Hafez · Ghazal 22 · When you hear the people of heart
چو بشنوی سخن اهل دل، مگو که خطاستسخن‌شناس نه‌ای، جان من! خطا این جاست
سرم به دنیی و عقبی فرو نمی‌آیدتبارک الله ازین فتنه‌ها که در سر ماست
در اندرون من خسته‌دل ندانم کیست!که من خموشم و او در فغان و در غوغاست
دلم ز پرده برون شد، کجایی ای مطرب؟بنال، هان که از این پرده، کار ما به نواست
مرا به کار جهان هرگز التفات نبودرخ تو در نظر من چنین خوشش آراست
نخفته‌ام ز خیالی که می‌پزد دل منخمار صد شبه دارم شراب‌خانه کجاست؟
چنین که صومعه آلوده شد ز خون دلمگرم به باده بشویید، حق به دست شماست
از آن به دیر مغانم عزیز می‌دارندکه آتشی که نمیرد، همیشه در دل ماست
چه ساز بود که در پرده می‌زد آن مطربکه رفت عمر و هنوزم دماغ پر ز هواست
ندای عشق تو دیشب در اندرون دادندفضای سینه حافظ هنوز پر ز صداست
Something is stirring inside you, a voice that cries out even when you are silent. Hafez asks you not to dismiss it, and not to dismiss the words of wise hearts simply because you do not yet understand them. Love once called within him, and its echo never faded; it is what made the world beautiful in his eyes. That undying fire is not a burden but a gift, and it is what makes you welcome where it counts. Let the music that moves you play, and listen.
When you hear the words of the people of heart, do not say they are wrong;
you do not understand the words, my dear: that is where the error lies.
My head does not bow to this world or the next;
blessed be God, what turmoil fills our head!
I do not know who it is inside my weary heart,
for I am silent, and he is crying out in uproar.
My heart has slipped out of its veil: where are you, minstrel?
Play your lament, for in this mode our affairs are in tune.
I never paid attention to the affairs of the world;
your face, in my eyes, made it look so lovely.
I have not slept, for the fancy my heart is cooking;
I have the hangover of a hundred nights: where is the wine-house?
Since the cloister has been stained with my heart's blood,
if you wash me with wine, you are in the right.
They hold me dear in the monastery of the Magians
because a fire that never dies is always in our heart.
What melody was it that minstrel played behind the veil,
that life has gone, and still my head is full of its air?
Last night they called out your love within me;
the space of Hafez's breast is still full of its echo.