Ghazal 22

When you hear the words of those who know the heart, do not say it is wrong —

you are no judge of speech, my dear! The error lies here.

My head will not bow to this world or the next —

blessed be God, what passions dwell in our minds!

Within me, this broken-hearted one, I do not know who it is —

for I am silent, yet someone within me cries and rages.

My heart has burst beyond the veil — where are you, O musician?

Cry out! For from behind this veil, our work finds its melody.

I never turned my attention to the affairs of the world —

it was your face that appeared to me and adorned it all so sweetly.

I have not slept, from a thought that stirs within my heart —

I carry the hangover of a hundred nights — where is the tavern?

Now that the chapel is stained with the blood of my heart,

if you wash me with wine, the right is yours.

For this reason they hold me dear in the Magian temple:

the fire that never dies is always in our heart.

What was that melody the minstrel played behind the veil,

that life has passed and still my mind is full of its air?

Last night the call of your love sounded within me —

the space of Hafez’s breast still echoes with its sound.