Ghazal 352

It has been an age since I have been serving in the tavern —

in the garment of poverty doing the work of the fortunate.

Until when shall I bring a fair-walking pheasant into the trap of union? —

I am in ambush and waiting for the moment of opportunity.

Our preacher did not catch the scent of truth — hear this:

I am saying this in his presence too, not backbiting.

With the breeze, stumbling and rising, I go toward the beloved's lane —

and from the companions of the road I seek aid of aspiration.

The dust of your lane cannot bear our burden any more —

you have shown kindnesses, O idol; I will lessen the burden.

The beloved's tresses are a trap on the road, and her glance an arrow of affliction —

remember, O heart, how much counsel I am giving you.

Cover the ill-seeing eye, O generous fault-concealer —

from these boldnesses I do in the corner of solitude.

I am Hafez in one assembly, a dregs-drinker in another —

see this mischief: how I practice my craft with people.