Reading Iranian Poetry in Our War-Torn Times: An Illumination and a Reminder of What We Are

In the blinding darkness of a war-torn world, Iranian poetry offers a rare illumination—an art that sustains memory, dignity, and continuity. Rooted in a shared civilisational imagination, it dissolves divisions and speaks in hushed, enduring cadences: not proclamations, but quiet assurances of rescue, approaching even as the world trembles on the edge of moral loss. It invokes the universal human condition, which seems far away in a world where we pick sides and separate ourselves from each other.

This is the nectar from Persia, kept alive as deep in history as before the Middle Ages. Hakim Sanai, Ferdowsi, Rumi, Omar Khayyam, Hafez Shiraz…A confluence of Persian and Islamic cultures condensed into heavenly drops, whispering chimes, and birdsongs that hum life’s ultimate answers.

Hakim Sanai

Hakim Sanai sang,

“The road you yourself must journey on

lies in polishing the heart

It is not by rebellion and discord

that the heart’s mirror is polished

free;

of the rust of hypocrisy and

unbelief;

Your mirror is polished by your

certitude—

By the unalloyed purity of your

faith.” (Hakim Sanai, The Walled Garden of Truth).

How do we soothe our soul when it is terrified? The poet provides the light to walk this dark tunnel. There is no war, destruction, blood, maimed bodies, charred remains, concrete blown to dust, arguments, or counterarguments in this moment of truth.

“Break free

from your chains you have forged

about yourself;

for you will be free when you are

free of clay.

The body is dark—the heart is

shining bright;

The body is mere compost—the

heart is a blooming garden.” (Hakim Sanai, The Walled Garden of Truth).

Saadi

The oft-repeated saying is this; even if the entire Persian literature were to disappear like sand in the wind, if you have Saadi’s ‘Golestan’ (written in 1258 CE), you can recreate everything lost, anew.

“Many famous men have been buried under ground

Of whose existence on earth not a trace has remained

And that old corpse, which had been surrendered to the earth

Was so consumed by the soil that not a bone remains.

The glorious name of Nushirvan survives in good repute

Although much time has elapsed since he passed away.

Do good, O man, and consider life as a good fortune.

The more so, as when a shout is raised, a man exists no more.” (Saadi, Golestan).

Saadi’s every word feels like the balm of truth applied to a burning heart. He covers you gently with soft blankets of timeless wisdom. Inside, you might still burn, but you realise that the human heart can seek redemption.

“When thou fightest with a thrower of clods

Thou ignorantly breakest thy own head.

When thou shootest an arrow at the face of a foe

Be on thy guard for thou art sitting as a target for him.” (Saadi, Golestan).

Saadi had seen so many Padshahs rise and fall. He saw millions massacred when the Mongol prince, Hulegu, attacked Baghdad, marking the end of the Persian Abbasid Empire and the rise of the Mongol kings. He wrote eulogy after eulogy, grieving the loss and death of his dear friends, padshahs, and people and cities he cherished.

“When he whose eyes are open to the truth scatters flowers over the dead, his heart burns not for the dead but for himself.

Why dost thou weep over the death of a child? He came pure, and he departed pure.

Tie now the feet of the bird of the soul; tarry not till it has borne the rope from thy hand.

Long hast thou sat in the place of another; soon will another sit in thy place.

Though thou be a hero or a swordsman, thou wilt carry away nothing but the shroud.

If the wild ass breaks its halter and wanders into the desert its feet become ensnared in the sand. Thou, too, hast strength till thy feet go into the dust of the grave.

Since yesterday has gone and to-morrow has not come, take account of this one moment that now is.

In this garden of the world there is not a cypress that has grown which the wind of death has not uprooted” (Saadi, The Bustan).

Somehow, these poems touch the core of our existence. Even in these times of immeasurable peril, we must find a few moments to read these lines.

Hafez

Poet Hafez worked as a baker and a copyist, mundane professions for someone blessed with a mind that delivers divine poetry. Life is a mix of the mundane, the ruthless reality, and the ecstasy in finding beauty in it.

“Then took I shelter from that stormy sea

In the good ark of wine; yet, woe is me!

Saki and comrade and minstrel all by turns,

She is of maidens the compendium

Who my poor heart in such a fashion spurns.

Self, HAFIZ, self! That thou must overcome!

Hearken the wisdom of the tavern-daughter!

Vain little baggage – well, upon my word!

Thou fairy figment made of clay and water,

As busy with thy beauty as a bird.

Well, HAFIZ, Life’s a riddle – give it up:

There is no answer to it but this cup” (Hafez, Ode, 487).

Rumi

And then, there is our dear poet, Rumi, with his lyrics so sweet and aglow, his voice a resounding echo of the sweetest birdsong ever.

“A mote I in the Sunshine, yet am the Sun’s vast Ball;

I bid the Sun spread Sunlight, and make the Mote be small.

I am the Morning Splendour; I am the Evening Breeze;

I am the Leaf’s soft Rustle; the Billow’s Rise and Fall.

I am the Mast and Rudder, the Steersman and the Ship;

I am the Cliff out-jutting, the Reef of Coral Wall.

I am the Bird Ensnarer, the Bird and Net as well;

I am both Glass and Image; the Echo and the Call.

I am the Tree and Branches, and all the Birds thereon;

I am both Thought and Silence, Tongues’ Speech, and Ocean Squall.

I am the Flute when piping, and Man’s Soul breathing breath;

I am the sparkling Diamond, and Metals that enthrall.

I am the Grape enclustered, the Wine-press and the Must;

I am the Wine, Cup-bearer, and crystal Goblet tall.

I am the Flame and Butterfly, which round it circling flits;

I am the Rose and Nightingale, the Rose’s Passioned Thrall.

I am the Cure and Doctor, Disease and Antidote;

I am the Sweet and Bitter, the Honey and the Gall.

I am the War and Warrior, the Victor and the Field;

I am the City peaceful, the Battle and the Brawl.

I am the Brick and Mortar, the Builder and the Plan,

I am the Base and Gable, new House and ruined Hall.

I am the Stag and Lion, the Lamb and black-maw’d Wolf;

I am the Keeper of them, who shuts them in one Stall.

I am the Chain of Beings, the Ring of circling Worlds;

The Stages of Creation, where’er it rise or fall.

I am what is and is not; I am—O Thou who know’st,

Jeláleddín, O tell it—I AM the Soul in All!” (Rumi, The Festival of Spring)

Rumi’s words should have the power to erase all violence from Earth, but his poetry has existed for a thousand years and has not freed this world from violence. So, let us believe that his words exists to lighten the blow life imparts on us and to soothe the searing wounds inflicted by ourselves and our own.

Ferdowsi

Another Persian poet, Ferdowsi, sickened by the bloodshed of his times, warns…

“Wouldst thou, with life endowed, take life away?

Torture not the poor ant, which drags the grain

Along the dust; it has a life, and life

Is sweet and precious. Did the innocent ant

Offend thee ever? Cruel must he be

Who would destroy a living thing so harmless!

And wilt thou, reckless, shed thy brother’s blood,

And agonize the feelings of a father?

Pause, and avoid the wrath of righteous Heaven!” (Ferdowsi, The Shah Nameh)

These poems are from Persia, today’s Iran of the Middle East. These verses have taught generations about the beauty of life and the immense wisdom that only peace can offer. They are like birds who will come and nest in our hearts only when bitterness ends and forgiveness prevails.