Ghazal 324

Like her hair, in my affairs there is a knot
Like my eyes, her grace will open my lot.

My redness is not from joy of the wine
Like a cup, my cheeks my bleeding heart blot.

The musicians, all play and sing in tune
If my song is out of tune, I lose my spot.

I am the night watchman of heart every night
Other than of the Beloved, I think not.

I am the magical poet whose magic words
From the reed draw sugar and fill a pot.

Her vision puts the eyes of Fate to sleep
O breeze, gracefully save me from dreamy rot.

I cannot find my friend upon the path that I trot
Whom can I speak a word to, and say what?

They used to say, Hafiz is false and fake, but
Her doorway is my only spot and plot.