Ghazal 323

From my own short hand I am under a burden —

for I am ashamed before the tall ones.

Perhaps the chain of a hair will take my hand —

otherwise I will raise my head in madness.

Ask the affairs of the sky from my eye —

for from night to day I count the stars.

In gratitude for this, I kiss the lip of the cup —

for it made me aware of the secret of the age.

If I said a prayer for the wine-sellers,

what of it? I am giving thanks for a blessing.

I have much gratitude for my own arm —

for I lack the strength to oppress anyone.

I have a head like Hafez, drunk — but

I am hopeful of the grace of that other head.