Poem

دفتر پنجم - بخش ۳۳ - بیان آنک هنرها و زیرکی‌ها و مال دنیا هم‌چون پرهای طاوس عدو جانست / Book Five - Section 33 - Explaining That Talents, Cleverness, and Worldly Wealth Are, Like Peacock Feathers, the Enemies of Life

Original content

پس هنر آمد هلاکت خام را
کز پی دانه نبیند دام را

اختیار آن را نکو باشد که او
مالک خود باشد اندر اتقوا

چون نباشد حفظ و تقوی زینهار
دور کن آلت بینداز اختیار

جلوه گاه و اختیارم آن پر ست
بر کنم پر را که در قصد سر ست

نیست انگارد پر خود را صبور
تا پرش در نفکند در شر و شور

پس زیانش نیست پر گو بر مکن
گر رسد تیری به پیش آرد مجن

لیک بر من پر زیبا دشمنیست
چونک از جلوه گری صبریم نیست

گر بدی صبر و حفاظم راه بر
بر فزودی ز اختیارم کر و فر

هم چو طفلم یا چو مست اندر فتن
نیست لایق تیغ اندر دست من

گر مرا عقلی بدی و منزجر
تیغ اندر دست من بودی ظفر

عقل باید نورده چون آفتاب
تا زند تیغی که نبود جز صواب

چون ندارم عقل تابان و صلاح
پس چرا در چاه نندازم سلاح

در چه اندازم کنون تیغ و مجن
کاین سلاح خصم من خواهد شدن

چون ندارم زور و یاری و سند
تیغم او بستاند و بر من زند

رغم این نفس وقیحه خوی را
که نپوشد رو خراشم روی را

تا شود کم این جمال و این کمال
چون نماند رو کم افتم در وبال

چون بدین نیت خراشم بزه نیست
که به زخم این روی را پوشیدنی ست

گر دلم خوی ستیری داشتی
روی خوبم جز صفا نفراشتی

چون ندیدم زور و فرهنگ و صلاح
خصم دیدم زود بشکستم سلاح

تا نگردد تیغ من او را کمال
تا نگردد خنجرم بر من وبال

می گریزم تا رگم جنبان بود
کی فرار از خویشتن آسان بود

آنک از غیری بود او را فرار
چون ازو ببرید گیرد او قرار

من که خصمم هم منم اندر گریز
تا ابد کار من آمد خیزخیز

نه به هند ست آمن و نه در ختن
آنک خصم اوست سایه خویشتن

English translation

Thus talent becomes a source of ruin for the raw, who, in pursuit of the grain, does not see the snare. Free will is good only for him who is master of himself in piety. When there is no self-restraint and piety, beware! Put away the instrument, cast aside free will. That peacock feather is my display and free will; I shall pluck out the feather, for it aims at my head. The patient one deems his feathers as non-existent, so that his feathers do not cast him into evil and turmoil. Thus he suffers no loss, so tell him not to pluck them out; if an arrow comes, he will hold up a shield. But to me, the beautiful feather is an enemy, since I have no patience to refrain from showing off. If patience and self-preservation were my guides, my free will would have increased my glory and power. I am like a child or like a drunkard amidst trials; a sword is not fit for my hand. If I possessed a restraining intellect, the sword in my hand would have brought victory. The intellect must be light-giving like the sun, to strike with the sword only in ways that are right. Since I do not possess a radiant intellect and righteousness, why then should I not throw my weapon into the well? Now I cast the sword and shield into the well, for this weapon will become my enemy's weapon. Since I have neither strength, helper, nor support, he will seize my sword and strike me with it. To spite this shameless, ill-natured self (ego) which will not cover its face, I shall scratch my face, So that this beauty and this perfection may diminish; when the face is gone, I will fall less into misfortune. Since I scratch it with this intention, there is no sin, for this face is to be covered by wounds. If my heart possessed a chaste disposition, my beautiful face would have spread nothing but purity. Since I saw no strength, wisdom, or righteousness in myself, and saw the enemy, I quickly broke my weapon, Lest my sword should become his strength, lest my dagger should become a disaster for me. I flee as long as a vein of mine pulses; yet, when has fleeing from oneself ever been easy? He whose flight is from another will find rest when he breaks away from them. But I, whose enemy is my very self in flight, my work until eternity is to flee and run. Neither in India is he safe, nor in Khotan, he whose enemy is his own shadow.

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Updated 2026-06-13

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