An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 180
O you, whose pistachio mouth has mocked the very tale of sugar,
I ache for it — for God's own sake, let one sweet smile break forth.
The Tuba-tree dares breathe no word before your slender stature;
I pass on from this theme, for else the talk would run too long.
If you would not have the river of blood come welling from your eye,
then bind not up your heart to trust the troth of passing friends.
Whether you show your radiance forth, or whether you cast your taunts,
we hold no faith at all in the self-admiring shaikh.
How should he ever come to know the tumult of my state,
whose heart has never fallen a captive to this snaring noose?
The market of longing has grown hot — where is that cypress-form,
that I may cast my soul as incense-seed upon her face's fire?
There, where our own beloved breathes forth with a smile of sugar sweet,
O pistachio, who are you? For God's sake, mock not your own self.
Hafez, since you'll not forswear the sidelong glance of the Turks,
do you know where your place must be? Khwarazm, or else Khojand.