Drunk with Grief
I'am drunk with grief of love for Winehouse Friend of mine:
On my wounded heart you glance arrows of grief's design.
From mouth's box of honey lay a lotion on Hafiz's heart,
For it's bleeding from that knife like glance, a stinging sign.
The Divan of Hafiz
Fair wind, be kind - tell that lovely gazelle who it was
That made me wander distraught across desert sands and mountain cliffs.
The seller of sweets, may she have long life -
Why is she not generous to this parrot longing for honey?
The Feast of Spring
The honey-dew thy charm might borrow,
Thy lip alone to me is sweet;
When thou art absent, faint with sorrow
I hide me in some lone retreat.
Why talk to me of power or fame?---
What are those idle toys to me?
Why ask the praises of my name?
My joy, my triumph is in thee!
At harshness I have ceased to grieve, for none to light can bring
A rose that is apart from thorns, or honey void of sting.
The framework of this mortal form may rot within the mold,
But in my soul a love exists which never shall grow cold.
Am I wrong to be contented in the sunlight to rehearse
Pleasant tales of love and lovers in my honey-laden verse ?
From the Ghazals
This sweetness, honey and pure sugar, my words carry:
a reward of patience. I've taste of that sugar and honey.
Grace of Hafez, and the breath of those night prayers
have rescued me from slavery in pains of times.