Rumi quatrain, #170 Foruzanfar

Lover shouts out for the candle of joy;
Candle comes but moth is silent- alas.
Behold a light better than day or night
O soul be quick, heart-fire longs for you!

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Rose twines the derelict

Rose twines the derelict,
graces old and cracked brick:
love adorns the broken,
but sighs for the perfect.

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Kabir, #78 from The Bijak of Kabir, translated by Linda Hess/ Shukdev Singh

Now I’ve understood
Hari’s magic play.
Beating his drum he rolls out the show
then gathers it in again.
The great Hari dupes gods, men and sages.
When he brings out the sorceress Maya
she baffles everyone in the house,
truth can’t enter a single heart.
The magic is false,
the magician true-
to the wise it’s clear.
Kabir says, what you understand
is what you are.

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Rumi quatrain, #1039 Foruzanfar

دل یاد تو ٱرد برود هوش ز هوش

Heart recalls you and all sense leaves the mind:
Without your sweet lips, how can I drink wine?
As eye longs to see the beauty of your form,
Ear longs to hear the music of your voice.

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Ghazal #42 from Ghazals For The Friend

Step after step we track you searching for some sign;
The salt of our tears burns our throat as your sweet wine.

We bear your living presence in our longing heart-
But your curls and dancing eyes, we can’t live without!

Farhad dug through rock to one day find his Shireen;
We breathe your name in hope that beauty’s form be seen.

Pale dawn broke and washed the eyes with shards of light
With the promise to blind desire to all but your sight.

We know we must renounce the lie of our own fiction;
We know we must die to our every conception.

The Friend’s warm hand will reach out and touch ours,
When breath strings his name into a garland of flowers.

With each step Darvish finds a clue in the wise earth;
Breathing, he longs to die and in his smile find rebirth.

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Die, my love, to the dawn’s light

Die, my love, to the dawn’s light;
Die, my friend, to all my strength.
Die, pretender, to the bright
Mercy of your longed for death!

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The Machine Age grinds and lurches to its beautiful end

The Machine Age grinds and lurches to its beautiful end,
As the ugly spirit of Iron breaks and rusts into oblivion.

Zarathustra was the first Prophet of this Kali Yug;
He brought Fire to forge Spirit, not smelt ore into sin.

He said, agriculture is the noblest of professions,
But today’s scientist-priest proffers monstrous grain. 

For ten thousand long years, the ice has been in retreat,
And will soon bring a flood to rival Noah’s dominion.

The prophet Marx predicted our fall when he declared
Corporate Greed is like a cannibal that eats our children.

But no worries; our end is not just another blame-game:
Zarathustra’s fire is back with a scorching salvation!

When we are reduced to tilling for our food with pure song,
The waters will retreat and divine love be our orison.

At the end of time, Darvish will joyously exclaim
As holy Ganga turns around and drinks up the ocean.

 

 

 

 

 

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Ghazal #396 Divan-e-Hafez, Khanlari

On the ranks of the Rend cast your glance- better than this!
Beat a path to the winehouse’ door- better than this!

In all truth, I swear that the grace your lip commands
Is excellent, but a bit more would be- better than this!

To he whose thought loosens the world’s knots- say:
In this subtle matter, marshal a view- better than this!

What shall I do but give my heart to that precious youth:
The mother of time has not a son- better than this!

My advisor said, what, other than grief, does love possess;
Go, O learned one, what great skill is- better than this?

When I say, drink the glass and kiss the saqi’s lips,
Listen, my dear, because no one says it- better than this!

The sweetest branch of sugar cane is Hafez’s pen. Take it-
For in this garden you will find no fruit- better than this!

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Ghazal #141 Divan-e-Hafez, Khanlari

What is this drunkenness that the way has brought us-
Who’s the saqi, and from where did the wine come to us?

What mode does he strike, this minstrel well versed in song
Who in mid-ghazal talks about the friend’s promise?

Because of the sweet-singing bird’s melody, come
Cup in hand, and take up the way to this wilderness.

The violet with joyous beauty, the jasmine with purity;
May the arrival of rose and jonquil be so blessed!

The dawn breeze of good news is Solomon’s hoopoe,
Who flies from Sheba’s garden with tidings joyous.

O heart like a rosebud, do not complain of the enclosed,
When dawn’s breeze has made what was all tangled loose.

The cure for the weak heart lies in the saqi’s glances:
The doctor has now arrived with remedy’s presence.

I am the Magian Elder’s slave; don’t cavil, O sheikh:
Why?- he has fulfilled for me what was your promise!

I demure by the narrow eyes of that martial Turk
Who attacked me- a dervish with only a single dress!

The heavens now obey Hafez’s slavery because
He has taken refuge at the door of your largesse.

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Ghazal #381 Divan-e-Hafez, Khanlari

Like the rose each moment in hope of your fragrance,
From head to foot I take off the body’s garments.

The rose saw your body. One would think like a drunk
In a garden, it would shed its many adornments.

The pain of longing for you has mired my soul in troubles,
But how easily the heart succumbed to your advances!

By the enemy’s word you have abandoned the friend;
Who befriends the enemy by reason of such nonsense?

Your body in its robe is like wine in its glass, but
Why is your heart like iron that silver encases?

Drip, O candle, blood-tears from your wounded eye
As your burning heart fills the world with brilliance.

Don’t so act that my liver’s burning sighs leave my chest
And rise from a chimney’s throat like smoky incense!

Don’t break my heart and toss it underfoot because
It makes its home in your curly hair’s extravagance.

Since Hafez has bound his heart with your curly hair,
Do not for this reason trample upon his persistence.

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