Love and Devotion

بِسْمِ ٱللَّهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

Bismi llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm

Surah al-Fātiḥah 1:1

Love

شاد باش ای عشقِ خوش‌سودایِ ما ای طبیبِ جمله علّت‌هایِ ما

Shād bāsh ey ʿeshq-e khosh-sowdā-ye mā Ey tabīb-e jomle ʿellat-hā-ye mā

Hail, Love, the harbinger of happiness— the physician of all our ills.

جسمِ خاک از عشق بر افلاک شد کوه در رقص آمد و چالاک شد

Jesm-e khāk az ʿeshq bar aflāk shod Kūh dar raqs āmad o chālāk shod

Our earthly body is elevated to the skies through Love; it makes the mountains come alive and dance.

The above couplets are from Ney Naama (Song of the Reed Flute), by Maulana Rumi.

عقل آمد دین و دنیا شد خراب عشق آمد در دو عالم کامیاب

ʿAql āmad dīn o donyā shod kharāb ʿEshq āmad dar do ʿālam kāmyāb

Logic ruins this world and the Hereafter; and with the arrival of Love, both worlds are achieved.

Devotion

زندگی آمد برایِ بندگی زندگی بی بندگی شرمندگی

Zendegī āmad barā-ye bandegī Zendegī bī bandegī sharmandegī

Life is only for devotion. Life without devotion is a disgrace.

Gathering, Separation, and the Beloved

بِسْمِ اللّٰهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ

Bismi llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm.

In the name of Allah, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful.

Surah al-Fātiḥah 1:1

Gathering and Separation

This quatrain, transmitted in early Sufi literature, is attributed in some sources to al-Junayd and in others to al-Ḥallāj:

وَتَحَقَّقْتُكَ فِي سِرِّي فَنَاجَاكَ لِسَانِي فَاجْتَمَعْنَا لِمَعَانِي وَافْتَرَقْنَا لِمَعَانِي إِنْ يَكُنْ غَيَّبَكَ التَّعْظِيمُ عَنْ لَحْظِ عِيَانِي فَقَدْ صَيَّرَكَ الْوَجْدُ مِنَ الْأَحْشَاءِ دَانِي

Wa-taḥaqqaqtuka fī sirrī fa-nājāka lisānī. Fa-jtamaʿnā li-maʿānī wa-ftaraqnā li-maʿānī. ʾIn yakun ghayyabaka t-taʿẓīmu ʿan laḥẓi ʿiyānī. Fa-qad ṣayyaraka l-wajdu mina l-aḥshāʾi dānī.

I found your reality in my innermost secret, and my tongue whispered to you in intimate confidence. So we came together for certain meanings, and we separated for certain meanings. If reverence has kept you hidden from the glance of my outward, visible sight, still longing—ecstatic love—has drawn you near from the very depths within me.

Attribution and Transmission

Al-Khaṭīb’s Tārīkh Baghdād records al-Ḥallāj reciting the poem as his own, while al-Qushayrī attributes it to al-Junayd. This difference in attribution remains part of the received tradition.

1. لِلْجُنَيْدِ رَحِمَهُ اللّٰهُ

   Li-l-Junaydi, raḥimahu llāh.

   Al-Qushayrī’s al-Risāla al-Qushayriyya introduces the poem explicitly as “recited for al-Junayd” in its discussion of al-jamʿ wa-l-farq, or “gathering and separation.”

2. وَلَهُ أَيْضًا …

   Wa-lahu ʾayḍan …

   Ibn Kathīr’s al-Bidāya wa-l-Nihāya includes these lines among al-Ḥallāj’s poetry in his biography under the year 309 AH.

3. أَنْشَدَنِي … لِنَفْسِهِ بِالْبَصْرَةِ

   ʾAnshadanī … li-nafsihi bi-l-Baṣrah.

   Al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī’s Tārīkh Baghdād transmits an explicit report that al-Ḥusayn b. Manṣūr al-Ḥallāj recited the poem “for himself” in Basra: a direct attribution within a biographical isnād.

4. كَمَا قَالَ بَعْضُهُمْ

   Kamā qāla baʿḍuhum.

   Al-Sulamī’s Ḥaqāʾiq al-Tafsīr quotes the verses anonymously under Qur’an 56:85, without naming an author.

I Do Not Know Where I Have Gone

In the words of Bū ʿAlī Shāh Qalandar Pānīpatī (R.A.):

منم محوِ خیالِ او نمی‌دانم کجا رفتم شدم غرقِ وصالِ او نمی‌دانم کجا رفتم

Manam mahv-e khayāl-e ū, nemī-dānam kojā raftam. Shodam gharq-e vesāl-e ū, nemī-dānam kojā raftam.

I am lost in my beloved’s thought—I do not know where I have gone. I am drowned in the ecstasy of union—I do not know where I have gone.

غلامِ رویِ او بودم اسیرِ مویِ او بودم غبارِ کویِ او بودم نمی‌دانم کجا رفتم

Gholām-e rū-ye ū būdam, asīr-e mū-ye ū būdam. Ghobār-e kū-ye ū būdam, nemī-dānam kojā raftam.

I was the servant of that radiant face, the captive of those tresses; I was the dust of that lane—I do not know where I have gone.

به عام آشنا گشتم زِ جان و دل فدا گشتم فنا گشتم فنا گشتم نمی‌دانم کجا رفتم

Be ʿām āshnā gashtam, ze jān o del fedā gashtam. Fanā gashtam, fanā gashtam, nemī-dānam kojā raftam.

Known everywhere among people, I offered up my heart and soul; I became annihilated—annihilated—I do not know where I have gone.

قلندر بو علی هستم به نامِ دوست سرمستم دل اندر عشقِ او بستم نمی‌دانم کجا رفتم

Qalandar Bū ʿAlī hastam, be nām-e dūst sarmastam. Del andar ʿeshq-e ū bastam, nemī-dānam kojā raftam.

I am Bu ʿAlī the qalandar; by the Friend’s name I am intoxicated; My heart is bound in His love—I do not know where I have gone.

Shaykh Sharaf al-Dīn Bū ʿAlī Shāh Qalandar Pānīpatī

شیخ شرفُ الدّین بو علی شاہ قلندر پانی پتی

Shaikh Sharaf ud-Dīn Bū ʿAlī Shāh Qalandar Pānīpatī.

In Search of a Glimpse

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَٰنِ الرَّحِيمِ

Bismi llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīm.

In the name of Allah, the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful.

Sūrah al-Fātiḥah 1:1

This short poem is often attributed to Mawlānā Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī (Persian: جلال‌الدین محمّد رومی). Its provenance, however, remains uncertain.

Rūmī (September 30, 1207–December 17, 1273) was a 13th-century poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic. He is widely known as Mevlānā (مولانا) and, in the West, as Rumi (رومی).

The Poem

نه من بیهوده گِردِ کوچه و بازار می‌گردم

Na man bīhūde gerd-e kūche o bāzār mī-gardam

I do not wander in vain through alley and bazaar—I roam.

مذاقِ عاشقی دارم پِیِ دیدار می‌گردم

Mazāq-e ʿāsheqī dāram, pey-e dīdār mī-gardam

I carry the taste of love; in search of a glimpse, I roam.

خدایا رَحم کن بر من پریشان‌وار می‌گردم

Khodāyā, rahm kon bar man—parīshān-vār mī-gardam

O God, have mercy on me—distraught and scattered, I roam.

خَطاکارم گناهکارم به حالِ زار می‌گردم

Khatākāram, gonāhkāram; be hāl-e zār mī-gardam

I am at fault, I am sinful; in this wretched state, I roam.

شرابِ شوق می‌نوشم به گِردِ یار می‌گردم

Sharāb-e showq mī-nūsham; be gerd-e yār mī-gardam

I drink the wine of longing; around the Friend, I roam.

سُخَن مستانه می‌گویم ولی هُوشیار می‌گردم

Sokhan mastāne mī-gūyam, valī hūshyār mī-gardam

I speak with drunken rapture, yet clear‑minded, I roam.

گهی خَندم گهی گِریَم گهی اُفتم گهی خیزم

Gahī khandam, gahī geryam; gahī oftam, gahī khīzam

At times I laugh, at times I weep; at times I fall, at times I rise.

مسیحا در دلم پیدا و من بیمار می‌گردم

Masīhā dar delam peydā, o man bīmār mī-gardam

The Messiah appears within my heart—and still, like the sick, I roam.

بیا جانا عِنایت کن تو مولانایِ رومی را

Biyā jānā, ʿenāyat kon to Mowlānā-ye Rūmī rā

Come, beloved—show your grace to Maulana Rumi.

غُلامِ شمسِ تبریزم قلندروار می‌گردم

Gholām-e Shams-e Tabrīzam; qalandar-vār mī-gardam

I am a servant of Shams of Tabriz; like a qalandar (a wandering dervish), I roam.

A Reflection on Ghurbat

In my view, the poem seems to echo a well-known description of taṣawwuf attributed to Junayd al-Baghdādī (may Allah be pleased with him). In this description, the path is summed up through prophetic qualities. Among them is the ghurbat—the condition of being a “stranger,” an exile—associated with Prophet Yaḥyā (peace and blessings be upon him).