For days, you’ve kept us worried
You don’t care about the sincere ones’ state
The corner of Razavi’s eye didn’t open in expectation
You maintain such pride, O discerning one
It’s better that you cover your hand with blood, like a lover
Than keep your hand on the hearts of the sorrowful
Neither the rose has escaped the pain of your grief, nor the nightingale in the garden
You make everyone tear their clothes, crying out
O you who seek the cash of presence in a patched robe
What a strange look you have for the unaware
Since you are the narcissus of the garden of sight, O eye and lamp
Why do you weigh heavily on my weary heart?
The jewel of the Jamshid’s cup is from another world
You seek a request from a potter
You are the father of experience, O heart, so why
Do you hope for love and loyalty from these sons?
You must pay pure gold and silver
For these desires that you have from the money-changers
Although our debauchery and ruin is a sin, but
A lover said that you are a slave to that
Don’t spend your days of health in blame, Hafez
What expectation do you have from a transient world?