Ghazal 392

Do you know what fortune is? To see the face of the beloved.

To be a beggar in her lane, chosen over sovereignty.

To cut hope from life is easy — but

from friends of the soul, it is hard to cut ties.

I will go to the garden, like a bud with a narrow heart,

and there, in good repute, I will tear a shirt.

Sometimes like the breeze with the rose, to tell hidden secrets —

sometimes to hear the mystery of love-play from the nightingales.

Kissing the beloved's lip — first, do not let it slip from hand —

for in the end you will grow weary of biting hand and lip.

Count the time of companionship as a prize — for from this two-road station,

once we pass, we cannot meet again.

They say Hafez has gone from the memory of King Yahya —

O Lord, remind him of nurturing the dervish.