Ghazal 317

I say it openly, and I am glad of my words:

I am the slave of love, and free from both worlds.

I am the bird of the holy garden — how shall I describe separation? —

for how I fell into this trap of events.

I was an angel, and highest paradise was my place —

Adam brought me to this ruined monastery.

The shadow of the Tree of Paradise, the consolation of houris, and the pool's edge —

all went from my memory in the desire for the head of your lane.

On the tablet of my heart there is nothing but the alif of the beloved's stature —

what can I do? My teacher taught me no other letter.

No astrologer recognized the star of my fortune —

O Lord, under what star was I born from the mother of the world?

Since I became the earring-slave at the door of love's tavern,

every moment a new grief comes to congratulate me.

The pupil of my eye drinks the blood of my heart — it is fitting —

for why did I give my heart to the darling of the people?

Wipe the face of Hafez with the tip of your tresses from tears —

or else this ceaseless flood will destroy my foundation.