Poem #372

Let us pass down the Tavern street, where wine and spirit pour

for all of us are beggars here, and need this sacred door.

On that First Day we breathed the air of Love and Rindy pride

we vowed to walk no other path, and cast all else aside.

Where Jamshid's throne and royal seat are scattered on the wind

'tis better to drink wine than grieve for what we leave behind.

Hoping to clasp that slender waist, and hold Her grace so near

we sit deep in our own heart's blood, like rubies red and clear.

Preacher, advise not those whose hearts are wild and disarrayed

we trade the dust of Her dear street for Eden's garden shade.

While Sufis dance in ecstasy and lead the mystic trance

we too shall raise a magic hand and join the cosmic dance.

Your wine-sip turned the dust to pearl and ruby, bright and grand

yet we are poor, and in your sight, less than the shifting sand.

Since, Hafez, to the Palace roof no ladder we can tread

we'll heap the dust of this high door upon our humble head.