Hafez · Ghazal 71 · The zahid who worships appearances
زاهد ظاهرپرست از حال ما، آگاه نیستدر حق ما، هرچه گوید، جای هیچ اکراه نیست
در طریقت هرچه پیش سالک آید، خیر اوستدر صراط مستقیم، ای دل، کسی گمراه نیست
تا چه بازی رخ نماید بیدقی خواهیم راندعرصه‌ی شطرنج رندان را مجال شاه نیست
چیست این سقف بلند ساده بسیارنقش؟زین معما، هیچ دانا در جهان، آگاه نیست
این چه استغناست یا رب؟ وین چه قادر حکمت است؟کاین‌همه زخم نهان است و مجال آه نیست
صاحب دیوان ما گویی نمی‌داند حسابکاندر این طغرا، نشان حسبة لله نیست
هر که خواهد گو: «بیا!» و هرچه خواهد گو: «بگو!»کبر و ناز و حاجب و دربان، بدین درگاه نیست
بر در میخانه رفتن، کار یکرنگان بودخودفروشان را به کوی می‌فروشان، راه نیست
هرچه هست از قامت ناساز بی‌اندام ماستور نه تشریف تو، بر بالای کس، کوتاه نیست
بنده‌ی پیر خراباتم که لطفش، دائم استور نه لطف شیخ و زاهد، گاه هست و گاه نیست
«حافظ»، ار بر صدر ننشیند، ز عالی‌مشربی‌ستعاشق دردی‌کش اندر بند مال و جاه نیست
People who see only the surface may misjudge you, and Hafez tells you not to resent them. His counsel is steady: whatever comes to you on an honest path is, in the end, for your good. You do not need to solve the riddle of the sky; make your next small move and watch the game unfold. Be all of one colour, sincere inside and out, and seek out kindness that is constant rather than kindness that comes and goes. The place of honour matters less than a free heart.
The zahid who worships appearances knows nothing of our state;
whatever he says about us, there is no cause for resentment.
On the path, whatever comes to the traveller is for his good;
on the straight road, O heart, no one goes astray.
Let us see what game unfolds: we will move a pawn forward;
on the chessboard of the rends, there is no room for the king.
What is this high, plain ceiling with so many patterns?
No sage in the world knows the answer to this riddle.
What self-sufficiency is this, O Lord, and what mighty wisdom,
that there are so many hidden wounds and no room for a sigh?
Our minister of accounts, it seems, does not know how to reckon,
for on this decree there is no mark of "given for God's sake."
Say "Come!" to whoever wants to, and let him say whatever he wants:
there is no pride or disdain, no chamberlain or doorkeeper at this court.
Going to the tavern door is the work of those who are all of one colour;
the self-sellers have no way into the street of the wine-sellers.
Whatever fault there is comes from our own awkward, ill-shaped figure;
otherwise your robe of honour falls short on no one's stature.
I serve the elder of the tavern, whose kindness never fails;
the kindness of the shaykh and the zahid is there one moment and gone the next.
If Hafez does not sit in the seat of honour, it is from his lofty spirit:
the lover who drinks the dregs is not bound by wealth or rank.