جلوۂ سروش

مرد عارف گفتگو را در ببستمست خود گردید و از عالم گسست

There upon the wise man ceased his discourse; self-intoxicated, he broke away from the world.

ذوق و شوق او را ز دست او ربوددر وجود آمد ز نیرنگ شہود

Ecstasy and yearning snatched him out of his own hands. Then came into being, by the magic of divine vision.

با حضورش ذرہ ہا مانند طوربے حضور او نہ نور و نے ظہور

When it is present the motes become like Mount Sinai, without its presence there is nor light nor manifestation.

نازنینے در طلسم آن شبےآن شبے بے کوکبے را کوکبے

(Sarosh arrives): A delicate creature in the talisman of that night, a star shining upon that starless night.

سنبلستان دو زلفش تا کمرتاب گیر از طلعتش کوہ و کمر

The hyacinth-curls of his two tresses reached his waist, mountains and foothills drew brilliance from his face.

غرق اندر جلوۂ مستانہ ئیخوش سرود آن مست بے پیمانہ ئی

Wholly drowned in a drunken epiphany, drunken without wine, he chanted melodiously.

پیش او گردندہ فانوس خیالذوفنون مثل سپہر دیر سال

Before him the lantern of the imagination span around, full of wiles as the ancient sphere of heaven;

اندر آن فانوس پیکر رنگ رنگشکرہ بر گنجشک و بر آہو پلنگ

In that lantern appeared a form of many hues, hawk pouncing on sparrow, panther seizing deer.

من بہ رومی گفتم اے دانای رازبر رفیق کم نظر بگشای راز

I said to Rumi, ‘You who know the secret, reveal the secret to your companion of little vision.’

گفت "این پیکر چو سیم تابناکزاد در اندیشۂ یزدان پاک

He said, ‘This form like unto flashing silver was born in the thought of the holy God;

باز بیتابانہ از ذوق نموددر شبستان وجود امید فرود

Impatiently, out of the joy of self- manifestation, he came down into the dormitory of existence,

ہمچو ما آوارہ و غربت نصیبتو غریبی، من غریبم، او غریب

Like ourselves a wanderer, exile his portion – you are an exile, I am an exile, he is an exile.

شأن او جبریلی و نامش سروشمی برد از ہوش و می آرد بہوش

His rank is that of Gabriel, his name is Sarosh, he transports from sense, and restores to sense.

غنچۂ ما را گشود از شبنمشمردہ آتش، زندہ از سوز دمش

It was his dew that opened our bud, the fire of his breath kindled the dead ember.

زخمۂ شاعر بہ ساز دل ازوستچاکہا در پردۂ محمل ازوست

The poet’s plectrum striking the chords of the heart is of him, and it is he who rends the veil shrouding the Kaaba.

دیدہ ام در نغمۂ او عالمےآتشے گیر از نواے او دمے"

Within his melody I have glimpsed an entire universe now take fire for a moment from his song.’