Poem #386

For God's sake, sit less with the pious wearers of the cloak

do not hide your face from the wild, chaotic libertines.

This Sufi cloak conceals a thousand stains

blessed is the robe of the wine-seller, pure and honest.

I found no pain of love in these pretended saints

may the dregs-drinkers find pure joy in their bitter draught.

Your nature is too delicate to bear

the heavy burden of these hypocritical ascetics.

Since you have made me drunk, do not sit veiled

since you have given me the wine, do not offer me poison.

Come, and see the sorrow caused by these deceivers

the wine-flask bleeds its heart, and the harp cries out in pain.

Beware the burning passion of Hafez

for his chest is a cauldron boiling with love.