Falsely pious, of our state are unaware
No offence if their words our hearts tear.
On the path, whatever you meet is for your good
On the straight and the narrow, can’t be lost there.
Whatever the rook may play, we’ll knock it down
On the chessboard of lovers, Kings won’t dare.
What is this multi-patterned, tall, simple dome?
Who is wise to this riddle? Show me where?
Is this your grace, O Lord, powerful, wise?
Too many hidden wounds; no time to catch a breath of air.
It’s as if the Judge of our Court is not fair.
This Royal Seal, sign of God does not bear
Whoever wishes may come, and whatever, may declare.
No guards, no grandeur, this hall is bare
Those who enter the tavern, openly share.
Those who sell themselves, meet the wine-seller’s glare
Whatever befalls us is the doing of our own affair.
Your grace is not rare, and there’s no one you’d spare
I serve the Tavern-Master, with his endless love and care.
Piety, sometimes is cold, sometimes will flare.
Hafiz gracefully declines from taking the head chair
Lovers are free from fortune and fame’s snare.
© Shahriar Shahriari
Los Angeles, Ca
January 9, 2000