If I were to heed the criticism of the accusers
The way of intoxication and carefree living would not depart from me.
The asceticism of newly learned dervishes leads nowhere
As for me, who am the world’s infamy, what need have I of prudence?
Call me the king of the rebellious, my table is disordered,
For I am more foolish than anyone in the world.
Inscribe on my forehead with the blood of my heart, “empty”
So that they may know that I am a faithless sacrifice to you.
Pretend to have faith and pass by for God’s sake
So that in this robe you may not know what a wretched beggar I am.
O wind, carry my blood-stained poetry to my beloved
For the black lashes have stung my heart's vein.
If I drink wine, or if not, what concern is it of anyone else?
I am Hafez, the keeper of my own secrets, and the mystic of my own time.