Three Butterflies…

Today, I was reading ”Mantiq-ut-Tayr” (“The Language of the Birds”), a collection of poems written by shaykh Fariduddin Attar of Nishapur. It is really amazing. I decided to write one of the poems here:

Once up on a time
There where three peculiar butterflies
Their peculiarity was in their fantasies about the flames
The fantasies where old taboos
That had been forbidden to even think about

“Fire worship is the fate of barbaric moths,
we are the beauty itself
no need to become beautiful in the light of fire,
we are the most sophisticated manifestation of ecstatic;
the chosen one,
to be adore and admire
to be loved.
We are the beloved,
not driven by the gaze of flames,
it is us that awake passion
we need no awakening nor flames”

So was the mantra their parents whisper in their ears each night to bring them in to sleep.

Then it came this day,
They saw a light
and the light was shining in another way
It was not like the daylight, the colour of the sun
Nor was it the reflection the midnight moon

The light was golden like the croon of the king
It was orange like the desert of Indian midland
And deep blue like the tropical oceans
Where the dolphins came to sing

It was a gentle like
A singular light
Silent and solid
Yet
dancing and turning
subtle
to left and right
It was a candlelight

One of the butterflies said:
“Oh I am in love with this gentle light
It warms my heart,
At last the fire captured me”

Yet the mantras of their parents came to her mind:
“this is the forbidden love!
Oh I am a sinner and
I will be punish,
God forgive me for this”
She said and turn away from the light

The other one got closer to the light
“This warmth is boiling me inside,
only light I see,
only heat I feel,
I am melting in this sensation
Let me make love to you candle
Let me hold you with my wings.”

And so he deed. The fire touched gently his little wings
“Oh no, I am burning,
You deceiver,
you barbaric lover,
What do you do to me?
This is then the reason why our folk warn us for love”, he said and flow away from the light.

The third butterfly didn’t say a word;
Nothing to hear from it;
It was a moment of exertion,
From head to tail,
There was a presence,
It lengthen,
Soften and broaden it,
The whole manifestation

Then it jump in to the centre of candlelight
The fire burn it
First it became golden;
Then orange and then deep blue
It was all a sudden and then there was only light…

یک شبی پروانگان جمع آمدند
در مضیفی طالب شمع آمدند 

جمله می‌گفتند می‌باید یکی
کو خبر آرد ز مطلوب اندکی

شد یکی پروانه تا قصری ز دور
در فضای قصر یافت از شمع نور

بازگشت و دفتر خود بازکرد
وصف او بر قدر فهم آغاز کرد

ناقدی کو داشت در مجمع مهی
گفت او را نیست از شمع آگهی

شد یکی دیگر گذشت از نور در
خویش را بر شمع زد از دور در

پر زنان در پرتو مطلوب شد
شمع غالب گشت و او مغلوب شد

بازگشت او نیز و مشتی راز گفت
از وصال شمع شرحی باز گفت

ناقدش گفت این نشان نیست ای عزیز
همچو آن یک کی نشان دادی تو نیز

دیگری برخاست می‌شد مست مست
پای کوبان بر سر آتش نشست

دست درکش کرد با آتش به هم
خویشتن گم کرد با او خوش به هم

چون گرفت آتش ز سر تا پای او
سرخ شد چون آتشی اعضای او

ناقد ایشان چو دید او را ز دور
شمع با خود کرده همرنگش ز نور

گفت این پروانه در کارست و بس
کس چه داند، این خبر دارست و بس

آنک شد هم بی‌خبر هم بی‌اثر
از میان جمله او دارد خبر

تا نگردی بی‌خبر از جسم و جان
کی خبر یابی ز جانان یک زمان

هرکه از مویی نشانت باز داد
صد خط اندر خون جانت باز داد

نیست محرم نفس کس این جایگاه
در نگنجد هیچ کس این جایگاه

عطار (منطق الطیر)