Chehel Asrar 38 - Thirty Eighth Ghazal

Ghazal 38

9 couplets  |  Riaz 1991, printed p. 477

آن دِل کِه یافْت یِک دَم اَز کُویِ تُو نِشانی

ān del ke yāft yek dam az kū-ye to neshānī

1a  For the heart that found, one moment, a sign of your lane,

گَرْدَد نِثارِ راهَش دَر هَر نَفَس جَهانی

gardad nesār-e rāh-ash dar har nafas jahānī

1b  a whole world is scattered as an offering on its path with every breath.

Commentary on couplet 1

A heart that has found even a momentary sign of the beloved’s lane receives an offering of worlds with every breath. On the most natural reading, rāh-ash, “its path,” refers back to that heart: the world is offered along its way. The extravagant honor follows a trace of proximity, without any claim that the heart has reached complete union. Yek dam, one moment, opens into har nafas, every breath, making brief contact bear continuing fruit. Nisār suggests gifts scattered in homage and gives recognition a public, ceremonial scale. Yet the recipient is a heart, so the scene brings worldly magnificence into relation with inward receptivity. A slight sign changes the value of everything encountered afterward.

رُوحانِیانِ عُلْوی دَر رَشْک و حَسْرَت اُفْتَنْد

rūhāniyān-e ʿolvī dar rashk o hasrat oftand

2a  The spirits of the higher world fall into envy and longing

چُون بِیدِلی نِشِینَد با یادِ تُو زَمانی

chūn bīdelī neshīnad bā yād-e to zamānī

2b  when a heartsick lover sits remembering you for a while.

Commentary on couplet 2

The spirits above fall into envy and longing when a heartsick lover sits for a while remembering the beloved. The contrast joins exalted beings to a modest human posture: quiet recollection becomes an occasion they might wish to share. Bīdel, one who has lost the heart, makes apparent deprivation the condition of an enviable intimacy. Rūhāniyān-e ʿolvī names higher spirits without specifying an angelic order. Their response belongs to the poem’s imaginative praise of remembrance, rather than a demonstrated hierarchy of spiritual beings. Yād can hold both affectionate recollection and devotional remembrance. The short duration matters: even a while spent in this attention has a value that cannot be measured by the outward simplicity of sitting still.

با لَذَّتِ خَیالَت خُلْدِ بَرِین سَرابی

bā lazzat-e khayāl-at khold-e barīn sarābī

3a  Beside the pleasure of imagining you, highest paradise is a mirage;

با نامِ تُو دُو عالَم نان‌رِیزِه‌ای زِ خوانی

bā nām-e to do ʿālam nān-rīzeʾī ze khānī

3b  beside your name, both worlds are a crumb from a banquet.

Commentary on couplet 3

The pleasure of imagining the beloved makes highest paradise seem a mirage, while the beloved’s name reduces both worlds to a banquet crumb. These are comparisons of value: something usually treated as immense or desirable becomes slight beside a more absorbing attachment. Khayāl can mean an image or imagined presence, preserving intimacy even without immediate sight. Hamadani’s account of gratitude values the giver’s goodwill and nearness above possession of the gift. [2] That is a documented parallel for preference directed toward the beloved, without declaring paradise nonexistent. The banquet remains unspecified, and the name need not be a particular divine name. The couplet’s force lies in how an image and a word can outweigh the largest rewards the lover can imagine.

بَرْقِ شُعاعِ حُسْنَت هَر دِیدِه بَر نَتابَد

barq-e shoʿāʿ-e hosn-at har dīde bar natābad

4a  Not every eye can bear the lightning of your beauty’s radiance;

وَصْفِ غَمَت نَگَرْدَد مَقْدُورِ هَر زَبانی

vasf-e gham-at nagardad maqdūr-e har zabānī

4b  not every tongue can describe the sorrow of you.

Commentary on couplet 4

The lightning of beauty exceeds what every eye can bear, just as sorrow associated with the beloved exceeds what every tongue can describe. The two halves distinguish receiving an overwhelming appearance from finding words adequate to its effect. “Not every” is essential: the poem limits capacity without saying that all sight or speech must fail. Barq gives radiance the sudden force of lightning, while maqdūr brings description within the question of what a speaker can manage. The sorrow may be the pain of loving or separation; it need not name suffering experienced by the beloved. The verse itself attempts to speak at this limit, giving its declarations of beauty the pressure of something difficult to endure and express.

بُوئی زِ خاکِ کُویَت مَطْلُوبِ هَر ضَمِیری

būyī ze khāk-e kūy-at matlūb-e har zamīrī

5a  A fragrance from the dust of your lane is every heart’s desire;

عَکْسی زِ نُورِ رُویَت مَحْبُوبِ هَر رَوانی

ʿaksī ze nūr-e rūy-at mahbūb-e har ravānī

5b  a reflection of your face’s light is every soul’s beloved.

Commentary on couplet 5

A fragrance from the lane’s dust is desired by every heart, and a reflection of the face’s light is beloved to every soul. The paired matlūb and maḥbūb join what is sought with what is loved, while fragrance and reflection make the attraction available through traces. Even the humble dust carries that influence. The universal “every” contrasts with the preceding limits upon eyes and tongues: attraction need not mean equal ability to sustain an encounter or describe it. The claim is expansive, but it does not explain how each person recognizes the object of desire. Its language allows beauty to draw the heart before the heart can give a clear account of what draws it.

سَوْدایِ بِی‌دِلان را سُودی زِ وَصْل فَرْما

sowdā-ye bī-delān rā sūdī ze vasl farmā

6a  Grant the heartsick a profit of union from their passionate trade, [1]

چُون نِیسْت حَضْرَتَت را اَز سُودِ ما زِیانی

chūn nīst hazrat-at rā az sūd-e mā ziyānī

6b  since our profit brings no loss to your presence.

Commentary on couplet 6

The speaker asks that the lovers’ passionate business yield union, arguing that their gain would cost the beloved nothing. As the supplied note explains, sowdā brings passion and trade together; sūd and ziyān continue the language of profit and loss. Yet farmā, “grant,” keeps the appeal a petition whose answer belongs to the addressee. In a devotional context, the hadith qudsi reported by Abū Dharr describes divine giving to all humanity and jinn as undiminished by their requests. [3] This closely illuminates the absence of loss, without making the poem a quotation of that report. Union would enrich the lovers while leaving the beloved’s fullness intact. The argument seeks generosity through the language of exchange, although it offers no enforceable bargain.

اَز سُوزِ داغِ هِجْران دَر حَضْرَتَت چِگُویَم

az sūz-e dāgh-e hejrān dar hazrat-at chegūyam

7a  What can I say before you of separation’s burning brand,

چُون دَر حَرِیمِ عِلْمَت پَیْداسْت هَر نِهانی

chūn dar harīm-e ʿelm-at paydāst har nehānī

7b  when every hidden thing lies open in the sanctuary of your knowledge?

Commentary on couplet 7

The speaker asks what can be said about separation’s burning wound before one to whom every hidden thing is already open. The question does not end speech: uttering it becomes a way of presenting the pain without claiming to explain something unknown. Hamadani describes thoughts as heard by God before they leave the heart. [2] Qur’an 20:7 likewise places open speech beside divine knowledge of the secret and what is still more hidden. [4] This is a close scriptural context, rather than a direct quotation. Harīm, sanctuary, gives knowledge an image of intimacy and guarded access; it need not make knowledge a physical enclosure. The beloved’s complete awareness leaves room for petition as an act of relationship, even where information adds nothing.

مَه دَر نِقابِ غَیْرَت پِنْهان و خَلْقِ عالَم

mah dar neqāb-e ghayrat penhān o khalq-e ʿālam

8a  The moon is hidden behind the veil of jealous ardor, and the people of the world—

هَر کَس زِ سِرِّ حُسْنَت دَر پَرْدِهٔ گُمانی

har kas ze serr-e hosn-at dar parde-ye gomānī

8b  each is veiled in some conjecture about the secret of your beauty.

Commentary on couplet 8

The beloved appears as a moon concealed by jealous ardor, while each observer is covered by a conjecture about beauty’s secret. Two veils are distinguished: one belongs to the beloved’s guardedness, the other to the beholder’s limited understanding. Ghayrat suggests an exclusive claim that resists unrestricted access. Gomān is conjecture, so the second veil concerns the status of what people suppose they know. Hamadani’s prose calls the divine essence a mystery concealed from creatures. [2] This supplies a devotional parallel for knowledge that cannot become exhaustive possession. The verse does not distinguish the speaker as exempt from conjecture. After the preceding declaration that all is known to the beloved, the limits of those who look toward that beloved become especially clear.

سِرّی کِه صَد هِزاران سَر دَر غَمَش فُرو شُد

serrī ke sad hezārān sar dar gham-ash forū shod

9a  A secret for whose sorrow a hundred thousand heads have fallen—

کَی گَرْدَد ای عَلایی حاصِل زِ نِیم جانی

kay gardad ey ʿAlāʾī hāsel ze nīm jānī

9b  how could it be gained, O ʿAlāʾī, for half a life?

Commentary on couplet 9

The final question turns toward ʿAlāʾī: how could one small life obtain a secret for which a hundred thousand heads have fallen? The sound of serr, secret, beside sar, head, binds the desired mystery to its overwhelming human cost. Nīm jān, retained as “half a life,” can also mean an exhausted remnant of life, as Dehkhoda records. [5] The phrase may therefore expose the lover’s frailty rather than accuse him of insincere effort. The question tests the adequacy of what he can offer; its numbers are poetic measures, not a price list. Hamadani leaves spiritual gifts to divine will while assigning seekers inward preparation. [2] That context helps keep devotion from becoming a claim of purchase. The closing leaves the secret beyond the named lover’s command.

Understanding this ghazal

This ghazal places the immense value of remembering the beloved beside the limits of what remembrance can secure. A momentary sign of the lane transforms the heart’s standing; a quiet interval of recollection makes higher spirits envious; an image and a name outweigh paradise and both worlds. The addressee remains unnamed, and the sensuous language of face, fragrance, and moon sustains human affection alongside a devotional reading. The poem speaks expansively about attraction, but its opening contact is still only a sign. Such a trace can reorder the lover’s world without giving possession of beauty’s secret.

The movement between “every” and “not every” is central. Every heart desires a fragrance and every soul loves a reflection, yet not every eye can bear the radiance or every tongue describe its sorrow. Universal attraction coexists with unequal capacity and incomplete recognition. The later moon and veils make this distinction sharper: the beloved’s beauty is guarded, and beholders approach it through conjectures. Imagining the beloved can give profound pleasure without becoming a complete account of what the beloved is. The poem keeps those two possibilities in contact, allowing inward intimacy to coexist with limits of knowledge.

The language of profit brings the question of access into a direct petition. The lovers ask for union because their gain need not diminish the beloved; they then ask how to voice a wound already known. Hamadani’s prose provides parallels for preferring the giver, for divine knowledge of unspoken thoughts, and for creaturely limits before divine mystery. [2] These contexts support a devotional interpretation while preserving the poem’s particular images and shifts of voice. The appeal remains relational: speech expresses need, remembrance attends to the beloved, and desired benefit depends upon a response the lovers cannot require.

The closing self-address brings the earlier magnificence under the pressure of one vulnerable life. After worlds scattered in homage and celestial envy, ʿAlāʾī confronts the disparity between the secret and the scant life available to seek it. “Half a life” may name depletion, so the ending should retain its possibility of exhausted devotion as well as its severe question about adequacy. The poem does not cancel the value of the sign received at the beginning. It asks how that value can be immense while the beloved’s secret still exceeds what the lover can offer.

Sources and textual notes

Reading notes

[1] 6a: Sowdā joins the senses of passion and trade, continued by “profit” and “loss.”

Editorial references

2. Hamadani, Dhakhīrat al-mulūk, consulted in Mohammad Umar Farooq, Mir Sayyid Ali Hamadani’s Dhakiratul Muluk: An Annotation and Translation (PhD thesis, University of Kashmir, 2009), printed p. 61, on unspoken thoughts and divine mystery; printed p. 331, on valuing the giver; and printed p. 414, on inward preparation and divine gifts. The English translation was checked; the Persian wording was not independently collated.
3. Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 2577a, Book 45, hadith 70, the hadith qudsi transmitted by Abū Dharr. The passage on granting the requests of humanity and jinn without diminishing divine resources provides a contextual parallel for couplet 6.
4. Qur’an, Ṭā-Hā 20:7, on open speech and divine knowledge of the secret and what is more hidden. Cited as a close context for couplet 7, without asserting direct quotation.
5. ʿAli-Akbar Dehkhoda, Lughat-nāma, entry “nīm jān”, available through Vajehyab. The entry gives the senses of a remnant of life and an exhausted or barely living person, with examples of lovers offering their remaining life. It supports the alternative nuance discussed in couplet 9.

Editorial note: The supplied Riaz 1991, printed p. 477 reference, the signature ʿAlāʾī, and the reading note are retained unchanged. That edition and the attribution of this ghazal have not been independently verified. The commentary preserves “half a life” while explaining a further lexical possibility, and distinguishes poetic claims from the documented contexts cited here.