I liked this sweet little thing. Not well known in the West, Layla and Majnun were the “Romeo and Juliet” of Iran. The portrait of Majnun (who went mad over his. Layla and Majnun is a classic story of love most notably expressed by the great poets Nizami Ganjavi and Muhammad Fuzuli. It has been presented in many. f THE STORY OF LAYLA AND MAJNUN Oltj /IclHi Translated Jr om the XVIII War against Layla’s Tribe 76 XIX Nawfal is reproached again 83 7 chapter P a 8 e.

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The masterpiece of your equestrian pride? Lost and Guided Jun 22, Her terms were accepted and Layla got married, but her heart still longed for Majnun.

One like all, and all like one. Seldom do dreams become so real. In Indiait is believed that Layla and Majnun found refuge in a village in Rajasthan before they died. The wound in the soul of our lover had opened again and he turned in bitterness against his friend. All the radiance of this morning was Layla, yet a candle was burning in front of her, consuming itself with desire. Having drunk his fill, he lay down on the brocade carpet of soft grass in the shade of the palm trees to rest awhile.

His heart had suffered shipwreck, drifting helplessly in a boundless ocean ; there seeemd no end to the fury of the gale. Layla was a jasmin-bush in spring, Majnun a meadow in autumn, where no jasmin was growing. A Realist’s Guide To Romance. Here, in front of this temple and its Master, you must pray to be freed from your sorrow.

When wagging tongues abused what was so fairTheir eyes and lips could now no longer shield — Caught by the gossip in the square — The tender secret which each glance revealed. The door through which I intended to enter, you have barred with a thousand locks.

As a punishment I have given up my manjun. A rested man has no feeling for one who is exhausted. He had a kind heart for the poor and for them his purse was always open. Instead of the fruit he felt the thorn, instead of sweetness he tasted bitter gall. Majnuj succeed would not be a human achievement, it would be a miracle. He darted forward like the head of a coiled snake, stretched out his hands towards the 42 Majnun before the Holy Caaba in Mecca 43 door of the temple, hammered against it and shouted: Nobody would buy a faulty jewel to be set with flawless ones.


A thirsty child may well, in a dream, see a hand offering a golden cup, but when he wakes, 39 what remains? And as peace came to his heart so a change came over his whole life. laola

But a storm raged also in his breast and the nearer they came to their goal, the more excited he became. Even a lion would have bent his neck gracefully under such a yoke.

Together they had inhaled the scent of a flower, 2 17 its name unknown, its magic great. My possessions are yours, my Kingdom is yours.

Layla and Majnun

He walked around like a drunkard; weeping bitterly, he lurched, fell and jumped to his feet again. Who would do such a thing?

Take care that you do not become a candle which, crying bitterly, consumes itself in its own grief. If Nawfal was a hero, he was not a fool! They drank by day and dreamed by night, and the more they drank the deeper they became immersed in each other. This man was a master of his art. It was just about to swallow it when the ant laughed and shouted: The full moon which he so eagerly awaited never rose in his sky and the jasmin seed which he sowed would not germinate.

Send him a breath of air as a sign that you are thinking of him. What could they have done against it? Every child from the bazaar was singing his verses; every passer-by was hum- ming one of his love-songs, bringing Layla a mes- sage from her beloved, whether he knew it or not.


On his way to her he ran fast, like water pouring into a trough. Hundreds of lost hearts had already fallen into the well of her dimples, but our beauty took pity on those who had lost their footing and threw them 57 her tresses as a rope to the rescue.

Thej waken memories that burn, Sad happiness and jojful sighs. The heart of my beloved beats for the enemy, and where her heart beats, there is my home. There blows no wind but wafts jour scent to me, There sings no bird but calls jour name to me. Might not a breath of wind bring a speck of dust from his mountain cave?

He is unstable and completely unreliable. The -J gorge in which he had chosen to live belonged to an area ruled by a Bedouin prince called Nawfal.

Full text of “The Story of Layla And Majnun”

Yet he may eat a few morsels to honour his guest. Now Layla was not only a picture of gracefulness, but also full of wisdom and well versed in poetry.

As if playing, the violets hid from each other on their long, curved stems ; the rosebud girded itself and pointed thorny majjun, ready for battle, while the water-lily, as if pausing in the fight, was resting her shield flat on the mirror-like surface of the pond.

What we receive, we divide fairly between us. He who is drunk for the first time, becomes deeply drunk indeed. He collapsed, hit his head against the ground and called out: Some- times he would go to Majnun hoping to hear, as a reward, some of the poems which had become so popular.

As it mqjnun hidden from him, he lives in darkness, a blind man. Who would not be afraid of it?