English
The Lament of Barbad
Now listen to the lament of Barbad, and hold the noblest of leaders close to your heart.
When Barbad learned that the king had been stripped of his throne through cruelty and left with nothing,
he came from Jahrom toward Ctesiphon, his lashes wet with tears, his heart full of blood.
He came to that house and saw him there: the ruby of his cheeks had turned pale as a wilted flower.
He stayed a while before the king, then came weeping into the great hall.
There he mourned like a hero, his cheeks gone yellow, his heart full of pain.
His wailing was so loud the king himself heard it, though guards kept watch over him.
The guards who stood there began to weep, roasted by the fire of their love and grief.
He kept saying: O noble one, O king, O great one, O mighty one, O towering champion,
where now is your greatness and your power? Where all your glory, your throne and crown?
Where is your grandeur, your height, your crown? Where the armlets, the throne of ivory?
Where is your manhood, your strength, your splendor, when you held the whole world beneath your wing?
Where now the royal chambers and the musicians? Where the courtyard and the great hall of chiefs?
Where the crown and the banner of Kaveh? Where all those violet-gleaming blades?
Where the brave warriors of battle? Where the nobles, the priests, and the great lords?
Where all those feasts and the gear of the hunt? Where the proud march into war?
Where those pages with golden belts? Where all that wisdom, ceremony, and glory?
Where that proud and loyal one who stood beside the golden throne with its jeweled rings?
Where all that army, land, and realm? Where that eminence and throne of gold?
Where your helmet and golden mail, studded knot upon knot with gems?
Where the horse Shabdiz with its golden stirrups, that could not stand still beneath you?
Where those horsemen with gold-plated saddles, whose swords found no sheath but the enemy?
Where all those secrets and that wisdom? Where all that divine grace of kingship?
Where all that generosity at the feast? Where all that striving on the day of war?
Where all those smooth-paced mules, the golden litters, and the obedient servants?
The camels, the fine steeds, and the white elephant, all have given up hope for your life.
Where those sweet words on your tongue? Where that heart, that judgment, that bright soul?
Why have you been left alone, stripped of everything? When did you ever read of such a day in any book?
Never grow too familiar with the world, for its venom is stronger than any poison.
You wanted a son to be your friend and support; now grief from that son fills your hands.
By their sons kings grow strong, and are freed from the wounds of time,
but the great king's strength waned just as his son grew tall and upright.
Whoever hears what happened to Khosrow should never grow careless in this world.
Count all the land of Iran as ruined now, a lair for panthers and lions.
The king was chief of the Sasanian line; no crown or throne will ever see his like again.
This dynasty is ruined, and Iran with it; every wish of the treacherous has come true.
No one has ever had a greater army, yet from that very army came his ruin.
The harm came from the greatest guardian; now the wolf will slip in through the breach.
Your army too will not hold firm when war erupts from all four sides.
May the just God be a friend to your soul, and may the heads of the malicious be brought low.
By God and by your name, O king, by Nowruz, by Mehr, and by joyful spring,
if ever my hand plays again after this, let no touch of a lute reach me.
I will burn all my instruments, so I never have to see an enemy again.
He cut off all four of his fingers and held them, severed, in his fist.
When he reached home he lit a fire and burned every one of his instruments at once.