Darvish Khan Writes

by your black eyebrows my faith has suffered a thousand cracks!
come, and i will remove from your languorous eye a thousand stings.

hey, companion of the heart whose friends are forgotten-
i never want a day without the thought of you each moment!

our time is old and crumbling- save us from the killer of farhad,
whose deceit and treachery has made me sad for shireen.

heat of longing’s fire has drowned me in beads of sweat, like the rose.
bring, night-wind, a fragrant breeze from the ever-refreshing one!

the realm of becoming is forever bound to beloved and saqi;
i see the kingdom of this world as the rogue guest of love.

if the beloved prefers another in place of me, he’s the judge.
god forbid i prefer my own life in place of the beloved!

because the vision of last night’s dream has left me reeling,
the nightingale said “good morning, saqi, where are you- wake up!”

i will leave my bed on the night of travel for the palace of virgins,
if when i surrender the soul, you are the candle at my pillow.

the hadith about desire recorded in this ghazal
is certainly without mistake, because hafez conveyed it.

notes: king khosrow promised farhad the king’s own wife,
shireen, who loved farhad, if he could dig a tunnel through a
mountain. but after farhad accomplished the miraculous, the king
had him killed. shireen means sweetness. saqi= wine bearer.
hadith= oral tradition going back to the prophet muhammad,
the veracity of which depends on exact transmission. hafez is
implying he got it straight from the prophet.

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at dawn, when khosrow of the east planted his flag in the hills,
my friend tapped on the door of the hopeful with the hand of mercy.

with the dawn, the sun of heaven became luminous,
and then rose and laughed brightly at all vainglory.

last night, when the beloved rose among us to dance,
he loosened his curly hair to strike his lovers’ breasts.

with heart’s blood, i washed my hands at once of all virtue
when his wine-filled glance called the sober to prayer.

what sword taught his heart this practice of deceit,
that when first drawn, the watchmen of night were struck!

the poor heart fancied a horseman, who disappeared.
o lord, protect it from the love of an army of riders!

for the life and color of his cheek, what blood and soul we gave.
when hand first drew his form, the life of lovers was effaced.

by my woollen cloak, how might i secure the cruel beloved?
the one whose eyelashes like daggers pierce and enwrap me!

we regard the rolling dice of the shah’s success and prosperity-
grant the heart’s desire of hafez, who reads the fortune of the rich.

king of kings muzaffar, defender of faith and kingdom,
whose flood of generosity has mocked the spring rains,

from that hour when, by his hand, the wine cup was ennobled,
our age drinks the cup of joy to the life of wine-lovers.

victory flashed from his head-severing sword on that day
when, like the star-burning sun, he alone cut down hundreds.

by god’s grace, my heart-prayer is for his lasting life and kingdom,
even as heaven has minted this royal coin in the world of time.

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full of youth and joy that day i leave this ruined house,
and seek comfort for my soul: i will find the beloved.

although i know the foreign road has no end,
i will pursue the scent of her disheveled curls.

with hurt body and spent heart, like the dawn breeze
i will follow that striding cypress with affection.

my heart was terrified of alexander’s prison-
i will pack up and find the kingdom of solomon.

if, on the way to him, i have to travel on my head like a pen,
i will go with a wounded heart and weeping eye.

i vowed one day, if i walk through this door of pain,
that i would enter the wine house happy and singing.

a dancing dust mote longing for him,
i will go to the eye of the blazing sun.

the arabian does not know the donkey’s burden.
o pure one, help me to travel with joy and ease!

if, like hafez, i don’t find my way out of this desert,
i will go with the retinue of the asaf of our time.

notes: asaf= proverbially wise counsellor to solomon,
and a sobriquet for hafez’s patron.

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in the royal sun-like mirror reflecting your beauty,
is the turning censer of black musk, your mole.

i washed the palace courtyard of the eye, but why?
this corner is not worthy of your mind’s calvary.

o sun of beauty, you are the summit of grace-
my lord, may you never set until the ressurection!

no more excellent image of you will exist
than the portrait in pen with eyebrows of musk!

why are you so sad, o heart, wrapped in her curls-
when the dawn breeze spoke of you as enamored?

the scent of rose has rioted- enter by the door of peace;
o new spring, the cheek of grace is your augury!

so that the heavens become a ring for our ears,
where is the twinkling eye and crescent eyebrow?

that i might again approach fortune with praise,
where is the news of the festival of union?

this black point which has become the pivot of light,
is the reflection in the garden of vision of your mole.

before the master, of what should i complain-
a list of my own needs, or your great vexation?

hafez, the heads of so many drinkers lie on the floor-
but don’t be deluded that it’s beyond your capacity!

notes: hafez had to earn a living. ring for our ears…=
since slaves are marked by earrings, “enslave us with
your heavenly beauty”. black point= hafez’s pupil, which
reflects the patron’s mole. this line echoes the first.

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I have come from the heart, but with no success;
I came out of myself, but did the friend come in?

In this way life’s span has reached an end, yet
the trials of your long curls remain endless!

I have such longing in the dust at your door,
I now die for the water of life I’ll never see!

My heart has many stories about the dawn breeze,
but with my luck tonight, the dawn will never come!

Maybe, by the beloved face of the friend-
but by no other, will all of this come to pass.

We have not sacrificed life or goods for the friend;
alas, that not even this much have we done for love!

Hafez’s heart has become so very shy of everyone
that he now hides himself in your curls upon curls!

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i have hope of grace from the excellent friend;
i offended him, and my hope is his forgiveness.

i cried so much that all who passed and saw
my flowing tears, asked “what flood is this”?

i know he will pass over my blame. although
playful spirit, his nature is like an angel.

in your alley, we played with heads like they were balls,
but no one knew what the head, or what the alley, was!

without why or what your curls caught my heart:
whose face can argue with your entangling curls!

it is a lifetime since i caught scent of your curl’s fragrance-
yet that smell of heart’s memory remains ever fresh.

i wonder at vision’s image which has not left
my eye, ‘though each moment is washed away.

hafez, your unkempt state is unfortunate, but
in hope of the friend’s dishevelled curls, beautiful!

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however much i’ve discussed pain with doctors,
they have not cured the strange and the poor.

the seal on the jewel case of friendship is broken.
o lord, may the rival’s desire be frustrated!

to the rose torn open by the hand of wind-
may your shame be for the nightingale’s song.

we spoke of our secret pain with the friend-
such pain can’t be hidden from the healer.

o lord, grant the protection that once again
the eyes of lovers may see the beloved’s face.

o provider, for how long will we be denied
a portion of the feast spread on your table?

hafez, you would not be crazy about the rose
if you had heeded polite and proper advice!

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