In the twilight of longing and lost chances, Shahreyar’s verses emerge as a soulful symphony—a delicate dance between fate’s inexorable weight and the ephemeral beauty of verse. His poem, imbued with both melancholy and a wry grace, beckons us into a realm where every missed opportunity and burdened heart resonates with a bittersweet familiarity. Here, we encounter a narrative of absence and regret, interwoven with moments of reluctant admiration and the eternal pursuit of hope amid desolation.
The Original Poem
ماهم آمد به در خانه و در خانه نبودم
خانه گوئی به سرم ریخت چو این قصه شنودمآن که می خواست برویم در دولت بگشاید
با که گویم که در خانه به رویش نگشودمآمد آن دولت بیدار و مرا بخت فروخفت
من که یک عمر شب از دست خیالش نغنودمآنکه می خواست غبار غمم از دل بزداید
آوخ آوخ که غبار رهش از پا نزدودمیار سود از شرفم سر به ثریا و دریغا
که به پایش سر تعظیم به شکرانه نسودمای نسیم سحر آن شمع شبستان طرب را
گو به سر می‌رود از آتش هجران تو دودمجان فروشی مرا بین که به هیچش نخرد کس
این شد ای مایه امید ز سودای تو سودمبه غزل رام توان کرد غزالان رمیده
شهریارا غزلی هم به سزایش نسرودم
An English Translation
*My moon arrived at my doorstep, yet I was not home,
And as I heard the tale, it seemed the house on me had come.
He who wished to open for us the gates of splendid state,
To whom can I confess that I kept my face closed at his gate?
That fortune, now awake, made my destiny droop in despair,
While I spent countless nights, never letting his thought repair.
He who sought to sweep away the dust of sorrow from my core,
Alas, the dust of his own path clung to my feet evermore.
My beloved expected honor to soar toward celestial height—
Yet at his feet, my bowed head never offered thanks outright.
Oh, morning breeze, to that candle lighting nocturnal delight,
Tell him my head burns to ash from the fire of parting’s blight.
Behold the sale of my soul—none would ever purchase its art,
Thus, from your infatuation, all hope and profit depart.
With a ghazal one might tame even the fleetest of wild gazelles,
But O Shahreyar, no verse of mine could ever match your spells.*
Musings on the Verses
Shahreyar’s lines speak in the language of absence and burden—a narrative where the arrival of a cherished “moon” goes unnoticed because the heart is absent, lost in a labyrinth of regret and missed chances. The imagery is vivid: a door left unopened, a fate that slumps under the weight of unfulfilled desires, and a spirit ever burdened by the relentless march of time.
Each couplet unveils a layered sentiment. The poet recalls a lost opportunity—a chance to be welcomed, to bask in the splendor of another’s world—but also the self-imposed exile from that very realm. There is a poignant irony in the way fortune awakens only to leave his destiny in disarray, and how every attempt to rid the soul of sorrow only deepens its imprint.
Yet, amid these cascading laments, a subtle defiance emerges. Shahreyar’s refusal to bow in unthinking adoration, his acknowledgment of a soul unsellable to mere desire, and his confident assertion that even the wildest gazelles of passion might be tamed by a carefully wrought ghazal—all these speak to a spirit that, despite its wounds, remains unbroken and fiercely authentic.
Concluding Thoughts
In this timeless lament, Shahreyar not only unveils the personal sorrows of a heart burdened by fate but also invites us to witness the paradox of human existence: the intertwining of regret and resilience, loss and luminous defiance. His verses remind us that within every unhealed wound and every missed embrace lies the potential for profound poetic expression—a beacon for those who dare to transform sorrow into art.
May we, like Shahreyar, find solace in the cadence of our own missteps, and in doing so, learn that even in the deepest shadows, the light of poetic truth can guide us home.
