The well of remembrance draws not from memory,
but from the fount of Silence that is creativity.
Do you remember, do you forget, the stillness of rose
unfolding? Such is how the longing spirit boldly grows.
Bolbol, singing from the divan’s ancient pristine page–
your song is always singing from its timeless cage!
I see Hafez in the Garden’s corner, emerald tendrils
twining his tunic richly with brocade of ruby frills.
Lost to all in flashing verdant green, and widening red,
the Poet’s smile reveals laughter from beyond the dead.
Sing Hafez, sing again the song that destroys time. Sing
me awake with the love that has forever crowned you King.
O Darvish, how you cry with the pain left by sharp thorn,
which has written your song in blood, and left you forlorn.