Layla And Majnun By Daniel Brick Poem by Daniel Brick

Dedicated to my Persian Princess,
Baharak Barzin

I have been following traces of Layla and Majnun.
It is a labor of love, like their wanderings
to find an asylum. Hardships began with winds and
rain erasing their footprints everywhere they went.
Some have concluded their story is only words
on paper, which can also be erased. What do you think,
my friend? I know they live in your heart, whether real
or imagined. They prosper there, because your heart,
young, vibrant, full of an excess of love, holds the secret.

I often stop in some green place,
sit in shade or warmth, depending
on the season, and watch the things
they watched. At this moment, I see
flowers bending in the direction
they took. The lovers and the flowers
both follow the sun. As it begins to set,
Layla and Majun blend into the darkness.
The flowers toss their aromas into the night-
scape. Layla breathes deeply the scented air,
and Majun swells with pride as he senses
her presence in the purple scent. Are they
really together in this tender night?
I do not know: the darkness heroically
protects them, the night has absorbed them.

Where is Majun in the wide expanse
of the morning? He has found a forest
clearing. He has braced himself against
tree bark, and waits for her arrival.
This is how Majun lives each day and
every night. He is perpetually hopeful.
He cannot accept any help. Any help
would diminish his passion, and he lives
only for his passion and Layla. I see
his emaciated body, I see the longing
in his eyes, and I pray for him. He is
suffering in his inner and outer selves.

In the bright light of mid morning,
I see Layla standing on the cliff's edge.
She looks into a sky filled with tumbling
clouds. When I look again, she is sitting
on a cloud throne, and her subjects cluster
below her. They love her, her beauty and poise
remind them of a rising sun. But Layla sees
only Majun on a stage of her imagination.
He sings to her, he dances for her, he recites
poems he wrote to her. I am convinced
they are together during his performance.
Then, the bitter truth assails me:
it is a mirage, I was deceived by hope.

The next morning I awake in the summer palace
of my friend, a minor nobleman. When I speak
of my sightings of Layla and Majnun, the courtiers
laugh: they assume I am joking. Then they leave
my presence to pursue the games of courtiers.
Oh, love, where have you fled? Is there not
room in this mortal world for an immortal romance?
Is there a secret truth about Layla and Majun?
I will be the guardian of their passion.