Fresh Flowers 166 – Shour mode
Shajarian’s Flowers (87)
Singer: Mohammadreza Shajarian
Arrangement and Santur: Faramarz Payvar
Violin:Rahmatollah Badiee
Narrator: Azar Pajouhesh
Ghazal (lyric poem) vocal: Saadi
Tasnif (song) poetry: Saadi and Shahriar
We decided to present all of Mohammadreza Shajarian’s radio programs under the title “Shajarian’s Flowers” with a specific schedule, in collaboration with the esteemed Khaneh Shajarian website, to you, our dear companions.
We have created a separate project on the website called Radio Performances for you esteemed ones. The difference between that project and the Shajarian’s Flowers collection is in the refinement of the works that we present in the Shajarian’s Flowers project. Of course, we have also tried to include the best available quality of works in Radio Performances.
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One night, Majnun said to Layla, O peerless beloved,
You may find a lover like you, but Majnun will not be found again.
For God’s sake, as my wounded heart has made a pact with your tresses,
Command your sweet ruby lips, to quickly bring it solace.
O heart, what were you doing last night, in the abode of my beloved?
May you bleed, O heart, you too have become my rival.
Value the night of companionship, for after our time,
Many revolutions will the heavens make, many nights and days will come.
*************
I am at peace knowing that you are in your thoughts,
Whether you send a crown or strike with a sword.
A city with the sword of your bloodthirsty coquetry and ruby lips,
You wound and sprinkle salt.
We are gleaners from the harvest of the people of fortune,
At least take heed, O you who are the lord of the harvest.
Suppose you tear your stony heart from my affection,
How can you tear affection from my heart?
Suppose you tear your stony heart from my affection,
How can you tear affection from my heart?
This love shall have no end, by virtue of that,
We have seen pure and you are of pure skirt.
Tell the claimant that we are already broken,
There is no need for a claw to wrestle with us.
*************
One night I remember that your eye did not sleep,
I heard the moth say to the candle,
That I am a lover, if I burn, it is just,
Why is there weeping and burning and lamenting for you?
It said, O my poor admirer,
The sweetness of my sweet love has gone away from me.
Since sweetness departs from me,
Like Farhad, fire goes to my head.
It kept saying, and every moment a flood of pain
Flowed down its yellow face.
You flee from a mere unlit flame,
I stand to burn completely.
If the fire of love burned your wings,
Look at me, who burned from head to toe.
