A father who was turned grey and old
On his death bed to his three sons told
Of when his father gave him his farm
He did not see its grace nor its charm;
"I intended to have the farm sold
Since I was unaware of its hidden gold
From the time of my great grandfather
A treasure, unlike any other
Has been buried deep in this farm
To insure our family against harm.
I neither had help, nor the zeal
To make myself wealth of such great deal.
But if this notion for you has appeal
The three of you this treasure can reveal.
I know not where this treasure lies
In your pursuit be thorough and wise,
Dig up the farm and find this prize
Do not be fooled by its disguise. "
The father had no more to say
And quietly slipped away.

The three sons wanted to taste that fruit
And mobilized to go in pursuit
They dug up the field with joy and pleasure
Searching for their ancestral treasure.
Every corner they dug at least three feet deep
But the treasure they did not reap.
Despondent, disheartened, in defeat,
In that field planted grains of wheat.
The seasons turned the field green then gold
Till harvest time they had the wheat sold
This time, because of the well plowed field
Each seed had brought forth a plentiful yield.
Their father's last words, "find this prize
Do not be fooled by its disguise. "
Their gold was disguised as the golden wheat
Which their storehouse with plenty replete.

Despite the common notion of treasure
Inner treasure is beyond measure
A treasure may take many a form
Least of which, ship wreck in a storm;
Digging for gold with much toil
Yields golden wheat, the well plowed soil.

© Shahriar Shahriari
Vancouver, Canada
October 20, 1997

Taken from the story of "Ganj-o Ranj" (Treasure & Toil),
the Farsi poem by Malek-O-Shoaraye- Bahar
(the contemporary Persian Poet)