Poem #93
English Translation
Persian
What grace it was that a drop from your pen suddenly presented the rights of our service
before the court of your generosity.
چه لطف بود که ناگاه رَشحِهٔ قَلَمَت
حقوقِ خدمتِ ما عرضه کرد بر کرمت
With the reed's tip you wrote my greeting
so the workshop of Time is never left without your script.
به نوکِ خامه رقم کرده‌ای سلامِ مرا
که کارخانهٔ دوران مباد بی رقمَت
I will not claim you remembered this heartless one by mistake
for in wisdom's ledger your pen admits no errors.
نگویم از منِ بی‌دل به سهو کردی یاد
که در حسابِ خرد نیست سهو بر قلمَت
Do not make me abject in my gratitude for this blessing
may eternal fortune keep you honored and respected.
مرا ذلیل مگردان به شکرِ این نعمت
که داشت دولتِ سرمد عزیز و محترمت
Come, let me make peace with the tip of your tress
even if my head is lost, I will not lift it from your foot.
بیا که با سرِ زلفت قرار خواهم کرد
که گر سرم برود برندارم از قدمت
Your heart may know my state perhaps only when tulips bloom from the dust of your martyrs
when crimson flowers rise from the soil of those slain by your grief.
ز حالِ ما دلت آگه شود مگر وقتی
که لاله بردمد از خاکِ کشتگانِ غمت
Revive our thirsty soul with a single draught
as they pour the Water of Life from Jamshid's cup.
روانِ تشنهٔ ما را به جرعه‌ای دریاب
چو می‌دهند زُلالِ خِضِر ز جامِ جمَت
May your time be ever pleasant, O Jesus of the morning breeze
for Hafez's broken heart found life again in your breath.
همیشه وقتِ تو ای عیسیِ صبا خوش باد
که جانِ حافظِ دلخسته زنده شد به دمت
Cultural Context
US Interest Rank: 7/10. This poem appears to be a response to receiving a letter from the beloved. The verse about the tulip blooming 'from the dust of the slain of your grief' is a striking image. The reference to Khidr (a mystical figure) and Jam's cup adds cultural depth. The final verse calling the morning breeze 'Jesus' and saying it revived Hafez's soul is a beautiful spiritual image. The poem's combination of gratitude, devotion, and cultural references makes it engaging.
Related Poems
"O cupbearer, arise and pour the cup, **** put dust on the head of the grief of days"
"Don't seek obedience and covenant and righteousness from me, the drunk **** for I became famous for cup-measuring on the..."
"Go to your own work, O preacher—what is this shouting? **** My heart fell from the path; what has befallen you?"
"Since the end of your tress fell into the hand of the breeze **** the melancholic heart has split in two from grief"