Ghazal 22 (W-C 26)

The reclusive brethren say, ‘The Night of Power‘is tonight.
O Lord! What auspicious star brought this fortunate night?

To ensure no unworthy hand to your curling locks may attain,
In each ringlet every heart is saying “O Lord!” Again and again!

For your chin’s dimple my life is given, for when I look fully,
In the collar beneath, the necks of a myriad bulbuls’ souls I see.  

A mirror-case for the face of my royal knight-rider, the moon is,
Mere dust raised by his horse’s hooves, the high sun’s crown is.

Reflected in the sweat on the beloved’s cheek, the sun’s face see,
Whilst it is up, each day, it burns to unite with that sweat ardently.

I will never give up the ruby lip of the beloved, nor the cup of wine,
O men of piety excuse me, for this religion I have taken as  mine.

In the procession, when they saddle up the wind, for him to mount,
How will I ride with great Solomon, when my steed is the little ant?

That beloved whose eye in a flash discharges a swift dart at me,
By the hint of a smile from that lip, Hafiz’s life sustained will be.

The water of life leaks out from this so eloquent beak of mine,
In God’s Name; a great drinker is the black crow; this pen of mine!
This is the seventh of the Persian pages, continuing the rendering in English of
the mystical thought of Khawaja Hafiz Shirazi,
Ghazal 19 (W-C 23)

My head is willingly united with the doorstep of the friend,
Whatever goes over our head must be willed by the friend.

To my friend’s face nothing compares; what though
The sun and the moon as mirrors to that face I show.

O what can the breeze have to say of our heart’s sad plight?
That, like the petals of the rosebud, is folded up so tight

In this reveller burning tavern I am not alone in wine-drinking;
Our heads are bowls for stones the divine workshop is throwing.

Did you comb your hair so that the ambergris fell from it?
The breeze became civit like; the dust was perfumed by it.

Sacrificed to your face each rose petal in the meadow is;
Sacrificed to your height every tall river-bank cypress is.

Talking of love makes foolish what the tongue inside is saying,
What hope for the gobbledygook the speechless pen is writing.

Your face entered my heart, so my desire I am attaining,
Following the happy omen, the happy state one is gaining.

It’s not due to illusory time Hafiz’s heart is in the fire of longing;
Before time came into being it received its tulip-like marking.
Ghazal 19 Parsi

Sare eraaadate maa o aastaane hazrate doost
Ke harche bar sare maa miravad eraadate oost

Nazire doost nadidam agarche az mah o mehr
Nahaadam aayenehaa dar moghaabele rokhe doost

Sabaa ze haale dele tange maa che sharh dahad
Ke chon shekange varaghhaaye ghonche too bar toost

Na man saboo keshe in deire rendsoozam o bas
Basaa saraa ke dar in kaarkhaane sang o saboost

Magar to shaane zadi zolfe ambarafshaan raa
Ke baad ghaaliye saa gasht o khaak ambar boost

Nesaare rooye to har barge gol ke dar chaman ast
Fadaaye ghadde to har sarv bon ke bar labe joost

Zabaane naateghe dar vasfe shovgh naalaan ast
Che jaaye kelke boride zabaaane bihode goost

Rokhe to dar delam aamad moraad khaaham yaaft
Cheraa ke haale nekoo dar ghafaaye faale nekoost

Na in zamaan dele Hafez dar aatashe havas ast
Ke daaghdaare azal hamcho laaleye khodroost
Ghazal 20 (W-C 24)

All the world’s sweetness is in the black hair of that beautiful one ,
Bright of eye, a laughing lip, every joyful heart is with that one.

Although those other sweet-spoken ones also have royalty,
He is the Solomon of the age, for his is the seal of sovereignty.

He is fair skinned, perfect in skill, and robed in purity,
The spirits of the pure ones is with him truly, surely.

The dark, musky mole that sits on that fair wheat-coloured face,
Contains the secret of the grain that robbed Adam of his place.

That heart-conqueror went on a journey! Friends, for God’s sake,
What of my poor wounded heart? That one left and the cure did take!

O who can we talk to about being killed by a stony-hearted one?
When all along that one has the breath of Jesus, Maryam‘s son.

Hafiz is a true believer; in your good regard hold him.
For the forgiving look of many a noble soul is on him.
Ghazal 20 Parsi

Aan siah chorde ke shiriniye aalam baa oust
Chashme meigoon labe khandaan dele khorram baa oust

Garche shirin dahanaan paadshahaanand vali
Ou soleimaane zaman ast ke khaatam baaa oust

Rooye khoob ast o kamaale honar o daamane paak
Laa jaram hemmate paakaane do aalam ba oust

Khaale meshkin ke bedaan aareze gandom goon ast
Serre aan daane ke shod rahzane aadam baa oust

Delbaram azme safar kard khodaa raa yaaraan
Che konam baa dele majrooh ke marham baa oust

Baa ke in nokte tavaan goft ke aan sangin del
Kosht maa raa o dame isiye maryam baa oust

Hafez az motaghedaan ast geraami daarash
Zaanke bakhshaayeshe sad roohe mokarram baa oust
Ghazal 21 (W-C 25)

O great favour I am hoping for, from the threshold of the Friend,
A great sin I have done; my hope is that a pardon He will send.

I know that He will overlook and not punish that sin I committed.
Vengeful like the Pari, yes; but to angelic mercy He’s committed.

So extensive was my weeping that every passer by who saw it,
Wondering at the stream of pearly tears, said, ‘What river is it?’

At the top of your street, my head became a ball in play,
No one understands at all; “What ball, what street” they say?

That mouth of yours - I can barely detect any trace of it at all,
Your waist is thin as a hair; I don’t know what this hair is at all?

I wonder how it is that the image of you I see, does not disappear;
Though my eye is washing it again, and again, with many a tear.

Without a single word your hair draws, to it, my heart,
With your heart-catching hair who is worthy to speak?

It’s a lifetime since I got the scent of those curling locks of hair,
Yet in my heart the perfume of their perfume has a place there.

O Hafiz, in such a distracted and sorry state you are, I can see,
But it’s good, for, from remembering  the friend’s hair, it came to be
Ghazal 21Parsi

Daram omide aatefati az jenaabe doost
Kardam jenaayati o omidam be afve oust

Daanam ke bogzarad ze sare jorme man ke ou
Garche parivash ast valiken fereshte khoost

Chandaan gereistim ke har kas ke bar gozasht
Dar ashke maa cho did ravaan goft kin che joost

Sarhaa cho gooy dar sare kooye to baakhtim
Vaaghef nashod kasi ke che gooy ast o in che koost

Hich ast aan dahaan o nabinim az ou neshaan
Mooyast aan miaan o nadaanam ke aan che moost

Daaram ajab ze naghshe khiaalash ke chon naraft
Az dideam ke dam be damash kaar shosto shoost

Bi goft o gooy zolfe to del raa hami keshad
Baa zolfe delkashe to keraa rooye goft o goost

Omrist taa ze zolfe to booee shanideim
Zaan booy dar mashaame dele man hanooz boost

Hafez bad ast haale parishaane to vali
Bar booye zolfe yaar parishaaniat nekoost
Ghazal 22 Parsi

Aan shabe ghadri ke guyand ahle khalvat emshab ast
Ya rab in ta-sire dovlat dar kodaamin kovkab ast

Taa be gisooye to daste naasezaayan kam rasad
Har deli az halghei dar zekre yaa rab yaa rab ast

Koshteye chaahe zanakhdaane toam kaz har taraf
Sad hazarash gardane jaan zire tovghe ghabghab ast

Shahsavaare man ke mah aaeenedaare rooye oust
Taaje khorshide bolandash khaake na-le markab ast

Akse khey bar aarezash bin kaaftaabe garmroo
Dar havaaye an aragh ta hast har roozash tab ast

Man nakhaaham kard tarke la-le yaar o jaame mey
Zaahedaan mazoor daaridam ke inam mazhab ast

Andar aan saa-at ke bar poshte sabaa bandand zin
Ba soleiman chon beraanam man ke mooram markab ast

Anke naavak bar dele man zir cheshmi mizanad
Ghoote jaane Hafezash dar khandeye zire lab ast

Abe heivanash ze menghaare balaaghat michekad
Zaaghe kelke man benaam izad che aali mashrab ast
Ghazal 23 (W-C 27)

Don’t expect from my drunken state, ritual, promises, or piety,
For before time came, my wine drinking was famous, quite rightly.

Completing wudhu1 in the fount of love, from all that’s dead I went,
So made four invocations2 ‘Allahu Akbar’ on all things existent.

Give me wine so that I may give you news of destiny’s mystery,
And tell you whose face and perfume made a drunken lover of me.

Here the mountain’s waist is slenderer even than an ants is,
So wine-worshipper, despair not; God’s Door of Mercy there is.

Except the intoxicated eye (may it be safe from the eye of malice),
Under the sky-blue of the dome no one always and ever happy is.

Ransom is my life for your mouth, for in the eye’s garden know,
That the world’s  Gardner no sweeter rosebud than this did grow.

From the good fortune of love for you, Hafiz a Solomon became,
That is to say, out of our union, into his hand, the wind alone came.
Ghazal 23 Parsi

Matalab taa-at o peimaan o salaah az mane mast
Ke be peimaasne keshi shohre shodam rooze alast

Man haman dam ke vozoo saaskhtam az cheshmeye eshgh
Chaar takbir zadam yeksare bar harche ke hast

Mey bede taa dahamat aagahi az serre ghazaa
Ke be rooye ke shodam aashegh o az booye ke mast

Kamare kooh kam ast az kamare moor inja
Naaomid az dare rahmat masho ey baade parast

Bejoz an nargese mastaane ke chashmash maresaad
Zire in taarame firooze kasi khosh naneshast

Jaan fadaaye dahanash baad ke dar baaghe nazar
Chaman aaraaye jahaan khosh tar az in ghonche nabast

Hafez az dovlate eshghe to soleimaani shod
Yani az vasle toash nist bejoz baad be dast
Ghazal 24 (W-C 28)

The pious form worshipper! No knowledge of our state, has he!
So in whatever he says about us, no cause for hatred do I see.

Tariqat is the stage of - ‘Best is, whatever comes our way.’
Hey ho heart! On this straight way no one goes astray.

To show how the game goes I will move a pawn, just to see,
King and rook (warrior) have no power on the board of profligacy.

What is this smooth sky - a high ceiling with so many images?
In this world no one knows this mystery, no such Sage there is.

What’s this about having no needs; and wisdom’s power, O Lord?
There are many internal wounds and no time to sigh do you afford.

Maybe the minister forgot the time that will settle every score,
For in the royal signature, “For God’s sake” appears no more?

Say, ‘Come’ and ‘Speak,’ to whosoever wishes, without regard;
In this court there is no arrogance, not even a stern door guard.

To reach the tavern door is for the ones of our (spiritual) colour,
There’s no way to the wine-seller’s street for any self-server.

Whenever something does not fit, it is due to our own form,
The honour robe is not short, but to its size one may not conform.

I am the slave of the tavern’s Pir who shows constant generosity,
Not of pious pretenders who bestow and withhold favour fickly.

Hafiz state is high! What if they don’t sit him in the chair of dignity!
The dreg-drinking wine-lover is not enslaved by rank or property.
Ghazal 24 Parsi

Zaahede zaaher parast az haale maa aagaah nist
Dar haghe maa harche gooyad jaaye hich ekraah nist

Dar tarighat harche pishe saalek aayad kheire oust
Dar seraate mostaghim ey del kasi gomraah nist

Taa che baazi rokh namayad beidaghi khaahim raand
Arseye shatranje rendaan ra majaale shaah nist

Chist in saghfe bolande saadeye besyaar naghsh
Zin moamma hich daanaa dar jahaan aagaah nist

In che esteghnaast ya rab vin che ghaader hekmat ast
Kin hame zakhme nahaan hast o majaale aah nist

Saahebe divaane ma gooee nemidaanad hesaab
Kandarin toghraa neshaane "hasbatan lellah" nist

Harke khaahad goo biaa o harche khaahad goo begoo
Kebr o naaz o haajeb o darbaan bedin dargaah nist

Bar dare meikhaane raftan kaare yekrangaan bovad
Khod forooshaan ra be kooye mey forooshaan raah nist

Harche hast az ghaamate naasaze bi andaame maast
Varna tashrife to bar baalaaye kas kootaah nist

Bandeye pire kharaabaatam ke lotfash daaem ast
Varna lotfe sheikh o zaahed gaah hast o gaah nist

Hafez ar bar sadr nanshinad ze aali mashrabist
Aasheghe dordi kesh andar bande maal o jaah nist
The Poetry of Khawaja Hafiz Shirazi
4th page of Ghazals ( 19-124 )
photo of Hafiziya - by Maryam Moghadam
under construction
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