Bulbul and the Rose
Excerpted from Language of the Birds — It is All the Mirror of God
by Laurie Blum
Bulbul Speaks:
"...Swooning with grief and heavy head, from my love’s dispassion, I mourn.
My vow to sacrifice each drop of blood, like rubies I have sworn,
To gain entrance to her heart at last, though I am scantily adorned.
My black crested hood, and brown mantle of feathers,
Is a habit of faith, well worn and weathered.
My cloak of brown, with dark-centered plumes and tail,
With subtle traces of white, resembles pinecones and fish-scales.
In my ardor to unite with Rose, I would give my life without fail,
Just as a fish out of water, gasping for breath, struggles and flails,
Yearning to regain its cherished place in water to no avail.
I will not experience fulfillment, till my death lifts this veil.
My hood, amended, with dark brown ear patches, frail,
Has become an ordinary, coarse and commonplace veil.
My brown-patched coat, so precious, reveals the woes of Rose and Nightingale.
My crimson vent exemplifies the fervent vigil of grace
I keep for my beloved Rose, beyond all time and space.
For the world’s disenchanted outcasts, I sing my sorrowful tale,
To the broken in heart and spirit, my truths, with sympathy, regale.
With great tenderness and longing, my lucid songs embrace
The lover, who from his beloved, has been so cruelly displaced.
And my cry, unlike any other, from my depths, so tattered and effaced,
Makes a lover’s heart feel tranquil, as I become further and further erased..."
Hoopoe replies:
“O Nightingale, You simple creature!
You love the Rose of fleeting feature,
The bloom that smiles, face now so lovely,
Too soon departs stem, dried and ugly!
Abandon passion’s jagged course of tumultuous highs and lows,
Surely to leave you destitute pierced by its thorns of woes.
Within illusion’s tempests, madness does not wane; it grows!
Seek self-perfection now and forsake the elusive Rose!
Blush for yourself! Everything else unceasingly comes and goes.
Each new Spring, the Rose flourishes and laughs at you anew,
But very soon she smiles no more and fades, alas, from view.
Lamenting sweetly from the heart, plaintive notes releasing,
Exposing wounds and pains of love, afflicted by thorns unceasing,
Open your melodious throat and begin to sing,
Telling sweet tales of spiritual things.
By these celestial songs, show all the true Way,
Be fervent in your love for God, and with melted heart, stay.
The Rose, to the Real Beloved, Simurgh, surrender.
Turn your face from agony to His Love so tender!”
