Ali Salami

Hafiz: Ghazal 14 [Beds of Thorns]

To my dear heart I thus did say, “O queen of radiant mien,

Extend, I pray, thy grace to me, a soul by fortune seen.”

But she, in tones both clear and keen, did thus to me relay,

“He wanders lost, who obeys heart’s whims, and from wisdom does stray.”


“Stay thee a moment, do not from me part,” I did entreat.

“How might one, reared ‘neath thy roof, unversed in worldly street,

Bear the weight of many a sorrow, many a heart’s defeat?”

She mused, her words a tapestry of wonder, soft and sweet.


The needy on beds of thorns do lie, their heads on stones repose,

Would one in richness swathed, in dreams on velvet rose,

Spare a thought for such strife, for such worldly woes,

Or in their silken slumber, find no cause to those disclose?


O cherished one, whose locks like chains do twine,

Upon thy cheek a beauty spot, as dark as musk, doth shine.

‘Gainst rosy hue it stands, a mark so fine,

Befitting thee, beyond compare, a trait divine.


O Beloved, the wine’s glow on thy lunar face doth show,

As a scarlet petal’s charm amidst rose gardens in full blow.

So unique, so rare, amidst the bloom’s sublime array,

Thy visage shines, a singular grace, by night or day.


Though gardens’ weaves of scents doth many a suitor charm,

They scarce bewitch as doth the blood-red threads upon thine arm.

So delicate and fine, upon thy cheek they lay,

A beauty that doth astound, and all else doth outweigh.


I warned, “Attend the wanderer’s cries at dawn’s first light,

For thy night-black locks that veil thy brow in night

Do cast a shadow o’er those who trail thy flight,

Leaving them in darkness, far from thy sight.”


She answered thus: “Hafiz, if even kin do quake in fear,

How can it be that thou, a stranger here,

Find’st thyself in such a state, forlorn and drear,

Where sadness reigns and comfort seems so sheer?”


گفتم ای سلطانِ خوبان رحم کن بر این غریب

گفت در دنبالِ دل، رَه گُم کُنَد مسکین غریب

گفتمش مَگذر زمانی، گفت معذورم بدار

خانه پروردی چه تاب آرد غم چندین غریب

خفته بر سنجابِ شاهی نازنینی را چه غم؟

گر ز خار و خاره سازد بستر و بالین غریب

ای که در زنجیرِ زلفت جایِ چندین آشناست

خوش فتاد آن خالِ مشکین بر رخِ رنگین غریب

می‌نماید عکسِ مِی، در رنگِ رویِ مَه وَشَت

همچو برگِ ارغوان بر صفحهٔ نسرین، غریب

بس غریب افتاده است آن مور خَط، گِردِ رُخَت

گرچه نَبوَد در نگارستان، خطِ مشکین غریب

گفتم ای شامِ غریبان طُرِّهٔ شبرنگِ تو

در سحرگاهان حذر کن چون بنالد این غریب

گفت حافظ آشنایان در مقامِ حیرتند

دور نَبوَد گر نشیند خسته و مسکین غریب



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