Poem #367

I hold a fatwa from the Magian Elder, ancient and divine

where the Friend is not present, forbidden is the wine.

I long to rend this cloak of sham, what else is left to do?

For company of alien souls is torture to the true.

Hoping Her lip might spill a drop of vintage on my head

for years I've dwelt within the tavern, making it my bed.

Perhaps my ancient service has slipped from Her memory

O Morning Breeze, remind Her of the bond twixt Her and me.

If after a hundred years you pass the mound where I decay

my very bones will rise and dance to meet you on the way.

With a hundred hopes She took my heart, a captive at the start

surely the noble do not break the promise of the heart.

O Bud, be not distressed because your petals are so tight

the dawn's soft breath and morning breeze will open you to light.

Seek your cure, O heart, from a door other than the wise

for the lover's pain is never healed by reason's remedies.

Seek the pearl of knowledge that you carry when you go

for others shall inherit all the gold and wealth you show.

The trap is strong; unless God's grace shall help us to break free

Adam himself could not escape Satan's enmity.

Hafez, if gold and silver lack, why should you then complain?

Be glad for wit and poet's tongue—what better wealth to gain?