An omen from Hafez
Ghazal 380
Many a time I have said it, and once again I say it now:
that I, the heart-bereft, tread not this road of my own will.
Behind the mirror they have kept me, in the manner of a parrot;
whatever the Master of eternity bade me 'say,' that I say.
Whether I am a thorn or a rose, there is one who adorns the meadow;
and by whatever hand He draws me forth, by that same hand I grow.
Friends, do not fault me, the bewildered one, bereft of heart;
I bear a jewel within me, and I seek a man of discerning eye.
Though with the parti-coloured, patchwork cloak the rose-red wine is a fault,
fault me not — for by it I wash the very stain of cant away.
The laughter and the weeping of lovers spring from some other source;
by night I sing, and at the hour of dawn I raise my lament.
My Hafez said to me: 'Smell not the dust of the tavern door';
say: fault it not — for what I breathe is the very musk of Khotan.