غزل شمارهٔ 337

In the pursuit of the desire of visiting my own (native) Land, why should I not be ? The dust of the head of my (true) Beloved's street, why should I not be ?

When the load of grief of being a stranger and the trouble, I bear not, To my own city, I go ; and, my own monarch, I shall be.

Of the confidential ones of the veil of union I shall be : Of the slaves of my own Lord, I shall be.

Since life's work (how it will pass ; how long it will show fidelity) is unknown, at least that is best That, on the day of events (the day of death) before (God) my idol (engaged in zikr and fikr; and, from that exterior to God, turned away), I shall be.

Of the hand of fortune, heavy with sleep ; and of resourceless work, If complaint be mine, my own secret-keeper, I shall be.

The being a lover and a profligate was ever my way ; Again, I will strive ; and engaged in my own work I shall be.

Hafiz ! perchance, the grace of eternity without beginning may be thy guide, If not, to eternity without end, ashamed of self, I shall be.