Ghazal 440

At dawn I was telling the wind the tale of my longing —

a voice came: Be assured of the kindnesses of the Lord.

The prayer of dawn and the sigh of night are the key to the treasure of purpose —

go in this way and manner, and you will be joined with the beloved.

The pen has not the tongue to tell the secret of love —

beyond the limit of expression is the account of longing.

O you, Joseph of Egypt, whom sovereignty has made proud! —

ask after your father — where has the love of the child gone?

The world — this coquettish old hag — has no mercy in her nature —

why do you ask of her love? Why do you pin hope on her?

A phoenix of your high worth — how long this greed for bones? —

pity that shadow of aspiration you have cast upon the unworthy.

In this market, if there is profit, it is with the contented dervish —

O God, make me rich in dervishhood and contentment.

To the verse of Hafez of Shiraz, they dance and preen —

the dark-eyed ones of Kashmir and the Turks of Samarkand.