Thanks be to God that at long last the wine-shop's door
Is open, since it's what I'm longing, headed for.
The jars are clamoring, bubbling with intoxication.
The wine they hold is real and not a metaphor.
It brings me drunkenness and pride and dissipation
I bring my helplessness, and desperate need for more.
A secret I've not told to others, nor will tell,
I'll tell my Friend. With him a secret is secure.
It's no short story. It describes each twist and turn
In my beloved's hair. For lovers have much lore.
Majnún's heart fell for Layla's curls, as King Mahmoud's
Face fell at slave Ayáz's feet forevermore.
I, like a hawk, have sealed my eyes to all this world,
To catch sight of your face, the beauty I adore.
Whoever wanders in the Ka'ba of your street,
Your eyebrow is the Qibla he must pray before.
Friends who would know why humbled Hafiz' heart is burning,
Ask candles why they melt about a burning core.