Story ON KINDNESS TO THE POOR WHEN YOU HAVE PLENTY حکایت در معنی رحمت با ناتوانان در حال توانایی

Bustan Saadi بوستان سعدی

Such a famine, one year, in Damascus arose,
That friends passed each other, as if they were foes.
The sky had so miserly been to the ground,
That moisture on fields or on palms was not found  
  چنان قحط سالی شد اندر دمشق
که یاران فراموش کردند عشق
چنان آسمان بر زمین شد بخیل
که لب تر نکردند زرع و نخیل
The fountains, that long had existed, were dry;
No water, save that in the orphan boy’s eye.
If smoke from a chimney arose to the sky,
It was only the poor widow woman’s sad sigh.
بخوشید سرچشمه‌های قدیم
نماند آب، جز آب چشم یتیم
نبودی به جز آه بیوه زنی
اگر برشدی دودی از روزنی
I saw that the trees, like the poor, were stripped bare;
That the strong armed were weak and in wretched despair.
The hills showed no verdure, the gardens no shoots;
The locusts ate gardens, and men ate those brutes.
چو درویش بی برگ دیدم درخت
قوی بازوان سست و درمانده سخت
نه در کوه سبزی نه در باغ شخ
ملخ بوستان خورده مردم ملخ
I met an old friend, in this season of moans;
His body had shrivelled to skin and to bones.
I was greatly surprised, for his means were not small
He had rank, and had money, and stores at his call.
در آن حال پیش آمدم دوستی
از او مانده بر استخوان پوستی
وگرچه به مکنت قوی حال بود
خداوند جاه و زر و مال بود
I said: “Oh companion! of character pure,
Explain the affliction you have to endure! ”
He roared at me, saying, “Oh where is your sense?
When you know and you ask, you commit an offence.
بدو گفتم: ای یار پاکیزه خوی
چه درماندگی پیشت آمد؟ بگوی
بغرید بر من که عقلت کجاست؟
چو دانی و پرسی سؤالت خطاست
Don’t you see that affliction has reached to excess;
That no bounds can restrict the amount of distress.
From the heavens there descends not a shower of rain;
Not a sigh goes aloft from the poor who complain, ”
نبینی که سختی به غایت رسید
مشقت به حد نهایت رسید؟
نه باران همی آید از آسمان
نه بر می‌رود دود فریاد خوان
I replied: “You at least have no reason to fear
The poison destroys when no antidote’s near
If another through want has been vanquished by death,
You have food; does the duck heed the hurricane’s breath? ”
بدو گفتم: آخر تو را باک نیست
کشد زهر جایی که تریاک نیست
گر از نیستی دیگری شد هلاک
تو را هست، بط را ز طوفان چه باک؟
The holy man gave me a look, full of pain;
Like the look of the wise on the ignorant swain;
Saying, “Friend! though a man the sea-shore may have found,
He does not rejoice, when his comrades are drowned.
نگه کرد رنجیده در من فقیه
نگه کردن عالم اندر سفیه
که مرد ارچه بر ساحل است، ای رفیق
نیاساید و دوستانش غریق
Not from absence of means has my face become pale;
Concern for the starving has made my heart quail.
I do not desire that a wise man should scan
A wound on his limbs, or the limbs of a man.
من از بینوایی نیم روی زرد
غم بینوایان رخم زرد کرد
نخواهد که بیند خردمند، ریش
نه بر عضو مردم، نه بر عضو خویش
And praise be to God; though from wounds I am free,
My body still shakes, if a wound I should see.
Imbittered’s the joy of a man who is well,
Who alongside a paralyzed patient must dwell.
یکی اول از تندرستان منم
که ریشی ببینم بلرزد تنم
منغص بود عیش آن تندرست
که باشد به پهلوی رنجور سست
When I see the necessitous poor go unfed,
On my palate, like poison and dregs is my bread.
If you carry one’s friends to a dungeon and chains,
What pleasure for him in the garden remains?
چو بینم که درویش مسکین نخورد
به کام اندرم لقمه زهرست و درد
یکی را به زندان بری دوستان
کجا ماندش عیش در بوستان؟


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