Water of Life – Private Performance in Nava
Celebrating the Birthdays of Mohammad Reza Shajarian and Farzaneh Shajarian – October 4, 1984
Vocals: Mohammad Reza Shajarian
Se-tar: Parviz Meshkatian
Tombak: Jamshid Mohebbi
With speeches by Bahman Boostan at the end of the performance
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Do not think, O friend, that I have any companion other than you
Or that I have any occupation day and night other than thinking of you
It is not only I who have fallen into the snare of your tresses
For in every ringlet of your hair, there is a captive
If I say that I have no dealings with you
The walls and the door will testify that I do
Whoever finds fault with me for love and blames me
Has not seen you, so he has a denial for me
It is not only I who am foolishly greedy for your love
For like me, there are many burnt ones in your ranks
What can I do if I do not endure the oppression of your rival?
Everyone knows that in the company of a rose, there is a thorn
What can I scatter at your feet that would please you?
One cannot say that head and life are of any significance
**************
Who knows how long the night of separation lasts until dawn?
Except for someone who is imprisoned in the prison of love
I decided to take the path of the garden to escape the sorrow of the heart
Which cypress resembles the height of the beloved?
Who will deliver my message to the unfaithful beloved
That you broke the bond, and we are still connected?
The thought of your face has planted the root of hope
The calamity of your love has uprooted the foundation of patience
**************
The dust of the street of the friend is my water of life
If there is joy in both worlds, it is us and the sorrow of seeing the friend’s face
There is no clamor in the city except for the crease of the beloved’s hair
There is no sedition in the horizons except for the curve of the friend’s eyebrow
What is the cure for the longing one? Poison from the hand of the beloved
What is the balm for the lovers? A wound from the friend’s arm
If the night of separation brings my death
On the Day of Resurrection, I will pitch my tent next to the friend
Every one of my ghazals is a letter, a picture of a state in it
What is the use of writing a letter when it does not reach the friend?
