Ali Salami

Hafiz: Ghazal 91 [O Fickle Healer of Hearts]

O Beloved, shrouded from our mortal gaze, I commend thy essence to the Almighty’s keeping. Thou hast kindled in my breast a flame so fierce, yet my affection knows no bounds, engulfing both my heart and very soul in its consuming fervor.

I shall cling unto the hem of thy garment, unwavering, till the very earth claims me in its final embrace; the thought of parting holds no quarter in my heart.

Pray, allow me but a fleeting glimpse of the sanctuary that is thy brow, that the next morn, I might lift my hands in prayer, encircle thee in an embrace, and stand as thy bulwark against the world.

Should the path to thee lead me to the depths where Harut resides within the well of Babel, I would traverse a thousand enchantments, endure every trial, to claim a place by thy side anew.

O fickle healer of hearts, ‘tis under thy shadow that I wish to draw my last breath. Spare a moment to consider this charge of thine, look upon my state. In eager anticipation, I abide.

To sow the seeds of love within the garden of my heart, I have let my tears erode a moat around thee.

Indeed, ‘tis in the sanctuary of thy dimple that I find solace, which, with artful grace, does sever the chains of my exile with but a single, elegant sweep.

My ceaseless lament carves rivers anew, a monument to my yearning to create love within thy breast.

Draw me close, that the ardor in my bosom might spill forth pearls at thy feet, an endless offering to thy elegance.

Hafiz, be mindful that wine, beauty, and the path of the dervish serve but as ephemeral shelters; thou dost partake, yet not with the sanctity I attribute to them.

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ای غایب از نظر به خدا می‌سپارمت

جانم بسوختی و به دل دوست دارمت

تا دامنِ کفن نکشم زیرِ پایِ خاک

باور مکن که دست ز دامن بدارمت

محرابِ ابرویت بنما تا سحرگهی

دستِ دعا برآرم و در گردن آرمت

گر بایدم شدن سویِ هاروتِ بابلی

صد گونه جادویی بکنم تا بیارمت

خواهم که پیش میرمت ای بی‌وفا طبیب

بیمار باز پرس که در انتظارمت

صد جوی آب بسته‌ام از دیده بر کنار

بر بویِ تخمِ مِهر که در دل بکارمت

خونم بریخت وز غمِ عشقم خلاص داد

مِنّت پذیرِ غمزهٔ خنجر گذارمت

می‌گریم و مرادم از این سیلِ اشک‌بار

تخمِ محبّت است که در دل بکارمت

بارم ده از کرم سویِ خود تا به سوزِ دل

در پای دم‌به‌دم گهر از دیده بارمت

حافظ شراب و شاهد و رندی نه وضعِ توست

فِی‌الجمله می‌کنی و فرو می‌گذارمت

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