فقط سوز دلم را
Faqat Soz Delam Ra
“Only the Burning of My Heart”
Lyrics
Lyrics updated · July 2026English Translation
Only the burning of my heart does the moth know in the world My grief — the nightingale wandered from its nest does not know
I do not weep because the stranger burns with jealousy at my state I do not lament because the grief of my beloved knows me as a stranger
In hope I sat and told my complaint to my heart It only laughs at me — it too knows me as mad
By his very soul — I hold his pain more than my own soul But I die from this grief — whether he knows or does not know
Transliteration
Faqat soze dilam ra da jahan parwana medanad Ghamam ra bulbule kawara shoda az lana medanad
Nageryam chon ze ghayrat ghayr mesozad ba hale man Nanalam chon ze gham yaram mara begana medanad
Ba omayde neshastam shekwaye khod ra ba dil goftam Hame khandad ba man ein ham mara dewana medanand
Bajan o ke dardah ra ham ze an beshtar daram Wale mimiram az ein gham ke danat ya namedanad
Namedanad kase keandar sar zolfash che khonha shod Wa leken mo ba mo ein dastan ra shana medanad
متن اصلی
فقط سوز دلم را در جهان پروانه ميداند غمم را بلبلی کآواره شد از لانه مينداند
نگريم چون ز غيرت غير ميسوزد به حال من ننالم چون زغم يارم مرا بیگانه ميداند
به اميدی نشستم شکوه خود را بدل گفتم همی خندد بمن اين هم مرا ديوانه ميداند
بجان او که دردش را هم از جان بيشتر دارم ولی ميميرم از اين غم که داند يا نمی داند
نميداند کسی کاندر سر زلفش چه خونها شد و ليکن مو بمو اين داستان را شانه ميداند
Only the moth knows the burning of my heart; the nightingale does not know my grief; I do not lament because the beloved knows me as stranger; even my heart laughs at me and calls me mad.
About This Recording
Faqat Soz Delam Ra — Only the Burning of My Heart — opens with the moth as the only entity that understands the speaker's burning. In Persian lyric, the moth circles the candle until it burns itself; it knows burning from inside, as its own fate. The nightingale, the other great figure of longing in the tradition, knows grief too — but the grief of the wandering nightingale (separated from its nest) is a different grief from the grief of burning. They are two kinds of sorrow, and only one of them knows this particular speaker's condition.
'I do not weep because the stranger burns with jealousy at my state / I do not lament because the grief of my beloved knows me as a stranger' — two reasons given for not weeping, both involving others' knowledge of the speaker's state. The stranger's jealousy would be a reason to be proud, not sad; but the beloved's knowledge of the speaker as a stranger is the real wound. To be a stranger in the eyes of the one you love is the deepest unfamiliarity.
'In hope I sat and told my complaint to my heart / It only laughs at me — it too knows me as mad' — the heart as an internal interlocutor who has lost patience with the speaker's hope. The heart knows the situation and responds with laughter — not cruel laughter but the laughter of long familiarity with futility. The final lines are among the most quietly devastating in the collection: 'I die from this grief — whether he knows or does not know.' The beloved's awareness is irrelevant to the dying. The grief is not contingent on being witnessed.
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