Poem #226

I fear my tears will tear grief's veil and let the world see through

and this sealed secret will become the talk of all night's rendezvous.

They say stone turns to ruby in patience's sacred station true

yes, it does, but only bathed in liver's blood it breaks through.

I want to go weeping to the tavern, seeking justice for my plight

perhaps from sorrow's grip my soul may there find its release tonight.

From every direction I've sent prayer's arrows flying high

might at least one from that multitude prove effective by and by?

O soul, tell our tale back to the beloved once again

but speak so soft that not even the morning breeze learns what you explain.

Your love's alchemy turned my face to gold, a transformation bright

yes, through your grace's blessing, even dust becomes pure gold's delight.

I'm trapped in bewilderment by my rival's arrogant pride

O Lord, let not the beggar gain respect while I'm denied!

Beyond mere beauty, many subtleties one needs to learn and know

before discerning people's hearts will favor and acceptance show.

This lofty pride that crowns union's palace high and grand

makes heads become like threshold dust beneath its stern command.

Hafez, when her tresses' musk-pouch falls into your hand's embrace

hold your breath—else the morning breeze will spread news of your grace.