JAVID NAMA [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

اینجــــا یک کتابخانه دیجیتالی است

با بیش از 100000 منبع الکترونیکی رایگان به زبان فارسی ، عربی و انگلیسی

JAVID NAMA [Electronic resources] - نسخه متنی

Muhammad Iqbal

| نمايش فراداده ، افزودن یک نقد و بررسی
افزودن به کتابخانه شخصی
ارسال به دوستان
جستجو در متن کتاب
تنظیمات قلم


اندازه قلم

+ - پیش فرض

حالت نمایش

روز نیمروز شب
جستجو در لغت نامه
لیست موضوعات
افزودن یادداشت جدید


Vision of the
sage Tolstoy

In the midst of the
mountain-range of Seven Deaths
is a valley where no
bird stirs, no branches, no leaf;
the smoke encircling it
turns the moon’s light to pitch,
the sun in its broad
heavens seems dying of thirst.
A river of quicksilver
flows through that valley
meandering like the
stream of the Milky Way.
Before it the hollows
and heights of the road are nothing,
so swift its current,
wave on wave, twist on twist.
A man stood, drowned up
to his waist, in that quicksilver
uttering a thousand
ineffectual laments,
Rain, wind and water
were not his portion—
athirst he, and no
water save the quicksilver.
On the bank I espied a
slim-bodied woman
whose eyes would have
waylaid a hundred caravans,
one that taught
infidelity to the Church-elders,
her glance turned ugly
to beautiful, beautiful to ugly.
I said to her,
‘Who are you? What is your name?
What is this utter
lamentation and weeping?’
She said, ‘In my
eye is the spell of the Samiri;
my name is Ifrangin, my
profession is wizardry.’
All of a sudden that
silvery stream froze,
the bones of that youth
broke in his body.
He cried -aloud,
‘Alas, alas for my destiny!
Alas for my ineffectual
Ifrangin said, ‘If
you have eyes to see,
look a little also at
your own deeds.
The Son of Mary, that
Lamp of all creation
whose light lit up the
world dimensioned and undimensioned—
that Pilate, and that
cross, that pallid face—
what wrought you, what
wrought he beneath the skies!
You, to whose soul the
joy of faith is forbidden,
worshipper of idols
fashioned of raw silver,
you did not know the
worth of the Holy Spirit,
you bought the body,
gambled away the soul!’
The reproach of that
fair woman, drunken with blandishment,
was a lancet that
pierced the youth’s heart.
He said, ‘You who
display wheat and sell barley,
because of you Shaikh
and Brahmin sell their own country.
Your infidelities have
debased reason and religion,
your profit-mongerings
have cheapened love.
Your love is torment,
and secret torment at that;
your hatred is death,
and sudden death at that!
You have associated
with water and clay,
you have stolen away
God’s servant from Him.
Wisdom, which loosened
the knots of things,
to you has given only
thoughts of devastation.
That man whose
substance is true knows well
your crime is heavier
than my crime.
His breath restored the
departed soul to the body;
you make the body a
mausoleum for the soul.
What we have done unto
His humanity
His community has done
unto His divinity.
Your death is life for
the people of the world:
wait now, and see what
your end shall be!’

/ 66