There are few things…

There are few things about which we are more certain:
love has always guided us from behind the curtain.

Love it was that sang its song on that very first day,
when the sea delivered us with our cry for a refrain.

We have found out that one kiss can never be enough:
we complain as your lips vanish- this was not the bargain!

We are never so inspired as by our own hunger;
and never so ardent as when searching for your lane.

Our strategy must be to somehow surrender our loss-
there is no way to win this struggle for love’s gain!

The more we long for you, the further away you recede;
crazy does not begin to describe the heart’s pain.

Darvish is desperate and cries out for help- he is drowning:
your lips have become the shores of a vast, mighty ocean!

 

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Ghazal #368, Revised with Rhyme


Come sufi, and we will rip off the cloak of hypocrisy,
and draw an X defacing this portrait so prissy.

We pledge the alms and offerings of the monastery-
we will wash the cloak of deceit with winehouse sherry!

The secret of fate concealed by the invisible curtain-
drunk, we will tear the veil from its cheek to be certain.

We will jump out, tipsy with joy at the sufi’s banquet,
and plunder all, seizing wine and beauty to vet!

We will enjoy ourselves or, if not, die from regret
on the day the soul’s affairs are held to account.

Where the glance from her arched brow like a crescent,
for us to play the ball of time with a stick luminescent?

If, tomorrow, the garden of paradise is not granted to us,
servants and houris will be dragged out with great fuss!

Hafez, it is not our right to boast and be so smug-
why shove your foot out from under your own rug?

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ghazal #212, revised with rhyme

From the very beginning, and until the very end,
The one worthy of grace holds the cup of desire as friend.

That very moment I was about to repent of wine,
I said, “remorse will be the only fruit off this vine.”

I threw the lilly white prayer rug over my back;
Would rose red, like that of wine, make a Moslem cloak?

With out the lamp of the cup, my solitary seat is beyond sight;
Look- the back alley of the people of heart must have light!

Forget the jeweled cup, but nurture the sublime desire-
To the Rend, the water of the grape is rarest ruby fire!

Although our work appears a muddle, don’t think it easy-
Indeed, begging is the pride of Sultans in this country.

If you desire good name, O heart, don’t talk with the loose-
My dear, proof of ignorance lies with the seduced!

Spring, good friends and reciting poetry among us,
To not seize the wine cup from the beloved- what a loss!

Yesterday, a friend said, “Hafez drinks in secret”;
My dear, that is no crime when better done in private!

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We have surrendered to you as lord, master and friend

We have surrendered to you as lord, master and friend;
your glory as truth and beauty we have sworn to defend.

Our allegiance to the past is buried with a shovel-
we no longer live in rite and ritual’s shoddy hovel.

Truth’s bright flame does not burn in religious cant,
but smolders in the black smoke of priestly rant.

Institutional faith has passed its expiration date:
moldy white bread served on a gilded dinner plate!

We no longer despair about religion’s integrity-
long ago we consigned it to outhouse probity.

We have remained cheerful despite spiritual filth:
the beloved’s smile uplifts us with joyous mirth.

Our great fortune is to no longer bother with the dull-
Darvish cries out with each breath, the beloved is all in all!

italics: line from francis brabazon

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My memory revives the time of your long curly hair

My memory revives the time of your long curly hair,
how it released such scented bliss and rich despair!

The eternal living ancient one was your visage;
repeat the beloved’s name earnestly was your message.

A slap from your soft hand sent robust men flying,
a glance from your steel eyes- continuous crying.

Your dargah was called manzel-e-meem, house of the master;
all of your disciples saw in you the light of Zoroaster:

The name newly given you was Meher, and means the sun;
it also means love and mercy, or simply, compassion.

Like your father- a fakir, poverty was your glory,
and the infinite wealth of heart your unending story.

Darvish, cry and cry again to see his long curly hair,
but about his fierce beauty and soft hands- beware!

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The spinning earth celebrates your holy throne

The spinning earth celebrates your holy throne,
the four directions are united in you, their king.

The ground and sky exalt you with lasting embrace;
the stars circle around your radiant face.

All the five elements cohere at your pleasure,
your breath animates every form’s measure.

Life and death applaud your silent presence;
neither would have existence in your absence.

Heaven and hell cry out in praise of your name-
but for you, above and below would be the same.

You are Qutub, the divine axis of creation-
the pivot and center of our immense elation!

Darvish whirls about the Avatar, his Master;
by his grace, this dance will be no disaster!

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we cry out…

[cincopa AQJAHdKzY4-m]we cry out for the hand of mercy to slap our face,
lest we fall asleep when the master proffers grace:

there is no more urgent task than to stay awake,
and receive the beloved for pure beauty’s sake.

we are snoring with such ambition, we can’t find
the beloved naked before us- we are so blind!

or, the night passes slowly, as we toss in our sleep-
and we become ever so devoted to counting sheep!

we hate the light from the comfort of our posh cave-
the shadows are so seductive, we denounce the brave:

“truth is not beauty, and beauty does not exist”,
this is the modern slogan on which we all subsist.

the dawn’s rosy fingers found darvish nodding-
with a start he got up, and kept on plodding.

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we only met you…

we only met you after you left your body behind,
but we know you to be compassionate, most kind.

your loving presence has always remained with us-
even awakening the stony heart to feel your kiss.

stone must break to release the secret joy within-
only dust can rise to the clap of the master’s whim.

age after age rolls by to crush the hardened heart,
we must long for the master and from him never part.

god help us to believe in our own grinding pain-
there is no other way to abide in lover’s lane.

the world throws salt on the wounds of our endeavor,
we cry out for grace to unite us with you forever.

the dawn breeze spoke to darvish about god’s deep trust-
one day, by the master’s touch, he will be singing dust!

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in the beginning…

in the beginning, god was sleeping and heaved a sigh
that breathed me into being with the gasp of my first cry:

“i am born as gas!”,  and thus began my cosmic journey-
to suffer all form in time, and from all form in time be free.

gas is nothing but space, and without boundaries-
to establish identity, however, this is a quandary:

i fell in love with dull rock and all its many edges;
i hugged myself intensely down through the ages.

at last, my self regard wore away to reveal some light;
i became shiny metal- don’t think this advance was slight!

after millions of years, and i had become pure gold,
i longed to reach for the sun as a puddle of green mold.

this was more than brilliant, you see, because as vegetable,
i could breathe and twitch a bit, and become more colorful.

after aeons as all kinds of plants, i still longed to move;
as a worm inching about, i found, i had lots to prove.

in short, my life as a reptile was rather cold and snaky:
i had no warm regard at all for my victims’ pleas.

but when i became a fish, i learned how to swim,
although the deep, dark depths of ocean got pretty dim.

at last, after i had become an acrobatic dolphin,
i yearned to get my wings, and begin to start flying.

ages and ages flew by as this and that kind of bird:
i got really tired of basically the same aerial mood.

then, i began to grunt and discovered animal bliss,
i soon fell in love with my sharp ferocious kiss.

ages crawled, then clambered, pranced and raced by,
at last i was chimpanzee, gesticulating with my cries.

don’t laugh- i was about to master the syllable:
after many billions of years, i would start to babble!

o happy day when i first found out about human speech-
i could draw upon all i had learned, and begin to teach!

darvish, shut your mouth, you are not quite believable-
please fall at the feet of the dear master- most lovable!

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When can I see you, this is what I need to know

When can I see you, this is what I need to know;
your words full of promise are a grand empty show!

Minutes have become like days, and I can’t keep track
of when it was you said, “certainly, I’m coming back!”

I don’t know what to believe, and does it even matter?
You toss your words around like they were pizza batter.

You said such nice things, I can’t even consider;
what’s next I wonder: “I love you like no other”?

That’s right, I know you’ll say it: “you are most dear to me.”
That would be too corny- to love me, so perfectly!

I will bake you such a pie you can never resist:
all of my apple love and my sweet cinnamon kiss!

Wait, what’s that- a knock on the door; my lost lover?
Darvish, when you start crying like a woman, it’s over!

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