غزل شمارهٔ 71

The Zahed, outward worshipper! Of our state, knowledge is none. In respect of us, whatever he saith, room for abhorrence is none.

In Tarikat, whatever befalleth the holy Traveler is his welfare: O heart! In the straight highway, road lost is none.

That we may see how the game turneth, a pawn, I will move. The power of Shah to the chess-board of profligates is none.

What is this lofty roof, smooth, with many pictures? In the world, acquainted with this mystery, Sage there is none.

O Lord! Who is this independent One? What is this powerful creed? For this is all internal wound; but power of sigh is none.

Thou mayst say: “The Lord of the Secretariat knoweth not the account: For, in this imperial signature, trace of “Hasbatanu-li-llah” is none.

Whoever wisheth, say: “Come:” Whoever wisheth, say: “Speak:” In this Court is neither arrogance nor haughtiness; chamberlain, or door-keeper, is none.

To go to the Tavern-door is the work of those of one color: For the Self-sellers, path. into the street of the Wine-Sellers, “is none.”

Whatever unfitness there is, is by reason of our unfit, formless form: If not, on a person’s stature, thy dress of honor, short is none.

I am the slave of the Pir of the tavern, whose favor is constant: If not, the favor of the Shaikh and of the Zahed, is sometimes; and, sometimes is none.

If, through lofty spirit, Hafez sit not on the chief seat, The Lover, dregs of wine drinking, in the bond of property and of rank is none.