Layla and Majnun – The Classic Love Story of Persian Literature

Where they lead we cannot see.

But the future is veiled from our eyes; the threads of each man’s fate extends well beyond the boundaries of the visible world.

Who can say that today’s key will not be tomorrow’s lock, or today’s lock not tomorrow’s key?

Love was a wine-bearer who had filled their cups to the brim, and they drank whatever he poured for them. And in due course they became intoxicated, not realising the power of the wine. The first intoxication is always the most severe. The first fall is always the hardest. The first cut is always the deepest.

Fourteen days after his birth, the boy already resembled the full moon in all its splendour, scattering light upon the earth and enriching the vision of all who cast eyes on him.

They say that first love is the greatest, and that its happy memory never dies. For Kais and Layla this was most certainly true. Indeed, so intense was their happiness that they did not dare question it, for fear that it might disappear as quickly as it had come upon them.
For Kais, Layla was like the sun, ascending into his sky with a beauty and radiance unparalleled. With each passing day she shone more brightly, illuminating not only his world but the worlds of all those who had the good fortune to meet her. The other boys were sunstruck, too, filled with awe by her blinding light. During their lessons, they would stare at her openmouthed, until the teacher appeared with his stick to beat them back to their lessons. If the school was closed, they would roam the alleyways and the passages between the market stalls, all in the hope of catching a tiny glimpse of her dimpled face. And whenever they did, they would feel like pomegranates, full of juice and fit to burst with desire. Such was her attraction.
Naturally, Kais knew that the other boys desired her, but he also knew t

When a solitary candle burns, one sees only the light it gives; rarely does one notice that as it gives of itself to others, the candle sheds waxen tears until it is consumed and can shine no more.

‘Every verse you recite I will commit to memory: my heart will be a goblet for the wine of your sweet words, a treasure chest for the jewels of your wisdom!

Follow this writer’s example: be like a candle and burn your own treasures — only then will the world, which is now your ruler, become your slave.

And what is human life, if not a flash of lightning in the dark?