At the gates of the tavern I saw the angels knock Kneaded this clay we call human, and made it talk.
The residents of the Celestial Court and the heavenly bloc Drank from the Wine of Love, with me, upon our common walk.
The sky could not draw the burden of the trust, the lottery in my name was crazy The earth and the skies could not keep this trust of the clock Yet the poor insane me was stuck with such tough luck. The war of seventy-two nations excused everyone because they did not see the truth, people find good reason for the wars in which they are stuck Truth they cannot see, to fantasies they would flock. Thank God that peace fell between me and Him The Sufis danced in thanksgiving , in our midst, thank God, the dogs of war are put in chain and lock The angels gratefully drink, gracefully dance, from block to block.
Fire is not the one that laughs at his flame, the candle of fire is the one that struck a butterfly in the harvest, Fire is not a flickering glow that a candle flame would mock, Fire is the flame of a heap of moths that lightning has just struck.
None like Hafiz, the mask of deceitful intellect can pluck Till the hair of Bride of Verses was brushed lock after lock.
