Hafez · Ghazal 373 · Rise, let us take the Sufi's cloak
خیز تا خرقه صوفی به خرابات بریمشطح و طامات به بازار خرافات بریم
سوی رندان قلندر به ره آورد سفردلق بسطامی و سجاده طامات بریم
تا همه خلوتیان جام صبوحی گیرندچنگ صبحی به در پیر مناجات بریم
با تو آن عهد که در وادی ایمن بستیمهمچو موسی ارنی گوی به میقات بریم
کوس ناموس تو بر کنگره عرش زنیمعلم عشق تو بر بام سماوات بریم
خاک کوی تو به صحرای قیامت فرداهمه بر فرق سر از بهر مباهات بریم
ور نهد در ره ما خار ملامت زاهداز گلستانش به زندان مکافات بریم
شرممان باد ز پشمینه آلوده خویشگر بدین فضل و هنر نام کرامات بریم
قدر وقت ار نشناسد دل و کاری نکندبس خجالت که از این حاصل اوقات بریم
فتنه می‌بارد از این سقف مقرنس برخیزتا به میخانه پناه از همه آفات بریم
در بیابان فنا گم شدن آخر تا کیره بپرسیم مگر پی به مهمات بریم
حافظ آب رخ خود بر در هر سفله مریزحاجت آن به که بر قاضی حاجات بریم
This ghazal asks you to drop pretence and to know the worth of the present moment. Hafez warns that a heart which lets its hours pass without doing anything will carry regret. If you feel lost, he says, ask the way; there is no shame in that. When the times are stormy, find your refuge where your spirit can breathe. And above all, do not spend your dignity knocking at the doors of people who cannot help. Take what you need to the One who meets every need, and act on what matters.
Rise, let us take the Sufi's cloak to the tavern,
and carry ecstatic boasts and miracle-talk to the market of nonsense.
To the qalandar rendan, as gifts from our journey,
let us bring the cloak of Bastami and the prayer-mat of pretension.
So that all the hermits may take up the morning cup,
let us carry the dawn harp to the door of the elder of prayers.
The pledge we made with you in the Valley of Safety,
let us bring, like Moses crying “Show me”, to the appointed meeting.
Let us beat the drum of your honour on the battlements of the Throne,
and carry the banner of your love to the roof of the heavens.
Tomorrow, on the plain of resurrection, the dust of your street
we will carry on our heads, for pride.
And if the ascetic sets the thorn of blame in our path,
we will drag him from his rose-garden to the prison of retribution.
Shame on us for our soiled woollen cloak
if, with such virtue and skill as ours, we speak of miracles.
If the heart does not know the worth of the moment and does nothing,
how much shame we will carry from this harvest of our hours!
Trouble rains down from this vaulted ceiling; rise,
let us take refuge in the tavern from every calamity.
How long, in the end, to be lost in the desert of annihilation?
Let us ask the way; perhaps we will find the track to what matters.
Hafez, do not spill your honour at every low man's door;
better to take your need to the One who meets all needs.