Ghazal 71

The outward-worshipping ascetic is unaware of our condition —

whatever he says about us, there is no cause for dismay.

On the path, whatever comes before the traveler is his good fortune —

on the straight path, O heart, no one is astray.

Let us see what move the game reveals — we will advance a pawn;

on the chessboard of the rends there is no room for the king.

What is this high, plain ceiling of many designs?

Of this riddle, no wise one in the world is aware.

What self-sufficiency is this, O Lord? And what sovereign wisdom?

All these hidden wounds, and no room for a sigh.

The keeper of our ledger seems not to know the reckoning —

for in this decree there is no mark of “for God’s sake.”

Whoever wishes, say: Come! And whatever they wish, say: Speak!

Pride, coyness, chamberlain, and doorman — at this court there is none.

Going to the tavern’s door is the work of the sincere —

the self-sellers have no path to the lane of the wine-sellers.

Whatever shortfall there is comes from our own ungainly stature —

otherwise, the robe of your honor is not short for anyone.

I am the servant of the elder of the tavern, whose grace is constant —

whereas the grace of sheikh and ascetic is now here, now not.

If Hafez does not sit at the head, it is from his lofty taste —

the lover who drinks the dregs is not bound to wealth and rank.