The Songs of Persia for the Time of War

 

This war torments and wears out all of us. Hope seems to have disappeared completely.

When there is no dawn on the horizon, we must talk about the darkness but also search for light beyond. 

In this blinding darkness, the remote glimmer of Iranian poetry gives you a momentary escape. These lines, these words, remind us of the grandeur of us as one civilisation. The divisions disappear. These poems are like muted steps and whispers of rescue coming closer to the corner we have huddled together in fear of losing our souls.   

This is the nectar from Persia, kept alive as deep in history as before the Middle Ages. Hakim Sanai, Ferdowsi, Rumi, Omar Khayyam, Hafez Shiraz…

A confluence of Persian and Islamic cultures condensed into not only heavenly drops, whispering chimes, and birdsongs but life’s ultimate answers.  

Hakim Sanai sang,

“The road your self must journey on

lies in polishing the heart

It is not by rebellion and discord

that the heart’s mirror is polished 

free; 

of the rust of hypocrisy and 

unbelief;

Your mirror is polished by your 

certitude -

By the unalloyed purity of your

faith.” (Hakim Sanai, The Walled Garden of Truth).

How do we soothe our soul when it is terrified? The poet provides the light to walk this dark tunnel. A feeble light, but rest assured, it will never go out. 

There is no war, destruction, blood, maimed bodies, charred remains, concrete blown to dust, arguments and counterarguments in this moment of truth. 

“Break free 

from your chains you have forged 

about yourself;

for you will be free when you are

free of clay.

The body is dark - the heart is

shining bright;

The body is mere compost - the

heart is a blooming garden.” (Hakim Sanai, The Walled Garden of Truth).

The oft-repeated saying is this. Even if the entire Persian literature is to disappear like sand in the wind, if you have Saadi’s ‘Golestan’ (written in 1258 CE), you can recreate everything lost anew. 

 

“Many famous men have been buried under ground

Of whose existence on earth not a trace has remained

And that old corpse which had been surrendered to the earth

Was so consumed by the soil that not a bone remains.

The glorious name of Nushirvan survives in good repute

Although much time elapsed since he passed away.

Do good, O man, and consider life as a good fortune,

The more so, as when a shout is raised, a man exists no more.” (Saadi, Golestan).

Saadi’s every word feels like the balm of truth applied to the burning heart. He covers you kindly with the soft blanket of timeless wisdom. Inside, you still burn, but you come to know that the human heart will finally drift towards this realisation.    

“When thou fightest with a thrower of clods

Thou ignorantly breakest thy own head.

When thou shootest an arrow at the face of a foe

Be on thy guard for thou art sitting as a target for him.” (Saadi, Golestan).

Saadi had seen so many Padshahs rise and fall. He saw millions massacred when the Mongol prince, Hulegu, attacked Baghdad, marking the end of the Persian Abbasid Empire and the rise of the Mongol Kings. He wrote eulogy after eulogy, grieving the loss and death of his dear friends, padshahs, and people and cities he cherished.   

“When he whose eyes are open to the truth scatters flowers over the dead, his heart burns not for the dead but for himself.

Why dost thou weep over the death of a child? He came pure, and he departed pure.

Tie now the feet of the bird of the soul; tarry not till it has borne the rope from thy hand.

Long hast thou sat in the place of another; soon will another sit in thy place.

Though thou be a hero or a swordsman, thou wilt carry away nothing but the shroud.

If the wild ass break its halter and wander into the desert its feet became ensnared in the sand. Thou, too, hast strength till thy feet go into the dust of the grave.

Since yesterday has gone and to-morrow has not come, take account of this one moment that now is.

In this garden of the world there is not a cypress that has grown which the wind of death has not uprooted.

(Saadi, The Bustan).

Somehow, these poems touch the core of our existence. They teach us to let go. Even in these times of immeasurable peril, we must find the moment to read these lines. 

Poet Hafez worked as a baker and a copyist, mundane professions for someone blessed with divine poetry. Life is a mix of the mundane and the ecstasy of beauty. 

“Then took I shelter from that stormy sea 

In the good ark of wine; yet, woe is me! 

Saki and comrade and minstrel all by turns, 

She is of maidens the compendium 

Who my poor heart in such a fashion spurns. 

Self, HAFIZ, self! That thou must overcome! 

Hearken the wisdom of the tavern-daughter! 

Vain little baggage – well, upon my word! 

Thou fairy figment made of clay and water, 

As busy with thy beauty as a bird. 

Well, HAFIZ, Life’s a riddle – give it up: 

There is no answer to it but this cup” (Hafez, Ode, 487).

And then, there is our dear poet, Rumi, with his lyrics so sweet and aglow, his voice a resounding echo of the sweetest birdsong ever. 

“A mote I in the Sunshine, yet am the Sun's vast Ball;

I bid the Sun spread Sunlight, and make the Mote be small.

I am the Morning Splendour; I am the Evening Breeze;

I am the Leaf's soft Rustle; the Billow's Rise and Fall.

I am the Mast and Rudder, the Steersman and the Ship;

I am the Cliff out-jutting, the Reef of Coral Wall.

I am the Bird Ensnarer, the Bird and Net as well;

I am both Glass and Image; the Echo and the Call.

I am the Tree and Branches, and all the Birds thereon;

I am both Thought and Silence, Tongues' Speech, and Ocean Squall.

I am the Flute when piping, and Man's Soul breathing breath;

I am the sparkling Diamond, and Metals that enthrall.

I am the Grape enclustered, the Wine-press and the Must;

I am the Wine, Cup-bearer, and crystal Goblet tall.

I am the Flame and Butterfly, which round it circling flits;

I am the Rose and Nightingale, the Rose's Passioned Thrall.

I am the Cure and Doctor, Disease and Antidote;

I am the Sweet and Bitter, the Honey and the Gall.

I am the War and Warrior, the Victor and the Field;

I am the City peaceful, the Battle and the Brawl.

I am the Brick and Mortar, the Builder and the Plan,

I am the Base and Gable, new House and ruined Hall.

I am the Stag and Lion, the Lamb and black-maw'd Wolf;

I am the Keeper of them, who shuts them in one Stall.

I am the Chain of Beings, the Ring of circling Worlds;

The Stages of Creation, where'er it rise or fall.

I am what is and is not; I am—O Thou who know'st,

Jeláleddín, O tell it—I AM the Soul in All!” (Rumi, The Festival of Spring)

Rumi’s words have the power to erase all violence from Earth, but his poetry has existed for a thousand years and did not render the world violence-free. So, we have to conclude that they exist to lighten the blow life imparts on us and to soothe the searing wounds inflicted by ourselves and our own.  

Another Persian poet, Ferdowsi, sickened by the bloodshed of his times, warns... 

 "Wouldst thou, with life endowed, take life away?

  Torture not the poor ant, which drags the grain

  Along the dust; it has a life, and life

  Is sweet and precious. Did the innocent ant

  Offend thee ever? Cruel must he be

  Who would destroy a living thing so harmless!

  And wilt thou, reckless, shed thy brother's blood,

  And agonize the feelings of a father?

  Pause, and avoid the wrath of righteous Heaven!" (Ferdowsi, The Shah Nameh)

 

These poems from Persia, today’s Iran, Middle East have taught generations about the beauty of life and the immense wisdom that only peace can offer. They are like birds who will come and nest in our hearts only when bitterness ends, and forgiveness prevails.