Darvish Khan Writes

I see the light of god in the Magian tavern.
Look, this is strange! I see what light from where?

Don’t sell me your pomp, king of the Haj- you
See a house of stone, and I see the house of god!

I wish to release the musk from the idol’s curls-
This is a big idea and no doubt a big blunder!

Burnt heart, tear’s flood, dawn’s sigh and night’s lament-
I see all of this by your sight- full of grace!

Mind’s thief is every moment a vision of you face.
To whom describe all that passes behind this veil?

No one sees in the musk of China or Khatan
What I see each morning from the dawn breeze.

Friends, don’t blame the playing eye of Hafez-
I see him as one beloved among your own.

notes: Hafez has a fascination for the themes of the
Magian elder and the Magian wine-house, or temple,
where idols and wine are to be found. These images
refer to Iran’s pre Islamic past. Here, Zoroaster is
the Prophet of light, the tavern is the house of god,
but the Kaba is a house of stone!

Religious sensibility is no match for spiritual reality!

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All my life each day I’ve been walking in search
and each moment made entreaty of reputation.

Without the waxing light of my love, how to pass the days?
I set a snare on the path, and place a bird inside it.

Where are Aurang and Golchere- image of faithful love?
And now, I make my best move to be a lover?

I know this coughing blood day and night
will bring to an end my grief and colorful story.

That I might have news of the slender cypress
all about I shout with love at graceful motion.

Although a quiet heart does not grant heart’s desire,
I draw fancy’s picture and hope for lasting augury.

Although absent from him and, like Hafez, down on wine,
among the spiritual I have a glass from time to time.

Notes: Regarding “reputation”: according to Meher Baba,
“Hafez was very ugly and born of poor parents. His father
was a coal merchant. Hafez, too, was a coal merchant and
very black with soot.” Lord Meher, 6138

Yet Hafez was guided by the star of his genius to become
the greatest poet in the Persian language!

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Last night, I saw angels knock on the wineshop door-
the clay of Adam had been mixed, and cast into a cup.

Those who dwell in the chaste and veiled heavens
drank strong wine with me, a wayside beggar:

“Heaven could not support the burden of his Trust”;
they cast the lots, and drew the name of desirous me.

Forgive the conflict of the seventy and two sects,
for they did not see the truth, and spun fantasy.

Thank god, that between us peace arrived;
the dancing angels drank the cup of gratitude!

It is not fire at which the candle’s flame laughed-
but fire it is by which the moth’s body burned!

Since they began to comb with pen the curls of speech, no one
has drawn aside the veil from the cheek of thought, like Hafez!

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our devotion and the friend’s royal threshold-
what crosses over our head is his inclination!

‘though mirrors of sun and moon were placed by his face,
i have not seen equal to the friend’s likeness.

dawn breeze, what news do you give of our constricted heart?
like the rose bud, it is petal upon petal enclosed!

i am not the only drinker in this temple of rend–
many the heads that from dust became the wine jug’s clay!

is it because you have combed your scented hair,
that both wind and earth are filled with your fragrance?

each rose petal upon the grass was shed by your face,
each cypress along stream’s edge bows to your form.

i will have my desire, for you cheek brushed my breast-
just as great fortune follows upon lovely omen!

hafez’s heart is not lit with the fire of longing-
like the wild tulip, it bears the scar of eternity.

clever speech describing our longing becomes dumb.
what chance would the cut reed and burnt words have?

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o friends, the time of the rose is for our delight.
this is the word of those with heart: listen to love!

no one is generous, and the time for joy is now.
our remedy is to sell the prayer rug for wine!

a delicate breeze stirs, bringing joy- o god, send
the slender one, to whose face we drink crimson wine!

venus, the sky’s musician, robs people of their virtue-
why should this tale not make us twist and shout!

the rose boils over into bloom without a drop of wine-
we cook continuously with fire of desire and despair!

we sip from a tulip-cup of fanciful sherbet.
o god, we are so stupid without wine and minstrel!

hafez, with whom can you share this state of wonder?
we are songbirds, but silent in the time of the rose.

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may your body never need the doctor’s care,
may your delicate form avoid all calamity.

the well being of all directions resides in you-
may no accident befall any part of you!

when autumn arrives to plunder the orchard,
may he not find the tall and slender cypress!

on that occasion when your beauty starts to glow,
may all blind and stupid reproach fall flat!

the perfection of form and meaning is your safety-
may your face and heart never be sad and dejected!

let no one look upon your moon-like face with evil eye-
may his sight be warded off by incense from your fire!

seek the cure from the sugar sweet speech of hafez-
that there be no more need for syrup and candy!

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don’t fill my heart with arrows from your glancing eye,
because under your languishing look i’ll die!

since beauty’s account is within the ledger of perfection,
grant me alms- i am so poor and indigent!

fill the glass, for amidst the wealth of love,
youth’s fortune in the world is mine, ‘though old.

my heart’s expanse was so filled by the friend,
that “myself” was all lost to thought of self.

may there be no account apart from minstrel and wine-
if my secretary’s pen has scratch to say about it!

in all this hubbub, where one can’t hear another,
i will receive grace from the magian elder.

preacher- to what end do you deceive us
with the garden’s apple, honey and milk?

i have made my arrangement with the wine-seller-
i will not greet the day of sorrow  without a glass!

i am that bird who each morning and night,
from the roof of heaven sings his song!

i have, like hafez, his treasure in my heart-
although the rivals find me all rubbish!

beautiful the moments of drunken bliss
which give me respite from king and courtier!

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If your musk scented curls committed a sin- it’s gone;
and if your Hindu mole has wrought havoc- it’s gone!

If the flash of love should burn those dressed in wool- burnt;
and if the shah’s cruelty has ruined a beggar’s life- ruined!

If the heart has suffered the beloved’s coyness- it’s passed;
and of all that comes and goes between heart and lover- it’s over!

Great vexation arises from those who gossip, but
when curse and cant subside from friends- it’s gone!

In the way of love, keep the heart calm- and bring wine;
all sin, you see, when clarity comes, is gone!

Stand fast, O heart, and endure the play of love;
if blame occurred, and if mistake was made, it’s all gone!

Don’t blame Hafez, o preacher, for he’s left the khanegah-
the feet of the free are not bound, and if gone– gone!

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remember him who did not remember us when leaving,
who did not comfort our grief with a goodbye.

that one blessed with youth who kept good accounts-
i don’t know why he didn’t free the old slave!

let us wash the shirt of regret with tears of blood-
for the heavens guide me not to the cry of justice!

the heart in hope of a voice reaching you
sobbed such stony cries as farhad did not know.

from the time you withdrew your shadow, dawn’s bird
has not made its nest in the box tree’s branching curls.

if the dawn breeze learned to ply its trade from you,
a more subtle motion than this it would not know.

the designer’s reed draws not desire’s portrait
save for he who has confessed to beauty god-given.

minstrel! lift the veil and strike the note of hejaz-
for by this note the friend has left and forgotten us!

note: farhad= the great lover of poetic tradition, was a stone worker.

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