غزل شمارهٔ 94

On account of that heart-cherishing beloved, thanks with complaint are mine: If thou be a subtlety-understander of love list well to this tale.

Rewardless was and thankless every service that I rendered: O Lord! void of kindness let none be the served one.

To profligates, thirsty of lip, none giveth a little water: Thou mayest say: “Those recognizing holy men have departed from this land.”

O heart! In His tress-like noose, twist not; For, there, Thou seest severed heads, crimeless, guiltless.

With a glance, Thy eye drank our blood; and Thou approvest: O Soul! lawful is not protection to the blood-shedder.

In this dark night, lost to me became the path of my purpose: O Star of guidance! come forth from the corner.

From every direction, where I went naught increased to me save terror. Beware of this desert, and of this endless Path.

Of this Path, the end openeth no form For, in its beginning, are a hundred thousand stages more.

Although, thou snatchedest my honor, I turn not my face from Thy door: More pleasant is violence from the Beloved, than from the enemy, courtesy.

To thy complaint, love reacheth, if like Hafez Thou recite the Kuran with the fourteen traditions.