Ghazal 62

Welcome, O messenger of the yearning ones — bring the friend’s word,

that I may gladly sacrifice my life for the name of the friend.

Bewildered and wild always, like a nightingale in a cage,

is the parrot of my nature, from love of the sugar and almond of the friend.

Her tress is the snare and her mole the seed of that snare — and I,

in hope of a seed, have fallen into the trap of the friend.

He will not raise his head from drunkenness till the dawn of Judgment Day,

whoever, like me, in pre-eternity drank one sip from the cup of the friend.

I will say no more than a hint of my tale of longing, for

it would be a headache to show more importunity to the friend.

If my hand can reach, I will draw like kohl into my eye

the dust of a road that is honored by the footsteps of the friend.

My desire is toward union and the friend’s intent is toward parting —

I have given up my own desire, so that the wish of the friend may be fulfilled.

Hafez, burn in the pain of the friend and make do without a cure,

for there is no remedy for the restless pain of the friend.