**A Poem by Amīnā**

The Story of Amīnā and His Wife

Listen, my friends, pay attention!
Be silent, do not restrain me,
Nor say, "That fellow Amīnā's been unfaithful,
His heart and tongue in two directions pull;
If not, why did he leave his native realm,
Parted from her, a moon of Khotan?"¹
Listen first and then pass judgment,
Before I slip my foot into the stirrup.

For twenty-five long years a rose I nourished,
Her scent gladdened my every disposition,
And all that time, every day, she showed me
Ten different hues, exasperating mistress!
Yet I kept hoping for her love,
While my heart opened for those rosy cheeks.
Scarce hoping to catch even a whiff of her scent,
I sat in her shade chastely, yet
In the end, caught only the scent
Of hopelessness; in place of sweet liquors

I tasted only blows. Such was that rose.
Yet sure I loved her, heart and soul;
If she had asked me for my head, my soul,
I would have handed those to her.
Over and over I gave proof of my love,
Yet never did I find good faith in that rose.
Her temper was as mean as Time itself:
I said good things and she rejoined with bad;
I would beseech and always be rejected,

Ever and ever I sought her company;
She'd only sting me like a pair of pincers.
I was unprotected from the beauty of her face;
Her gait, her stature, and her hair.
Her entire body was to my liking,
While with every word she hurt me.
When I would try to counsel her,
She held my counsel hateful;
Not one of my words could pierce her ears
Because of her constant cry, her clamor.

My tongue is cleft from so much sweet talk,
Well-worn advice; it never made her well;
No remedy I found for one of her pains.
Then only did I plan wickedness,
Turning from what is right to what is wrong.
(No mother and no father had she here,
Having already dispatched them to hell.)
By this injustice finally incensed,
She finally provided my blow.

It was clear that we were not the same,
That she and I were not one heart and soul.
I tried apologizing, turning myself
Into a humble dervish before her, but
She offered me no cure for all my pains;
That which I suffered was incurable.
I have told the story thus, I have related it
For my heart's sake, in such a manner,
Five hundred times and more.
At times I was a tyrant, and at times

A dervish, yet as a dervish found no cure,
Nor was I cured by my tyranny.
Twenty-five years thus passed
Without a hope of rescue, then,
One evening I caught poisonous words
From those sweet lips: "I do not love you ,
I'll never smile at you again."
She swore, "If I remain alive,
I drive you to your death."

When I heard these naked words,
I laughed! Yes, it is true:
One hour before it is extinguished.
Lamp's light brightens the house . . .
Thus have I fallen in with strangers,
I've set out for [foreign parts].
Severed my heart from my relations . . .

¹A province in eastern Turkestan famous in Persian poetry for its beautiful men and women

(date unknown, translated by vera basch moreen)

source: basch moreen, vera (ed.), queen esther's garden, gorgias press, 2013: 296-298.

amīnā (= the faithful) aka benjamin ben mishaʾel, a native of kashan in today's iran, was a judeo-persian poet in late 17th/early 18th century > his poetry influenced many generations of poets throughout central asia

see also: http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1878-9781_ejiw_SIM_0004360