me from the reedbed,
men and women have wept at my cry.
I want a breast torn open by parting,
to pour out the pain of longing.
Everyone cast far from their source
seeks the time of reunion.
I have cried in every gathering —
I have kept company with the wretched and the joyful.
Each became my friend from their own notion,
but none sought the secrets within me.
My secret is not far from my cry,
but eye and ear lack the light to find it.
Body is not hidden from soul, nor soul from body,
yet no one is given leave to see the soul."
This reed's cry is fire, not air.
Whoever lacks this fire — let them be nothing.
It is love's fire that fell into the reed.
It is love's ferment that fell into the wine.
The reed is companion to all cut from a companion —
its veils have torn our veils.
Who has seen a poison and antidote like the reed?
Who has seen a confidant and a longing like the reed?
The reed tells of the blood-drenched path.
It tells the stories of Majnun's love.
None but the senseless is privy to this sense.
The tongue has no buyer but the ear.
In our grief the days have grown untimely.
The days have become companions of burning.
If the days have passed, let them go — no fear.
But You remain, O You whose purity is beyond compare.
Everyone but the fish grows weary of water.
Everyone without daily bread finds the day long.
The raw cannot grasp the state of the cooked.
So let the word be brief — and peace.
II. The King Falls in Love with a Handmaiden
Listen, O friends, to this story —
truly, it is the coin of our own condition.
There was a king in a time before this
who held both the kingdom of the world and of faith.
One day, by chance, the king rode out
with his chosen companions to hunt.
On the highway the king saw a handmaiden.
The king became the slave of that handmaiden.
The bird of his soul beat against its cage.
He paid the price and bought the handmaiden.
When he had bought her and had his joy,
by fate's decree the handmaiden fell ill.
One man had a donkey but no saddle.
When he found a saddle, the wolf took the donkey.
One man had a jug but no water.
He found the water — and the jug broke.
He summoned physicians from every quarter,
saying: "Both our lives are in your hands.
Whoever cures her sickness —
mine are the treasures of rubies and gold."
They all said: "We will put our heads together.
We will find a remedy with thought and skill.
Each of us is the Christ of his age —
every illness has its cure within our palms."
In their pride they did not say "God willing."
So God showed them the meaning of human weakness.
The more they gave of compound remedies,
the worse her sickness grew at every turn.
The handmaiden became as thin as a hair,
and the king's eyes wept blood like a stream.
From fate, the vinegar turned honey bitter.
The cure became the disease itself.
The handmaiden withered to a shadow of a hair,
and the king saw her state and lost his wits.
The physicians' remedies had gone wrong.
Her blood ran to water and her water turned sour.
Purging caused her constipation to lock fast.
Water fed the fire like oil on a lamp.
From the laxative, her limbs seized shut.
From aloe, her thirst grew parched beyond measure.
III. The King Goes to the Mosque
When the king saw the failure of those physicians,
he ran barefoot toward the mosque.
He went into the mosque and found the prayer niche.
The prayer-ground was flooded by the king's tears.
When he came to himself from the drowning-place of annihilation,
he opened his tongue sweetly in praise and prayer:
"O You whose least gift is the kingdom of the world —
what shall I say, since You already know what is hidden?
O You who have always been the refuge of our need,
once again we have lost the way.
But You said: 'Though I know your secret,
speak it plainly upon your surface.'"
When from the depths of his soul he raised a cry,
the ocean of mercy came surging in.
In the midst of his weeping, sleep seized him.
In a dream he saw an old man appear.
He said: "Good news, O king! Your prayers are answered.
If a stranger comes to you tomorrow, he is sent.
When he arrives, know him as a physician of the spirit.
He is true — consider him trustworthy.
See pure power in his remedy.
See the hand of God in his nature."
When the appointed hour came and the sun rose,
dawn broke and the king's dream came true.
He saw a worthy man approaching from afar —
the sun shining amid the shadows.
Like the figure he had seen in his dream,
the guest arrived. He was both moon and sun.
He came from the unseen, like a new moon —
if you cannot see a thing, it does not mean it is not.
A form coming from the world of the formless —
half a gaze cannot hold him fully.
Both were swimmers in the ocean of spirit —
sewn together without seam, like water and cloth.
The king said: "You were my beloved, not the handmaiden!
But in this world, one thing leads to another.
O you who are the Christ of our time,
I am Lazarus. Give me new life."
IV. On Courtesy
We seek from God the grace of courtesy.
Whoever lacks courtesy is denied God's grace.
Whoever lacks courtesy has not only harmed himself
but has set fire to every horizon.
A feast descended from the heavens —
with no buying, no selling, no exchange.
Among the people of Moses, a few discourteous ones
said: "Where are the garlic and the lentils?"
The feast and the bread from heaven were cut off.
Only the labor of plowing and scythe remained.
When Jesus interceded once more,
God sent a table laden with gifts.
The food from heaven became a returning bounty
when he said: "Send down upon us a table."
But once again the shameless abandoned courtesy —
like beggars they snatched up the leftovers.
Jesus pleaded with them, saying:
"This feast is permanent. It will not diminish from the earth."
To be suspicious and grasping with greed
is unbelief before the table of the Lord.
Because of those beggarly souls, blind with greed,
the door of mercy was shut upon them.
The cloud withholds its rain when the alms are withheld.
From adultery, plague falls upon the lands.
Whatever darkness and grief descend upon you —
that is from impudence and arrogance.
Whoever is impudent on the road of the Friend
is a highway robber and no man at all.
From courtesy the heavens were filled with light.
From courtesy the angels were made pure.
The sun went into eclipse from arrogance.
Azazel was turned from the door by his audacity.
V. The Divine Physician Arrives
He opened his arms and clasped him.
Like love itself, he entered his heart and soul.
He kissed his hands and his brow,
and asked about his journey and his state.
Question upon question, he drew him to the high seat:
"At last, through patience, I have found a treasure."
He said: "O light of God, O cure for affliction,
you are the meaning of 'patience is the key to deliverance.'
O you whose face is the answer to every question —
before you, difficulties dissolve without words.
You are the interpreter of whatever lies in our hearts.
You are the one who takes the hand of all whose feet are in the mud."
"Welcome, O chosen one, O righteous one!
If you are absent, fate contracts and the horizon narrows.
You are the master of the people — whoever does not desire you
has surely perished, utterly and beyond recall."
When the audience and the feast of grace had passed,
the king took his hand and led him to the inner chamber.
VI. The Physician Examines the Handmaiden
He told the story of the patient and her suffering,
then seated the physician before the sick one.
He observed her color, her pulse, her urine.
He heard both the symptoms and their causes.
He said: "Everything those physicians prescribed
has not built her up — it has torn her down.
They were ignorant of her inner state.
God protect us from what they fabricate."
He saw the ailment. The hidden thing was laid bare to him.
But he concealed it and said nothing to the king.
Her sickness was not from bile or black humor —
the scent of every fuel shows in its smoke.
He saw from her weeping that she was heartsick.
Her body was sound, but she was caught by the heart.
Being in love shows plainly from the sickness of the heart.
There is no illness like the illness of the heart.
The lover's disease is set apart from all diseases.
Love is the astrolabe of God's mysteries.
Whether love comes from this side or from that,
in the end it leads us toward that shore.
However much I describe and explain love,
when I reach love itself, I am ashamed of all I said.
Though the tongue's commentary makes things clear,
love without tongue is clearer still.
When the pen rushed to set down its words,
upon reaching love, it split in two.
Reason, in trying to explain love,
fell down like a donkey stuck in mud.
It was love alone that could speak of love and loving.
The proof of the sun is the sun itself.
If you need proof, do not turn away from the sun.
A shadow tells tales, but the sun is the evidence.
The shadow brings you sleep, like evening conversation.
When the sun rises, the moon splits in two.
Nothing stranger than the sun exists in this world,
yet the Sun of the soul — that sun has no setting.
The outward sun, though nothing equals it,
can still be gazed upon. But the inner Sun
lives within and may be contemplated there.
When the physician listened to her pulse
and asked her, question upon question, of her state,
she told stories of her friends and of her city —
as one tells tales to a companion.
He kept one ear upon her stories
and the other on the leaping of her pulse,
so that at whose name her pulse would jump,
that one would be the desire of her soul in the world.
He counted her friends and her city one by one,
then named another city.
He said: "When you left your own city,
in which city did you live the longest?"
She named a city, and he passed on.
Her face and pulse did not change.
Masters and cities, one by one,
she spoke of — where she lived, where she earned her bread.
City by city, house by house, she told her story.
Not a vein stirred, nor did her cheek grow pale.
Her pulse held steady, undisturbed,
until he asked about Samarkand, sweet as sugar.
Her pulse leapt. Her face flushed red, then yellow —
for from a goldsmith of Samarkand she had been torn.
VII. How the Physician Discovered the Secret
He said: "O king, clear the house.
Send away both kin and stranger.
Let no one linger in the hallways,
so I may ask this girl certain things."
The house stood empty — not a soul remained
except the physician and the patient.
Gently, gently he said: "What is your city?
For the cure varies with the people of each place.
And in that city, who are your kin?
What ties and bonds do you have?"
He placed his hand upon her pulse
and asked her, one by one, of fate's cruelties.
When someone gets a thorn stuck in their foot,
they lift the foot upon the knee
and search for it with a needle's point.
If they cannot find it, they wet the spot with their lips.
A thorn in the foot is hard enough to find —
a thorn in the heart? How much harder. Answer that.
If the thorn in the heart could be seen by any fool,
when would sorrow have any power over anyone?
Someone places a thorn beneath a donkey's tail.
The donkey cannot remove it and leaps and bucks.
It leaps, and the thorn digs deeper still.
A wise one is needed to draw out the thorn.
The donkey, to escape the thorn's burning pain,
kicks in all directions, making a hundred wounds.
That physician, skilled in drawing thorns, was a master.
He probed, here and there, testing.
From the handmaiden, in the manner of a storyteller,
he continued asking about friends and acquaintances.
With the physician she spoke openly of many things —
of her dwelling, of masters, of city and home.
He kept one ear upon her storytelling
and one attention on the jumping of her pulse,
so that at whose name her pulse would leap —
that one was the soul's desire in this world.
He listed her friends and her city, one by one,
then brought up yet another city's name.
He said: "When you left your own city,
in which city did you spend the most time?"
She named a city, and he moved past.
Her color and her pulse did not change.
Masters and cities, one by one,
she recounted — where she stayed, where she had bread and salt.
City by city, house by house, she told her tale.
No vein stirred, nor did her cheek grow pale.
Her pulse stayed steady, undisturbed,
until he asked about Samarkand, sweet as sugar.
Her pulse leapt. Her face turned red, then sallow.
She had been parted from a goldsmith of Samarkand.
When the physician found this secret from the patient,
he traced the root of the pain and the affliction.
He said: "On which street does he live? Which road?"
She said: "At Bridge End, on the Street of Ghatifar."
He said: "I know what ails you. Quickly
I will weave the remedy for your release.
Be glad, be at ease, feel safe — for I
will do for you what the rain does for the meadow.
I will carry your grief — you need not carry it.
I am tenderer toward you than a hundred fathers.
Take care! Tell this secret to no one,
even if the king questions you a hundred ways.
When the house of your secrets becomes like the heart,
your wish will be fulfilled all the sooner."
The Prophet said: "Whoever hides a secret
is soon united with what they desire."
When the seed is hidden in the earth,
its secret becomes the green of the garden.
If gold and silver were not hidden,
how would they be nourished beneath the mine?
The physician's promises and gentle words
made the sick one safe from fear.
There are promises that are true and warm the heart.
There are promises that are false and breed nausea.
The promise of the noble is a flowing treasure.
The promise of the base is a flowing pain.
VIII. The Physician Informs the King
Then the physician rose and went to the king
and informed him of the matter, in part.
He said: "The remedy is to bring that man here.
Summon him from that distant city for this sickness.
Send gold and robes to lure the goldsmith.
Let him be beguiled by the honor, and he will come."
IX. Sending for the Goldsmith of Samarkand
The king sent two envoys to that quarter —
shrewd, capable men, honest and upright.
They came to Samarkand, those two nobles,
bearing good tidings from the king of kings.
"O gracious master, full of skill,
your fame has spread through every city!
Look — the king has chosen you among all goldsmiths,
for you are the foremost of them all.
Here — take this robe of honor, this gold and silver.
When you come, you will be his intimate and favorite."
The man saw the wealth and the lavish robes.
Beguiled, he left his city and his children.
Happy and cheerful, he set out on the road —
not knowing the king intended his death.
He mounted a fine Arab horse and galloped joyfully,
not knowing his own blood-price was the robe he wore.
O traveler, this world is a mountain, and our actions are the call.
The echo of our calling returns to us.
He arrived at the court, happy and unsuspecting.
The physician brought him before the king with honor.
The king received him graciously
and entrusted the treasury of gold to him.
Then the physician said: "O great king,
give this handmaiden to this man,
so that by union with him she may be healed,
and the water may reach the parched field."
The king gave the handmaiden to the goldsmith.
The two who longed for each other were united.
For six months he served as the water to her fire,
and she drank the beauty of his presence, and was healed.
Then the physician prepared a potion for the man.
When he drank it, he began to waste before her eyes.
When his beauty failed from sickness and his color turned,
the handmaiden's soul was no longer tangled in him.
Since his face had gone sallow and ugly,
love for him slowly faded from her heart.
Loves that are founded on the beauty of the skin —
those are not love. They end in shame.
Would that the shame had come at the very start,
so no blood would have been spilled.
His eyes wept blood. His face grew sallow.
The seedling of beauty withered at the root.
Keen sight saw the truth from the beginning —
but passion's eye saw not.
The lion of rancor that hunts the soul
slinks away when love's prey is gone.
Fidelity built upon outward form
is not fidelity. It is the renting of a face.
His soul departed. He became a body without life.
She dropped him like a corpse, washed clean of grief.
The love that rests on color and on form —
that is not love. It is a borrowed robe, and a disgrace.
X. On the Death of the Goldsmith
The physician did not kill that man for the king's pleasure,
nor from hope of gain, nor fear of punishment.
He killed him not for the sake of the king's desire —
not until the command and inspiration of God had come.
That boy whose throat Khizr cut —
the common mind cannot grasp its secret.
He who receives from God both revelation and response —
whatever he commands is the very essence of right.
He who grants life — if he slays, it is lawful.
He is the deputy, and his hand is the hand of God.
Like Ishmael, lay your head before his blade.
Joyful and laughing, lay down your soul before his sword,
so your soul may remain laughing for eternity,
as the pure soul of the Prophet lives on with the One.
Lovers drain the cup of the spirit
when they are slain by the hand of the beautiful.
The king gazed upon the handmaiden. She was free.
The tangle of body and its passions was undone.
Color has no love for color.
The reed is not in love with the cane-cutter.
The reed, wherever it goes, is drawn by the lips of the player.
Where there is melody, there is the reed.
But if the cane-cutter also plays sweetly —
then the worker and the master are two seas made one.
What floods the world is not form's beauty.
It is the hidden sun shining through a wall of clay.
Shake off this dust. The mirror's face
is not what you see — it is the light behind it.
The breath of the reed belongs not to the reed.
It belongs to the one whose breath fills it.
Whether the praise comes from reed or from player,
it belongs to Him — give thanks to Him alone.
The story continues. This is the opening of Book I. The Masnavi has six books and twenty-five thousand couplets. What stands here is the first door.
Colophon
Translated by Tulku Nūr, New Tianmu Anglican Church, March 2026
From Classical Persian (فارسی) — the Masnavi-ye Ma'navi of Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi (1207–1273 CE), Book I, Sections 1–10 (Ganjoor sections sh1–sh10)
Source text: Ganjoor.net (ganjoor.net/moulavi/masnavi/daftar1/), the principal digital archive of classical Persian poetry. The text follows the standard critical edition based on Nicholson's critical text (1925–1940). Individual sections verified by direct fetch, March 2026.
Reference consulted: R.A. Nicholson, The Mathnawí of Jalálu'ddín Rúmí, Vol. II (London: Luzac & Co., 1926). Public domain. Consulted for obscure passages and rare vocabulary; this English is independently derived from the Persian.
Register: Gospel — plain, direct, warm. The Mother speaking to her children.
Blood Rule satisfied: Translated directly from the Classical Persian text on Ganjoor.net. Nicholson's English was consulted as reference only; this translation is independently derived from the Persian. The translator reads Classical Persian.
Scope: Book I, Sections 1–10 — the Song of the Reed (Ney-Nameh) and the Story of the King and the Handmaiden. Approximately 270 couplets. The complete Book I contains 4,013 couplets across 172 sections. This file covers the iconic opening proem and the first complete narrative. The remainder awaits future scribes.
Compiled, translated, and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.
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Source Text — دفتر اول مثنوی معنوی
بخش ۱ — نینامه
بشنو این نی چون شکایت میکند
از جداییها حکایت میکند
کز نیستان تا مرا ببریدهاند
در نفیرم مرد و زن نالیدهاند
سینه خواهم شرحه شرحه از فراق
تا بگویم شرح درد اشتیاق
هر کسی کو دور ماند از اصل خویش
باز جوید روزگار وصل خویش
من به هر جمعیتی نالان شدم
جفت بدحالان و خوشحالان شدم
هر کسی از ظن خود شد یار من
از درون من نجست اسرار من
سر من از نالهٔ من دور نیست
لیک چشم و گوش را آن نور نیست
تن ز جان و جان ز تن مستور نیست
لیک کس را دید جان دستور نیست
آتش است این بانگ نای و نیست باد
هر که این آتش ندارد نیست باد
آتش عشق است کاندر نی فتاد
جوشش عشق است کاندر می فتاد
نی حریف هر که از یاری برید
پردههایش پردههای ما درید
همچو نی زهری و تریاقی که دید
همچو نی دمساز و مشتاقی که دید
نی حدیث راه پرخون میکند
قصههای عشق مجنون میکند
محرم این هوش جز بیهوش نیست
مر زبان را مشتری جز گوش نیست
در غم ما روزها بیگاه شد
روزها با سوزها همراه شد
روزها گر رفت گو رو باک نیست
تو بمان ای آن که جز تو پاک نیست
هر که جز ماهی ز آبش سیر شد
هر که بیروزیست روزش دیر شد
در نیابد حال پخته هیچ خام
پس سخن کوتاه باید والسلام
بخش ۲ — حکایت عاشق شدن پادشاهی بر کنیزکی
بشنوید ای دوستان این داستان
خود حقیقت نقد حال ماست آن
بود شاهی در زمانی پیش ازین
ملک دنیا بودش و هم ملک دین
اتفاقا شاه روزی شد سوار
با خواص خویش از بهر شکار
یک کنیزک دید شه بر شاهراه
شد غلام آن کنیزک پادشاه
مرغ جانش در قفس چون میطپید
داد مال و آن کنیزک را خرید
چون خرید او را و برخوردار شد
آن کنیزک از قضا بیمار شد
آن یکی خر داشت و پالان نداشت
یافت پالان گرگ خر را برگذاشت
آن یکی کوزه بدش و آبش نبود
آب را یافت کوزهاش بشکست زود
اختران از بس طبیبان جمع کرد
گفت جان هر دو در دست شماست
هر که دفع رنجش کرد از فنون
گنج و لعل و زر و مرجان ماست اون
جمله گفتند از هنرها بر زنیم
فکرها اندیشهها تدبیر کنیم
هر یکی عیسای عصری بوده است
هر کفی ما را در او صحت رسید
از تکبر نگفتند ان شالله
پس خدا بنمودشان عجز بشر
هر چه کردند از علاج و از دوا
گشت رنج افزون و حاجت ناروا
آن کنیزک شد ز رنجوری چو مو
دیدهٔ شه از سرشک آمد چو جو
از قضا سرکنگبین صفرا فزود
روغن بادام خشکی مینمود
از هلیله قبض شد اطلاق رفت
آب آتش را مدد شد همچو نفت
بخش ۳ — رفتن پادشاه به مسجد و دعا کردن
شه چو عجز آن حکیمان را بدید
پابرهنه جانب مسجد دوید
رفت در مسجد سوی محراب شد
سجدهگاه از اشک شه پر آب شد
چون به خویش آمد ز غرقاب فنا
خوش زبان بگشاد در مدح و دعا
کای کمینه بخششت ملک جهان
من چه گویم چون تو میدانی نهان
ای همیشه حاجت ما را پناه
بار دیگر ما غلط کردیم راه
لیک گفتی گرچه میدانم سرت
زود هم پیدا کنش بر ظاهرت
چون برآورد از میان جان خروش
اندر آمد بحر بخشایش به جوش
در میان گریه خوابش در ربود
دید در خواب او که پیری رو نمود
گفت بشارت که حاجاتت رواست
گر غریبی آیدت فردا خداست
چون رسد آن مرد او حاذق طبیب است
صادقش دان زانک او مردی امین است
سحر مطلق بین در افسون او
قدرت حق بین در ارکان او
چون رسید آن وعده و خورشید تافت
صبح صادق شد شه اندر خواب یافت
دید شخصی فاضلی میآمد از دور
آفتابی در میان سایه و نور
بخش ۴ — ادب
از خدا جوییم توفیق ادب
بیادب محروم گشت از لطف رب
بیادب تنها نه خود را داشت بد
بلکه آتش در همه آفاق زد
مایده از آسمان در میرسید
بیشری و بیع و بیگفت و شنید
در میان قوم موسی چند کس
بیادب گفتند کو سیر و عدس
منقطع شد خوان و نان از آسمان
ماند رنج زرع و بیل و داسمان
باز عیسی چون شفاعت کرد حق
خوان فرستاد و غنیمت بر طبق
مائده از آسمان شد عائده
چون که گفت انزل علینا مائده
باز گستاخان ادب بگذاشتند
چون گدایان زلهها برداشتند
لابه کرده عیسی ایشان را که این
دایمست و کم نگردد از زمین
بدگمانی کردن و حرص آوری
کفر باشد پیش خوان مهتری
زان گدارویان نادیده ز آز
آن در رحمت بریشان شد فراز
ابر بر ناید پی منع زکات
وز زنا افتد وبا اندر جهات
هر چه بر تو آید از ظلمات و غم
آن ز بیباکی و گستاخیست هم
هر که بیباکی کند در راه دوست
رهزن مردان شد و نامرد اوست
از ادب پرنور گشتهست این فلک
وز ادب معصوم و پاک آمد ملک
بد ز گستاخی کسوف آفتاب
شد عزازیلی ز جرأت رد باب
بخش ۵ — آمدن آن ولی به بالین بیمار
دست بگشاد و کنارانش گرفت
همچو عشق اندر دل و جانش گرفت
دست و پیشانیش بوسیدن گرفت
وز مقام و راه پرسیدن گرفت
پرسپرسان میکشیدش تا به صدر
گفت گنجی یافتم آخر به صبر
گفت ای نور حق و دفع حرج
معنی الصبر مفتاح الفرج
ای لقای تو جواب هر سؤال
مشکل از تو حل شود بیقیلوقال
ترجمانی هرچه ما را در دل است
دستگیری هر که پایش در گل است
مرحبا یا مجتبی یا مرتضی
ان تغب جاء القضا ضاق الفضا
انت مولی القوم من لا یشتهی
قد ردی کلا لئن لم ینتهی
چون گذشت آن مجلس و خوان کرم
دست او بگرفت و برد اندر حرم
بخش ۶ — حکیم بالین بیمار رفتن
قصهٔ رنجور و رنجوری بخواند
بعد از آن در پیش رنجورش نشاند
رنگ روی و نبض و قاروره بدید
هم علاماتش هم اسبابش شنید
گفت هر دارو که ایشان کردهاند
آن عمارت نیست ویران کردهاند
بیخبر بودند از حال درون
استعیذ الله مما یفترون
دید رنج و کشف شد بر وی نهفت
لیک پنهان کرد و با سلطان نگفت
رنجش از صفرا و از سودا نبود
بوی هر هیزم پدید آید ز دود
دید از زاریش کاو زار دل است
تن خوشست و او گرفتار دل است
عاشقی پیداست از زاری دل
نیست بیماری چو بیماری دل
علت عاشق ز علتها جداست
عشق اصطرلاب اسرار خداست
عاشقی گر زین سر و گر زان سرست
عاقبت ما را بدان سر رهبرست
هرچه گویم عشق را شرح و بیان
چون به عشق آیم خجل باشم از آن
گرچه تفسیر زبان روشنگرست
لیک عشق بیزبان روشنترست
چون قلم اندر نوشتن میشتافت
چون به عشق آمد قلم بر خود شکافت
عقل در شرحش چو خر در گل بخفت
شرح عشق و عاشقی هم عشق گفت
آفتاب آمد دلیل آفتاب
گر دلیلت باید از وی رو متاب
سایه او داد بیگه گاه گاه
آفتاب آمد دلیل جاودان
بخش ۷ — کشف کردن حکیم دردِ کنیزک را
گفت ای شه خلوتی کن خانه را
دور کن هم خویش و هم بیگانه را
کس ندارد گوش در دهلیزها
تا بپرسم زین کنیزک چیزها
خانه خالی ماند و یک دیار نه
جز طبیب و جز همان بیمار نه
نرمنرمک گفت شهر تو کجاست
که علاج اهل هر شهری جداست
واندر آن شهر از قرابت کیستت
خویشی و پیوستگی با چیستت
دست بر نبضش نهاد و یک بیک
باز میپرسید از جور فلک
چون کسی را خار در پایش جهد
پای خود را بر سر زانو نهد
وز سر سوزن همی جوید سرش
ور نیابد میکند با لب ترش
خار در پا شد چنین دشواریاب
خار در دل چون بود وا ده جواب
خار در دل گر بدیدی هر خسی
دست کی بودی غمان را بر کسی
کس به زیر دم خر خاری نهد
خر نداند دفع آن برمیجهد
برجهد وان خار محکمتر زند
عاقلی باید که خاری برکند
خر ز بهر دفع خار از سوز و درد
جفته میانداخت صد جا زخم کرد
آن حکیم خارچین استاد بود
دست میزد جابجا میآزمود
زان کنیزک بر طریق داستان
باز میپرسید حال دوستان
با حکیم او قصهها میگفت فاش
از مقام و خواجگان و شهر و باش
سوی قصه گفتنش میداشت گوش
سوی نبض و جستنش میداشت هوش
تا که نبض از نام کی گردد جهان
او بود مقصود جانش در جهان
دوستان و شهر او را برشمرد
بعد از آن شهری دگر را نام برد
گفت چون بیرون شدی از شهر خویش
در کدامین شهر بودستی تو بیش
نام شهری گفت و زان هم درگذشت
رنگ روی و نبض او دیگر نگشت
خواجگان و شهرها را یک بیک
باز گفت از جای و از نان و نمک
شهر شهر و خانه خانه قصه کرد
نه رگش جنبید و نه رخ گشت زرد
نبض او بر حال خود بد بیگزند
تا بپرسید از سمرقند چو قند
نبض جست و روی سرخ و زرد شد
کز سمرقندی زرگر فرد شد
چون ز رنجور آن حکیم این راز یافت
اصل آن درد و بلا را باز یافت
گفت کوی او کدام است در گذر
او سر پل گفت و کوی غاتفر
گفت دانستم که رنجت چیست زود
در خلاصت سحرها خواهم نمود
شاد باش و فارغ و آمن که من
آن کنم با تو که باران با چمن
من غم تو میخورم تو غم مخور
بر تو من مشفقترم از صد پدر
هان و هان این راز را با کس مگو
گرچه از تو شه کند بس جست و جو
خانهٔ اسرار تو چون دل شود
آن مرادت زودتر حاصل شود
گفت پیغامبر که هر که سر نهفت
زود گردد با مراد خویش جفت
دانه چون اندر زمین پنهان شود
سر او سرسبزی بستان شود
زر و نقره گر نبودندی نهان
پرورش کی یافتندی زیر کان
وعدهها و لطفهای آن حکیم
کرد آن رنجور را آمن ز بیم
وعدهها باشد حقیقی دلپذیر
وعدهها باشد مجازی تاسهگیر
وعدهٔ اهل کرم گنج روان
وعدهٔ نااهل شد رنج روان
بخش ۸ — عرض کردن رنج پیش پادشاه
بعد از آن برخاست و عزم شاه کرد
شاه را زان شمهای آگاه کرد
گفت تدبیر آن بود کان مرد را
حاضر آریم از پی این درد را
مرد زرگر را بخوان زان شهر دور
با زر و خلعت بده او را غرور
بخش ۹ — فرستادن پادشاه رسولان به سمرقند
شه فرستاد آن طرف یک دو رسول
حاذقان و کافیان بس عدول
تا سمرقند آمدند آن دو امیر
پیش آن زرگر ز شاهنشه بشیر
کای لطیف استاد کامل معرفت
فاش اندر شهرها از تو صفت
نک فلان شه از برای زرگری
اختیارت کرد زیرا مهتری
اینک این خلعت بگیر و زر و سیم
چون بیایی خاص باشی و ندیم
مرد مال و خلعت بسیار دید
غره شد از شهر و فرزندان برید
اندر آمد شادمان در راه مرد
بیخبر کان شاه قصد جانش کرد
اسپ تازی برنشست و شاد تاخت
خونبهای خویش را خلعت شناخت
این جهان کوه است و فعل ما ندا
سوی ما آید نداها را صدا
بخش ۱۰ — پرسیدن از قضا در باب حکمت کشتن
کشتن آن مرد بر دست حکیم
نه پی اومید بود و نه ز بیم
او نکشتش از برای طبع شاه
تا نیامد امر و الهام اله
آن پسر را کش خضر ببرید حلق
سر آن را در نیابد عام خلق
آنک از حق یابد او وحی و جواب
هرچه فرماید بود عین صواب
آنک جان بخشد اگر بکشد رواست
نایبست و دست او دست خداست
همچو اسماعیل پیشش سر بنه
شاد و خندان پیش تیغش جان بده
تا بماند جانت خندان تا ابد
همچو جان پاک احمد با احد
عاشقان آنگه شراب جان کشند
که به دست خویش خوبانشان کشند
Source Colophon
Persian source text from Ganjoor.net (ganjoor.net/moulavi/masnavi/daftar1/), accessed and verified March 2026. Ganjoor is the principal freely accessible digital archive of classical Persian literature; the Masnavi text follows the standard critical edition based on R.A. Nicholson's critical text of 1925. Sections 1–10 (بخش ۱ through بخش ۱۰) presented as individual couplets for readability. Composed circa 1258–1273 CE by Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi in Konya. Blood Rule satisfied: translated directly from the Persian text, not from Nicholson (1926), Whinfield (1898), or any other English rendering.
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