به داغ ناموردی سوختم
Ba Daghe Namoradi Sokhtam
“I Burned in the Wound of Failure”
Lyrics
Lyrics updated · July 2026English Translation
Burned by the brand of misfortune, O stormy tears My heart has grown weary of this life, O roaming death
In this school I do not know what my nonsensical riddle is That I am neither meaning, nor letter, nor beauty of a title
From such freedom — in my eyes a hundred times better Was the sound of the chains' lament in the corner of a prison
What is my sin — why does the turning world afflict me? From this beggar's bowl, what did I seek but a piece of bread?
Transliteration
Ba daghe na moradi sokhtam ay ashk toofane Ba tang amad dilam zein zindagi ay marg jawlane
Dar ein maktam namedanam che ramze mohmenam yarab Ke ne mane shodam, ne naama o ne zeebe onwane
Az ein azadagi behtar bowad sad rah ba chashme man Sadaye sheyone zanjeer o qayde konje zenadne
Gonaham chist, gardoonam chera azorda medarad Azein kasa gada degar chi jastam joz labe nane
متن اصلی
بداغ نامرادی سوختم ای اشک طوفانی به تنگ آمد دلم زين زندگی ای مرگ جولانی
در اين مکتب نميدانم چه رمز مهملم يارب که نی معنی شدم، نی نامه و نی زيب عنوانی
از اين آزادگی بهتر بود صد ره به چشم من صدای شيون زنجير و قيد کنج زندانی
گناهم چيست، گردونم چرا آزرده ميدارد ازين کاسه گدا ديگر چه جستم جز لب نانی
Burned by the brand of misfortune — the weary heart, the prison chains better than freedom, the beggar's bowl asking only for bread. A poem of total dispossession in which meaning itself has been lost.
About This Recording
Ba Daghe Namoradi Sokhtam — Burned by the Brand of Misfortune — is among the most desolate poems in Ahmad Zahir's catalog. The 'brand of misfortune' (dagh-e namoradi) is a double wound: misfortune as external event and namoradi (literally: not-arrival, not-reaching, failure to achieve) as a structural condition. The speaker has been marked by what did not happen to them.
'In this school I do not know what my nonsensical riddle is / That I am neither meaning, nor letter, nor beauty of a title' — identity dissolved into incoherence. The school metaphor continues a pattern in these songs (see Awara Bechara Qalbe Man), here extended to the speaker's inability to occupy even the rudimentary positions of meaning or letter — the building blocks of sense itself.
The most unexpected turn: 'From such freedom — in my eyes a hundred times better / Was the sound of the chains' lament in the corner of a prison.' The speaker prefers the clarity of imprisonment to the chaos of this formless freedom. Chains at least have the dignity of being a specific, identifiable condition. What he is in now has no shape to push against.
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