Poem #392

Do you know what fortune is?

To see the face of the Friend; to choose beggary in his lane over the kingship of the world.

It was easy to sever desire from life itself

but to cut oneself from dear friends—that is a task most hard.

I wish to go into the garden like the tight-budded rose

and there, for the sake of a good name, tear my shirt in ecstasy.

Sometimes, like the breeze, to whisper hidden secrets to the Rose

sometimes to hear the mystery of love from the Nightingale.

Do not let the chance to kiss the Friend's lip slip from your hand

for in the end, you will bite your lip and hand in regret.

Count this conversation as a prize

for once we pass from this two-door way station, we shall not meet again.

Say that Hafez has gone from King Yahya's memory

O Lord, bring to his mind the nurturing of the dervish.