Ghazal 304

The lord of the world, the victory of faith, the perfect king —

Yahya son of Muzaffar, the just sovereign of the world.

O you whose court, the refuge of Islam, is open —

upon the earth's face, the window of the soul and the door of the heart.

Honoring you is incumbent on soul and mind —

your bounty flows over and encompasses all existence.

On the first day, from your pen a drop of black

fell upon the moon's face, which became the solution to all problems.

When the sun saw that black mole, it said in its heart:

Would that I were that fortunate Indian.

O King, the sky is dancing and whirling from your feast —

do not release the hand of joy from the hem of this melody.

Drink wine and bestow the world — for by the lasso of your tresses,

the neck of the ill-wisher has been caught in chains.

The sky's turning is entirely on the path of justice —

be happy, for the tyrant does not find the way to the destination.

Hafez — the pen of the king of the world is the divider of sustenance —

for the sake of livelihood, do not think vain thoughts.