Ghazal 89

O Lord, arrange a means that my beloved, in safety,

may return and free me from the bond of blame.

Bring the dust of the road of that traveled friend,

that I may make it the dwelling of my world-seeing eye.

Help! For from six directions they have blocked my way —

that mole, that down, those tresses, that cheek, that face, that form.

Today, while I am in your hand, show mercy —

tomorrow when I am dust, what use are tears of regret?

O you who speak of love through exposition and speech —

we have no words for you; farewell and peace.

Dervish, do not cry out from the sword of the beloved,

for this tribe takes their blood-price even from the slain.

Set fire to the cloak — for the arch of the cupbearer’s brow

is breaking down the corner of the imam’s prayer-niche.

Far be it that I should complain of your tyranny and injustice —

the cruelty of the graceful ones is all grace and miracle.

Hafez will not cut short the discourse on the tip of your tresses —

this chain has been linked until the Day of Judgment.