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Omar Khayyam, often referred to as Omar Khayyam Neishabouri, was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, philosopher, and poet. He was born in 1048 in Nishapur, which is located in present-day Iran. Khayyam made significant contributions to various fields, including mathematics and astronomy, but he is most well-known for his poetry.
Khayyam’s poetry, written in Persian, is highly regarded for its themes of love, spirituality, and the transient nature of life. His most famous work is the “Rubaiyat,” a collection of quatrains (four-line verses) that have been translated into many languages.
Although he lived more than 900 years ago, Omar Khayyam’s poetry continues to be celebrated and studied worldwide. His works have been translated into numerous languages and have influenced many poets and thinkers throughout history.
There are many beautiful quatrains by Khayyam, some of the most beloved are:
اسرار اَزَل را نه تو دانی و نه من
وین حرفِ معمّا نه تو خوانی و نه من
هست از پس پرده گفت‌وگوی من و تو
چون پرده برافتد، نه تو مانی و نه من
There was the Door to which I found no Key
There was the Veil through which I might not see
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was–and then no more of Thee and Me.
آنان که محیط فضل و آداب شدند
در جمع کمال شمع اصحاب شدند
ره زین شب تاریک نبردند برون
گفتند فسانه‌ای و در خواب شدند
The Revelations of Devout and Learned
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burned
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep
They told their comrades, and to sleep returned.
یاران موافق همه از دست شدند
در پای اجل یکان یکان پست شدند
خوردیم ز یک شراب در مجلس عمر
دوری دو سه پیشتر ز ما مست شدند
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before
And one by one crept silently to rest.
گر بر فلکم دست بدی چون یزدان
برداشتمی من این فلک را ز میان
از نو فلکی دگر چنان ساختمی
کازاده بکام دل رسیدی آسان
Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire
Would not we shatter it to bits–and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire.
یک‌چند به کودکی به استاد شدیم
یک‌چند ز استادی خود شاد شدیم
پایان سخن شنو که مارا چه رسید
چو آب برآمدیم و چون باد شدیم
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow
And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d
I came like Water, and like Wind I go
گویند کسان بهشت با حور خوش است
من می‌گویم که آب انگور خوش است
این نقد بگیر و دست از آن نسیه بدار
کآواز دهل شنیدن از دور خوش است
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum.
ین کوزه چو من عاشق زاری بوده‌ست
در بند سر زلف نگاری بوده‌ست
این دسته که بر گردن او می‌بینی
دستی‌ست که بر گردن یاری بوده‌ست
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answered, once did live
And merry-make; and the cold lip I kissed
How many kisses might it take – and give.
خیام اگر ز باده مستی خوش باش
با ماهرخی اگر نشستی خوش باش
چون عاقبت کار جهان نیستی است
انگار که نیستی چو هستی خوش باش
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press
End in the Nothing all Things end in – Yes
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be- Nothing- Thou shalt not be less.
چون عهده نمی‌شود کسی فردا را
حالی خوش دار این دل پر سودا را
می نوش به ماهتاب ای ماه که ماه
بسیار بتابد و نیابد ما را
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden–and for one in vain.
قومی متفکرند در مذهب و دین
قومی به گمان فتاده در راه یقین
می‌ترسم از آن که بانگ آید روزی
کای بی‌خبران راه نه آنست و نه این
Some are preoccupied with matters of religion
And some are beset by doubt on their course of conviction
I fear the day when a divine voice may call out
You ignorant people, true course is neither of your two ways
از من رمقی به سعی ساقی مانده است
وز صحبت خلق وفایی مانده است
از بادۀ دوشین قدحی بیش نماند
از عمر ندانم که چه باقی مانده است
“A breath remains from me by the effort of the cupbearer,
And a trace of fidelity remains from the conversation of people.
From the last night’s wine, no more cup remains,
As for life, I know not what is left.”
این قافلۀ عمر عجب می‌گذرد
دریاب دمی که با طرب می‌گذرد
ساقی غمِ فردای حریفان چه خوری
پیش آر پیاله که شب می‌گذرد
“How wondrously this caravan of life passes,
Seize the moment as it passes with delight.
O cupbearer, why do you drink the sorrow of tomorrow?
Bring forth the wine, for the night is passing.”
صبح است دمی با می گلرنگ زنیم
وین شیشه نام‌وننگ بر سنگ زنیم
دست از امل دراز خود باز کشیم
در زلف دراز و دامن چنگ زنیم
Morning is here; let’s finish the wine
Let’s dash our bottle of shame against a rock
Let’s leave our far- fetched dreams behind
To finger long tresses, and the strings of the lyre
روزی است خوش و هوا نه گرم است و نه سرد
ابر از رخ گلزار همی شوید گرد
بلبل به زبان پهلوی با گل زرد
فریاد همی زند که می باید خورد
“It’s a fine day, neither warm nor cold,
Clouds are gathering over the face of the rose garden.
The nightingale with a yellow flower in its beak,
Cries out, ‘Drink, for you must drink!”
ای دوست بیا تا غم فردا نخوریم
وین یک دم عمر غنیمت شمریم
فردا که از این دیر کهن درگذریم
با هفت‌هزارساله‌گان سر به سریم
“O friend, come, so we won’t taste the sorrow of tomorrow,
Let’s count this one moment of life as a blessing.
When tomorrow we pass from this ancient abode,
We’ll be head to head with those of seven thousand years.”
برخیز و مخور غم جهان گذران
خوش باش و دمی به شادمانی گذران
در طبع جهان اگر وفایی بودی
نوبت به تو خود نیامدی از دگران
“Arise and do not consume yourself with the sorrows of the world,
Be joyful and pass a moment in happiness.
If fidelity existed in the nature of the world,
It would not have turned away from others and come to you.”
این کهنـه ربــاط را کــه عالم نام است
و آرامـگه ابـلـق صبـح و شـام است
بزمی است که وامانده صد جمشید است
قصریست که تکیه گاه صد بهرام است
Think, in this battered Caravanserai
Whose doorway are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Adobe his Hour or two, and went this way
چون لاله به نوروز قدح گیر به دست
با لاله رخی گر تو را فرصت هست
می نوش به خرمی که این چرخ کهن
نـا گاه تو را چـو چـرخ گرداند پست
As then the Tulip for her wanted sup
Of heavenly Vintage lifts her chalice up,
Do you turn offering of the soil, till Heav’n
To earth invert you- like an empty cup
آنان که اسیر عقل و تمیز شدند
در حسرت هست و نیست ناچیز شدند
رو باخبرا تـو آب انگور گزین
کـان بیـخبـران بـه غوره میویـز شدند
How long, how long, infinite Pursuit
Of This and that endeavor and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or better, fruit
خیام اگر ز باده مستی خوش باش
با ماهـرخی اگر نشـسـتی خوش باش
چون عاقبت کار جهان نیستی است
انگار که نیستی چو هستی خوش باش
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in – Yes-
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be- Nothing- Thou shalt not be less
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