Poem #95
English Translation
Persian
The breeze of your curly tress keeps me constantly drunk
the trickery of your magic eye ruins me every moment.
مدامم مست میدارد نسیمِ جَعدِ گیسویت
خرابم میکند هر دم، فریبِ چشمِ جادویت
After so much patience, O God, will I see the night
when we light the candle of the eyes within the prayer-niche of your brow?
پس از چندین شکیبایی شبی یا رب توان دیدن
که شمعِ دیده افروزیم در محرابِ ابرویت
I cherish the blackness of my vision's tablet
hoping my soul might copy the darkness of your Indian mole.
سوادِ لوح بینش را عزیز از بهر آن دارم
که جان را نسخهای باشد ز لوحِ خالِ هندویت
If you wish to adorn the world forever
tell the morning breeze to lift the veil from your face.
تو گر خواهی که جاویدان جهان یکسر بیارایی
صبا را گو که بردارد زمانی برقع از رویت
And if you wish to banish the custom of annihilation
shake your tresses so a thousand souls may fall from every hair.
و گر رسمِ فنا خواهی که از عالم براندازی
برافشان تا فروریزد هزاران جان ز هر مویت
I and the morning breeze are two poor aimless wanderers
I drunk on your eyes' spell, and he on the scent of your hair.
من و بادِ صبا مسکین دو سرگردانِ بیحاصل
من از افسونِ چشمت مست و او از بویِ گیسویت
What lofty aim Hafez holds! Of this world and the next
he sees nothing but the dust before your door.
زهی همت که حافظ راست از دنیی و از عقبی
نیاید هیچ در چشمش به جز خاکِ سرِ کویت
Cultural Context
US Interest Rank: 7/10. This poem expresses intense devotion to the beloved. The verse about the morning breeze and Hafez being 'two wanderers without result' is a poignant image. The observation that nothing comes in Hafez's eye 'except the dust of the head of your quarter' is a powerful statement of single-minded devotion. The verse about scattering so that 'a thousand souls may fall from every hair' is a striking image of the beloved's power. The poem's combination of emotional intensity and vivid imagery makes it engaging.
Related Poems
"O Cupbearer, circulate the cup and pass it, for love seemed easy at first but difficulties arose."
"If that Turk of Shiraz takes my heart in hand, **** I will give Samarkand and Bukhara for his Hindu mole."
"To the courtiers of the sultan, who will deliver this prayer? **** That in gratitude for kingship, do not drive the begg..."
"O cupbearer, arise and pour the cup, **** put dust on the head of the grief of days"