An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 342
The dust of my body becomes the veil upon the face of the soul;
happy the moment when I lift that veil from off that face!
Such a cage is no fit lodging for so sweet a singer as I;
let me go to the rose-plot of Rizwan, for I am the bird of that meadow.
It was never made plain why I came, whither I have gone —
alas and woe, that I am heedless of my own affair!
How shall I circle in the open air of the world of holiness,
while in the narrow closet of my frame I am nailed fast to the body?
If from the blood of my heart there rises the scent of longing,
wonder not — I am fellow-sufferer of the musk-pod of Khotan.
Look not, like a candle, on the gold-wrought border of my shirt,
for there are burnings hidden deep within my shirt.
Come, and lift the being of Hafez from before Him,
for while You are present, no one hears me say 'It is I.'