The heavenly breeze comes to this estate,
I sit with the wine and a lovely mate.
Why can’t the beggar play the king’s role?
The sky is the dome, the earth is my state.
The green grass feels like Paradise;
Why would I trade this for the garden gate?
With bricks of wine build towers of love,
Being bricks of clay is our final fate.
Seek no kindness of those full of hate,
People of the mosque with the church debate.
Don’t badmouth me, don’t blacken my name;
Only God can, my story narrate.
Neither Hafiz’s corps, nor his life negate,
With all his misdeeds, heavens for him wait.