Last night that heart-warming beloved, for whom I lie sick, happened to cross my path by chance.
The beloved said: 'Hey, how are you, and how is your state in love?' I answered: 'May no one ever face what I go through.'
I am a poor, wronged soul, sick with longing for you; it is clear that in any case I stay this wretched.
Qasem was completely undone by that beloved's laughter, who said: 'Long life to you for the sake of your love!'
Cruelty took hold, and with endless coquetry the beloved kept saying: 'May no one ever be this miserable in love.'
Explanation: The poem mixes Persian with Gilaki dialect words, giving it a local, folk flavor. 'Qasem' is the poet naming himself in the closing couplet.
Original
شمارهٔ ۱
دیشب آن گیل دل‌افروز، که بیمار اویم
اتفاقا به من افتاد گذارش ز قضا
گفت: هان چونی و تی حال به می عشق چه بو؟
گفتمش: هیچ کساواتی مرا کار مبا
من درویش ستم‌دیده چو بیمار توام
روشن است این که: به هر حال چنین زار بسا
قاسم از خنده آن یار شد از دست تمام
گفت: خابوزیه از عشق ترا باد بقا!
در ستم شد ز من، از ناز مکرر می‌گفت:
یار با هیچ کسی حال چنین زار مبا
Lord, what remedy is there for this pain of separation? I dread the news; it feels like the blade and the burial shroud around my neck.
If my heart and soul stay this way in your absence, then woe to my heart, woe to me, woe to me!
May you drink the rose-red wine in happiness every night, while I spend every day drinking the blood of my grieving liver.
The fever of parting has killed me over and over; if I could reach you, would there still be life left in my body?
I told her, 'You are mine,' and she said, 'No, I am not yours.' Leaving you is easy for me, easier than finding another love.
I have something to say to you; turn your face to me and let me speak. Listen, my love, to your servant's words in their finest form.
Qasem, dying for union with her is easier than living apart; in union she is joyful, and in separation I waste away.
Explanation: The poem uses a regional dialect. 'Drinking the blood of the liver' is a classic Persian image for enduring intense grief. Qasem is the poet's own pen name in the final couplet.
Original
شمارهٔ ۲
یارب، این درد فراقا چه دوا شایه کدن
خبر آشوم، مگر تیغ و کفن در گردن
می دل و جان به هجران تو گر همچین بو
وادلی! وای به دل! وای به من! وای به من!
واخوری باده گلگون به سعادت همه شو
می همه روج به غم خون جگر وا خوردن
بس تب هجر بکشتیم که لاوی لاوی
اگه گوییم به وصل تو که: جان در تن تن؟
گفتمش: یار منی، گفت که: نی یار نه این
می کواشا به تو آسان که سوا یاریون
با تو دارم سخنی، روی بر و خواهم گفت
بشنو، ای جان، سخن بنده به وجه احسن
قاسما، اوزیه کوشی به وصال آسان‌تر
به وصال اوزیه شاد است و به هجران مودن
I told the sweet Gilaki girl: my love,
I adore you; I am your servant, ready for your command.
She laughed like a flower and teased:
Here, you called me, here I am, be still.
I said: I am a stranger here, and in love;
won't you ask after this poor wanderer?
My heart is your slave, my life your humblest servant;
ask for them, but don't sell off my faith and belief.
Qasem, whatever your fate, by day and by night,
you have no choice but to roam Gilan, town by town.
Explanation: The poem mixes Gilaki dialect phrases into Persian; the beloved is a girl from Gilan in northern Iran. The final couplet addresses the poet himself, Qasem, by name.
Original
شمارهٔ ۳
با گیل دلبر گفتم که: ای جان
تی دوست داریم، تی بنده فرمان
خندید چون گل و ز ناز می گفت :
هینی خوآندی، هینی و ساکان
گفتم: غریبم و آنگاه عاشق
می دا نپرسی مسکین غریبان؟
دل تی غلامی، جان تی کمینه
خواوا و مفروش می دین و ایمان
قاسم، چه تی روز، وا کوخ و وا شو
ناچار واخشت گیلان بگیلان
You are the compass of my soul, Gil, an angel in color and scent,
moon in the sky of grace, cypress in the garden of longing.
You are no mere Gil, you are an angel, molded from heart and soul.
What is a mere Gil? Who else is so beautiful, so angelic in nature?
My heart and my faith are sacrificed to you; take whatever you please.
You are my compass; where would I wander, city to city, lane to lane?
Your musk-scented curls, and all you do to my very soul,
I would describe it, if you gave me the chance, strand by strand.
If even for a moment your beauty is reflected in a mirror,
when will such fortune come to me, to stand face to face with you?
Last night with a coy glance you said: he is lost to sorrow through my beauty.
Another time, out of kindness, tell that story of last night again.
I said: you who are my soul's desire, you promised me our union.
You said: don't ask about that tale, for it is over and done.
I said: my dear one, I have been made wretched by love of you.
You said: don't call yourself wretched, that talk is all worthless chatter.
I said: I am your lover, tell me, what is my cure?
You said: don't speak these words; without you I get by just fine.
Qasemi, from separation and grief, is lost and unaware of himself.
One lost to separation, by your grace, has vanished from the crowd.
Explanation: 'Gil' is the beloved's name, treated as both a personal name and a play on words (the poet insists she is more than a mere Gil, an angel). The poem mixes standard Persian with some Gilaki dialect phrasing in the dialogue lines.
Original
شمارهٔ ۴
قبله جان من تویی، گیل فرشته رنگ و بو
ماه سپهر مکرمت، سرو ریاض آرزو
گیل نه‌ای، فرشته‌ای، وز دل و جان سرشته‌ای
گیل که بو؟ که بو چنین حوروَش و فرشته‌خو؟
می دل و دین تی فدا، خوا ببری که وس خوشی
قبله تویی، کجا روم شهر به شهر و کو به کو؟
تی سر زلف مشک‌بو، آنچه به من کری ز جان
شرح دهم، اگر بود، با تو مجال، مو به مو
آینه را اگر رسد عکس جمال تو دمی
کی رسد آنکه باشدش با تو مجال روبه‌رو؟
دوش به غمزه گفته‌ای: او ز نما ترا به غم
نوبت دیگر از کرم قصه دوش باز گو
گفتمش: ای مراد جان، وعده وصل کرده‌ای
گفت که: آن حکایتا وا مطلب، که آن بشو
گفتمش: ای عزیز من، خوار شدم ز عشق تو
گفت که: نانه خوار بین، کاوره فن لا و لو
گفتم: عاشق تویم، چیست بگو دوای من؟
گفت: مگوی این سخن، بی‌تو مرا به سر بشو
قاسمی از فراق و غم گم شد و بی‌خبر ز خود
گم شده فراق را از کرم تو و از جو
Your eyes have struck me with the arrow of disaster; now I am a stranger, worn out, and cast aside though I did no wrong.
I have heard that medicine can cure a pain. But what cure is there, when I, this weary one, have become your medicine?
When I asked my rival about union with the beloved, it was pure misery; must it always be misery for my broken heart?
It seems your eyes carry the passion of an unbeliever, that this glancing charmer would harm a child of the faithful.
Just show yourself and tell me: how long will you keep making promises? I keep raising new hopes, and each new hope becomes a fresh wound.
A thousand lives be sacrificed for you; Ghasemi has thrown his to the wind, and your pain torments him with a hundred cruelties.
Explanation: The text contains dialectal words (bouzeh) that are somewhat obscure; I read them as forms of 'has become / do / show.' 'Ghasemi' is the poet's pen name.
Original
شمارهٔ ۵
مرا که چشم تو از ناوک بلا بوزه
غریب و خسته و مهجور بی‌خطا بوزه
شنیده‌ام که: دوا درد را کند چاره
چه چاره، چون که من خسته را دوا بوزه؟
رقیب را چو سوال از وصال او کردم
بلا بوزه، من دل‌خسته را بلا بوزه؟
مگر که چشم تو سودای کافری دارد
که تُرک غمزه‌زن اولاد مصطفی بوزه
بگو که: بوز نما، تا به چند وعده دهی؟
امید نو زنم و نو وزین مرا بوزه
هزار جان به فدای تو قاسمی بر باد
بداد و درد تو او را به صد جفا بوزه
My heart, you say I torment you, what does that mean?
My soul, you say I burn you with grief, what does that mean?
You say you never once bring anyone to mind,
and yet you say I give you no peace, what does that mean?
They say Qasemi has sworn off love;
but being unripe to such a degree, what does that mean?
Explanation: The poem uses a dialect and a recurring rhetorical refrain, 'what does that mean?', to voice bewildered protest at love's contradictions. 'Unripe' suggests spiritual or emotional immaturity in the face of love.
Original
شمارهٔ ۶
می دلا رنجا منی یعنی که چه؟
گیان بغم سوزجا منی یعنی که چه؟
می‌نیاری یاد هرگز هیچ کو
وی تو می آرام نی یعنی که چه؟
توبه کد از عشق گوئی قاسمی
دا به این حد خام نی یعنی که چه؟
My idol, you set my heart at the peak of separation. What have I done? What happened at last? Tell me why you turn away.
I called you free of any fault, I never said you were flawed; yet out of pure arrogance you push me away for this so called mistake.
What have you seen, what have you heard of Qasemi, that you meet him with cruelty, oppression, tyranny, and injustice?
Explanation: The poet names himself, Qasemi, in the closing line, a common device in classical Persian poetry.
Original
شمارهٔ ۷
بتا، به تارک هجران دل مرا بوزی
چه کرده‌ام؟ چه شد آخر؟ بگو چرا بوزی؟
ترا که ترک ختا گفتم و نگفتم: گیل
مرا ز عین تکبر بدین خطا بوزی
چه دیده‌ای، چه شنیدی ز قاسمی؟ کو را
به جور و ظلم و ستمکاری و جفا بوزی
I said: My love, will you come back to my door?
She said: Sweetheart, so you are returning.
I said: I am your poor, helpless lover.
She said: Well, you seem worthy enough to me.
I said: You have carelessly stolen me from myself.
She laughed and said: You keep insisting on your complaints.
I said: Show me your face. She said coyly:
So even this beggar has a longing for it.
Word came that I am strangely in love.
I said: Go on loving, you love so beautifully.
Qasem sees your face everywhere he looks.
And it is no wonder that it should be everywhere.
Explanation: The poem uses a dialect (likely Fahlaviyat or a local Persian dialect), so some lines are uncertain. The final couplet plays on the beloved's face being 'everywhere' as a sign of divine or universal beauty.
Original
شمارهٔ ۸
گفتم: ای جان، ز درم باز آیی
گفت: دلدار که می بازایی
گفتمش: عاشق مسکین توام
گفت: خا دانه وزم بین شایی
گفتمش: خیره مراجی خودی
خنده زد گفت: لجورستایی
گفتمش: رو بنما، گفت بناز:
کین گدا را بین هوس باشایی
خبر آمو که عجب لاوم من
گفتمش: لاوه بکن، خوش لایی
همه جای روی تو بیند قاسم
وس عجب نی که ببو هرجایی