Hafez · Ghazal 101 · Come what may
شراب و عیش نهان چیست؟ کار بی‌بنیادزدیم بر صف رندان و هر چه بادا باد
گره ز دل بگشا وز سپهر یاد مکنکه فکر هیچ مهندس چنین گره نگشاد
ز انقلاب زمانه عجب مدار که چرخاز این فسانه هزاران هزار دارد یاد
قدح به شرط ادب گیر زان که ترکیبشز کاسه سر جمشید و بهمن است و قباد
که آگه است که کاووس و کی کجا رفتند؟که واقف است که چون رفت تخت جم، بر باد؟
ز حسرت لب شیرین هنوز می‌بینمکه لاله می‌دمد از خون دیده فرهاد
مگر که لاله بدانست بی‌وفایی دهرکه تا بزاد و بشد، جام می ز کف ننهاد
بیا بیا که زمانی ز می خراب شویممگر رسیم به گنجی در این خراب آباد
نمی‌دهند اجازت مرا به سیر سفرنسیم باد مصلا و آب رکن آباد
قدح مگیر چو حافظ مگر به ناله چنگکه بسته‌اند بر ابریشم طرب دل شاد
Something has knotted itself in your heart, and you may be trying to work it out by thinking harder. Hafez gently suggests you stop. No clever mind has untied the knot of fate, and time has seen countless stories like yours. Kings came and went; the tulip, knowing life is short, kept its cup in hand. Be open and honest rather than secretive, enjoy the treasures close to home, and let music and good company loosen what thinking cannot. Joy is the wiser path.
What are secret wine and hidden pleasure? A thing without foundation.
We have joined the ranks of the rends, come what may.
Untie the knot in your heart, and do not think about the heavens,
for no geometer's thought has ever untied this knot.
Do not wonder at the changes of time, for the wheel
remembers thousands upon thousands of such tales.
Take up the cup with reverence, for it is made
from the skulls of Jamshid, Bahman and Qobad.
Who knows where Kavus and Kay have gone?
Who knows how the throne of Jamshid went to the wind?
From longing for Shirin's lip, I still see
the tulip springing from the blood of Farhad's eyes.
Perhaps the tulip understood the faithlessness of the world,
for from its birth until it died, it never set the wine cup down.
Come, come, let us be ruined with wine for a while;
perhaps we will find a treasure in this ruined dwelling.
They will not give me leave to travel,
the breeze of Mosalla and the water of Roknabad.
Like Hafez, take the cup only to the lament of the harp,
for the happy heart is bound to the silk strings of joy.