Basatin al-uns 35.75

35.75

ذبت حتی خفیت عن ملک الموت فلایهتدی الی قبض روحی تا آه شبگیر از سینهٔ‌ پردرد به گوش حاضران نمیآمد، بههیچ نوع بر وجود او استدلال نمیکردند و تا نالههای زار از دل بیمار نمیشنیدند بههستی او اعتراف نمینمودند، دیدهآ تنگ مور برای جولان میدان فراخ مینمود و سطح ذره به جهت سکونت و آرام قصری وسیع تصور میشد و تن از بار1 نظر چون گل از باد خزان خسته و مجروح می گشت و از آسیب نفس لب مانند لالهآ نعمان کسوت خون در برمی کشید و با این رنجهای گوناگون و دردهای روزافزون فراق اخوان صفا و هجران ارباب «ولا ضعث علی إبالة»5 گشته بود و جان در وحشت آباد تنهایی یک زمان نمی آسود و به مقتضی «القاءالخلیل شفاءالخلیل»، دل دیده انتظار در راه نهاده که کی به دولت وصال هم نفسی مستعد7 گردد تا از یک دو حدیث دلنواز او مفرحی برای شفای خویش سازد و جان چشم امید گشاده که مگر به شرف صحبت همدمی اختصاص یابد تا از استماع اسمار شیرین روح بخش او سینهٔ‌ مجروح مرهمی بردارد و به ذکر حکایت پرشکایت روزگار جفاکار که هر روز بهنو بلایی و تازه محنتی گرفتار می گرداند، نفتة المصدور بیرون دهد و سرمایهآ راحتی بهدست آرد و از تقدیر مصایب لیل و نهار که مانند صروف حروف کلمات و نشروطی مکتوبات بیشمار است عقدههای درد باطن بگشاید و بهشرح و بیان حوادث زمانه مردم خوار که چون ادوار آسمانی و قطرات ابر نیسانی:

I melted away until I was hidden from the Angel of Death, so that he found no way to seize my soul.
Until a morning sigh arose from the pain-filled chest to reach the ears of those present, they could by no means deduce his existence;
and until they heard mournful weeping from the sick heart, they would not acknowledge his being. The narrow eye
of an ant appeared a spacious plain for galloping, and the surface of an atom was imagined as an expansive palace for residence and rest;
and the body, from the weight of a glance, was wounded and injured like a rose by the autumn wind; and from the impact of breath, the lip
donned a garment of blood like the red anemone. And alongside these diverse afflictions and ever-increasing pains,
the separation from pure brethren and the estrangement from the masters of affection became “a bundle of sticks upon a pack-saddle” [a misfortune upon a misfortune]; and his soul did not rest for a moment in the desolate waste of loneliness;
and according to the dictum “The meeting of a friend is the cure of a friend,” the heart had fixed the eye of anticipation upon the road, wondering when
it would be favored with the good fortune of union with a companion, so that it might make from a word or two of his heart-delighting discourse a restorative for its own healing;
and the soul kept open the eye of hope, wishing that it might be distinguished by the honor of the company of an intimate, so that from
hearing his sweet, soul-reviving night-tales, the wounded chest might find a salve; and that by recounting the complaint-filled tale
of the cruel times, which each day afflicted him with a new calamity and a fresh ordeal, he might vent the spitting-up of chest-blood [the afflicted heart's grief]
and obtain some measure of comfort; and by destiny's calamities of night and day—which are as countless as the inflections of the letters of words and
the lines of epistles—he might untie the knots of inward pain; and through the explanation and description of the occurrences of man-devouring time,
which, like the rotations of the celestial spheres and the raindrops of the spring clouds: