The Poem on the UN Wall — Sa’di’s Bani Adam, Word by Word

There’s a Persian poem carved into the entrance of the United Nations headquarters in New York. It’s been there since 2005, a gift from Iran, and it says something so simple that a beginner Farsi student could almost read it. Almost.

The poem is “Bani Adam” (بنی آدم) by Sa’di of Shiraz, and if you want a proper bani adam Sa’di translation. not the watered-down Instagram version, but the actual word-by-word Farsi. you’re in the right place. This is probably the most shared Persian poem in the Western world, and most people who post it have no idea what it actually says line by line.

I’m Elyar, I teach Tehrani Persian, and I’m going to break this poem apart for you. Five lines. Every word. The Farsi script, transliteration, grammar, and the political weight this poem carries. especially for Iranians after 2022.

Sa’di. The Other Poet from Shiraz

Before we get into the poem, let’s talk about the man. Sa’di (سعدی), full name Abu-Muhammad Muslih al-Din bin Abdallah Shirazi, lived in the 13th century. about a hundred years before Hafez. He was born in Shiraz, traveled extensively through the Islamic world (some accounts say as far as India and North Africa), and returned to Shiraz to write two masterpieces: the Bustan (بوستان, “The Orchard,” in verse) and the Golestan (گلستان, “The Rose Garden,” in mixed prose and verse).

“Bani Adam” comes from the Golestan, and it’s technically not a standalone poem. it’s the opening lines of Chapter 1 on the conduct of kings. Sa’di placed it there deliberately: before talking about how rulers should govern, he established the principle that all humans are connected.

In Shiraz, there’s a friendly rivalry between Sa’di and Hafez fans. Sa’di’s tomb (Saadieh / سعدیه) and Hafez’s tomb (Hafezieh / حافظیه) are both major landmarks. Ask a Shirazi which poet is better and you’ll start an argument that lasts through dinner. Sa’di is generally considered the master of prose and practical wisdom; Hafez is the master of the ghazal and mystical ambiguity. Different geniuses, same city.

The Full Poem. Farsi Script

Here’s the complete text as it appears in the Golestan and on the UN wall:

بنی آدم اعضای یکدیگرند
که در آفرینش ز یک گوهرند
چو عضوی به درد آورد روزگار
دگر عضوها را نماند قرار
تو کز محنت دیگران بی‌غمی
نشاید که نامت نهند آدمی

Six lines. That’s it. Let’s take them apart.

Lines 1-2. We Are One Body

بنی آدم اعضای یکدیگرند
که در آفرینش ز یک گوهرند

Transliteration:
Bani aadam a’zaay-e yekdigarand
Ke dar aafarinesh ze yek goharand

Word-by-word:

• بنی آدم (bani aadam). “children of Adam” / “human beings.” Bani (بنی) means “children of” or “descendants of” (Arabic). Adam (آدم). Adam, as in the first human. Together it means “humanity.”
• اعضای (a’zaay-e). “members of” / “limbs of.” A’zaa (اعضا) is the plural of ozv (عضو), meaning “limb” or “organ.” The ezafe (-e) connects it to what follows.
• یکدیگرند (yekdigarand). “are of each other.” Yekdigar (یکدیگر) = “each other” / “one another.” The -and (-ند) ending is the third-person plural verb “to be.” So: “they are [members] of one another.”
• که (ke). “because” / “for” / “since”
• در (dar). “in”
• آفرینش (aafarinesh). “creation.” From the verb aafaridan (آفریدن) = “to create.”
• ز (ze). short form of az (از) = “from”
• یک (yek). “one”
• گوهرند (goharand). “are of one essence.” Gohar (گوهر) = “jewel” / “essence” / “origin.” Plus -and = “they are.”

Translation:
The children of Adam are limbs of one body,
For in creation they are of one essence.

Notice how simple the Farsi is. If you’re learning Persian, you already know most of these words: dar, az, yek, ke. Sa’di’s genius here isn’t complexity. it’s clarity. He says something profound in language a child could follow.

The body metaphor is the key. Humanity isn’t a collection of individuals. it’s a single organism. Your hand and your foot are different, but they’re part of the same body. That’s what bani aadam are.

Lines 3-4. When One Limb Hurts

چو عضوی به درد آورد روزگار
دگر عضوها را نماند قرار

Transliteration:
Cho ozvi be dard aavarad ruzegaar
Degar ozvhaa raa namanad gharaar

Word-by-word:

• چو (cho). “when” / “if” (poetic short form of chon / چون)
• عضوی (ozvi). “a limb” / “a member.” The -i (ی) makes it indefinite: “a limb” rather than “the limb.”
• به درد آورد (be dard aavarad). “brings to pain” / “causes pain to.” Dard (درد) = pain. Aavardan (آوردن) = to bring.
• روزگار (ruzegaar). “time” / “fate” / “the world.” This word is rich. it can mean era, fortune, life circumstances. Here it means something like “if fate brings pain to one limb.”
• دگر (degar). “other” (poetic form of digar / دیگر)
• عضوها (ozvhaa). “limbs” / “members” (plural)
• را (raa). the direct object marker (one of the first grammar points you learn in Persian)
• نماند (namanad). “will not remain” / “cannot remain.” From maandan (ماندن) = to remain. The na- prefix negates it.
• قرار (gharaar). “peace” / “rest” / “composure”

Translation:
When fate brings pain to one limb,
The other limbs cannot remain at rest.

This is the logical extension of the body metaphor. If your hand is burned, your whole body flinches. You don’t think about it. it’s automatic. Sa’di is saying empathy should be the same: involuntary, immediate, physical.

The word ruzegaar (روزگار) deserves special attention. It’s one of those Persian words that carries a whole worldview. It means time, but also fate, but also “the way things go.” When Iranians say ruzegaar, there’s a resignation in it. an acknowledgment that life brings suffering, and that’s just how it is. The question isn’t whether suffering comes. It’s how you respond when it arrives at someone else’s door.

Lines 5-6. The Verdict

تو کز محنت دیگران بی‌غمی
نشاید که نامت نهند آدمی

Transliteration:
To k-az mehnat-e digaraan bighammi
Nashaayad ke naamat nahand aadami

Word-by-word:

• تو (to). “you”
• کز (k-az). contraction of ke az = “who from”
• محنت (mehnat). “suffering” / “hardship” / “tribulation”
• دیگران (digaraan). “others” (digar + aan, the plural suffix for people)
• بی‌غمی (bighammi). “are without sorrow.” Bi (بی) = without. Gham (غم) = sorrow/grief. The -i ending makes it “you are without grief.”
• نشاید (nashaayad). “it is not fitting” / “it is not worthy” / “you do not deserve.” From shaayestan (شایستن) = to be worthy.
• که (ke). “that”
• نامت (naamat). “your name.” Naam (نام) = name. The -at suffix = “your.”
• نهند (nahand). “they place” / “they call.” From nahaadan (نهادن) = to place/to name.
• آدمی (aadami). “human” / “a person.” Related to aadam but used as an adjective: “human, humane.”

Translation:
You who feel no sorrow for the suffering of others,
It is not fitting that they should call you human.

There it is. The last two lines are the blade. Sa’di doesn’t argue or persuade. he simply revokes your membership in humanity. If you can witness suffering and feel nothing, you don’t get to call yourself a person. The word aadami (آدمی) circles back to bani aadam at the start. same root, same word, but now it’s conditional. Being born human isn’t enough. You have to be human.

Why This Poem Hits Differently After 2022

I need to talk about this, because you can’t understand what “Bani Adam” means to Iranians today without understanding the context.

During the Woman, Life, Freedom movement in 2022, this poem appeared everywhere. on protest signs, in social media posts, shouted at gatherings in the diaspora. When the world was watching Iran, Iranians reached for Sa’di. Not because the poem is about politics specifically, but because it makes a claim that felt urgent: if you see our suffering and look away, what does that make you?

The poem has always been political. Sa’di wrote it in the chapter on kingship. it was advice to rulers. The UN chose it for the same reason. But when Iranians quote it now, there’s a rawness to it that goes beyond literary appreciation. It’s an accusation and a plea at the same time.

I’ve heard it recited at memorial gatherings in Milan, at vigils in London, at protests in Berlin. Every time, the room goes quiet at the last line. Nashaayad ke naamat nahand aadami. You don’t deserve to be called human. Eight centuries old, and it still cuts.

Grammar Notes for Farsi Learners

If you’re studying Persian, this poem is genuinely useful for your grammar. Here’s what to notice:

The ezafe construction: You see it in a’zaay-e yekdigar, mehnat-e digaraan. The ezafe (-e) is that unstressed vowel connecting a noun to its modifier. It’s everywhere in Persian and this poem is full of clean examples.

The -and verb ending: Yekdigarand, goharand. This is the third-person plural present tense of “to be” (hastand / هستند compressed into a suffix). You’ll use this constantly in spoken Farsi too, though in Tehran people sometimes drop it.

Poetic contractions: Cho for chon, ze for az, k-az for ke az. Classical poetry compresses prepositions and conjunctions to fit the meter. Once you recognize these, reading old poetry gets much easier.

The raa marker: “Degar ozvhaa raa namanad gharaar”. here raa marks ozvhaa as the experiencer. In modern colloquial Persian, raa (or its spoken form -ro / -o) works the same way. The grammar hasn’t changed much in 800 years.

If you’re a heritage speaker who grew up hearing Persian at home, you’ll probably find that you understand more of this poem than you expected. The vocabulary is surprisingly close to everyday spoken Farsi.

The Golestan. More Than One Poem

It would be a mistake to reduce Sa’di to just “Bani Adam,” so let me give you the bigger picture. The Golestan (گلستان, “The Rose Garden”) was written in 1258 and it’s one of the most influential works in all of Persian literature. It’s a collection of stories, anecdotes, and poems organized into eight chapters covering topics like the conduct of kings, the manners of dervishes, the advantages of silence, love, youth, and old age.

Sa’di’s prose style in the Golestan basically defined how elegant Persian prose should sound. For centuries, it was THE textbook for learning to write well in Farsi. His sentences are balanced, musical, full of wit. He mixes verse and prose in a way that feels effortless. The stories are short, punchy, often funny, sometimes brutal.

If Hafez is the poet you feel, Sa’di is the poet who makes you think. Both lived in Shiraz. Both are buried there. Both are essential. But they do very different things with the language.

How to Use This Poem

If you’re learning Persian and want to impress an Iranian, memorize the first two lines of “Bani Adam.” Just those two. Say them at the right moment. when someone’s talking about injustice, or when the news is heavy, or when someone asks you why you’re learning Farsi. and watch the reaction.

Bani aadam a’zaay-e yekdigarand / ke dar aafarinesh ze yek goharand.

Practice the pronunciation. Get the rhythm right. it’s in the motaqaareb meter (short-long, short-long), which gives it that marching, declarative feel. The rhyme scheme is simple: -and at the end of every line in the first couplet, -aar in the second, -ami in the third.

And if you’re sharing it on social media, please share the Farsi script alongside the English. The poem deserves to be seen in the language it was written in.

← Ep 1: Hafez’s Most Famous Ghazal | Series Index | Ep 3: Rumi’s “Baaz Aa” →

FAQs

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If reading Sa’di in the original made something click for you, imagine what a full lesson in Persian would do. I teach Tehrani Farsi. casual, real, the kind people actually speak. Grab a spot on my Preply calendar and let’s start reading Persian together.

Sa’di’s work is one of several poets covered in our Persian Poetry for Learners collection. To understand the poetic forms Sa’di mastered, including the ghazal and masnavi, check out our breakdown of classical Persian poetry forms.