Not even Shangrila is more beautiful
Than being in Winehouse Street.
So why should I keep hiding all my desires?
With this jug of wine and this beautiful place, I’ve got everything I need.
I belong here in His house and in the fields of my native land
Where I get pleasure from looking at lovely faces and enchanting eyes.
Are you listening? Is there no one else this mad?
My words, though they may sound sweet, are really useless and vain.
Be respectful when you talk of the Master’s abode,
For not even a Brahmin or a dervish knows of these things.
O Beloved, there is no room left in my heart
For anything but You!
Please show pity on poor Hafiz. He is wounded and in pain.
Even if he seems happy today, he is waiting for sunlight, and all it ever
Seems to do is rain.
- Translation by Thomas Rain Crowe
- From: Drunk on the Wine of the Beloved 100 Poems of Hafiz – Shambhala 2001
- Reprinted with permission