The Nightingale

An excerpt of the epic poem,
"The Conference of the Birds"

The nightingale raises his head, drugged with passion,
Pouring the oil of earthly love in such a fashion
That the other birds shaded with his song, grow mute.
The leaping mysteries of his melodies are acute.

'I know the secrets of Love, I am their piper,'
He sings, 'I seek a David with broken heart to decipher
Their plaintive barbs, I inspire the yearning flute,
The daemon of the plucked conversation of the lute.

The roses are dissolved into fragrance by my song,
Hearts are torn with its sobbing tone, broken along
The fault lines of longing filled with desire's wrong.

My music is like the sky's black ocean, I steal
The listener's reason, the world becomes the seal
Of dreams for chosen lovers, where only the rose
Is certain. I cannot go further, I am lame, and expose

My anchored soul to the divine Way.
My love for the rose is sufficient, I shall stay
In the vicinity of its petaled image, I need
No more, it blooms for me the rose, my seed.

The hoopoe replies: 'You love the rose without thought.
Nightingale, your foolish song is caught
By the rose's thorns, it is a passing thing.
Velvet petal, perfume's repose bring

You pleasure, yes, but sorrow too
For the rose's beauty is shallow: few
Escape winter's frost. To seek the Way
Release yourself from this love that lasts a day.

The bud nurtures its own demise as day nurtures night.
Groom yourself, pluck the deadly rose from your sight.

Fariduddin Attar