Tuesday, 3 April 2012

Spring and All its Flowers by حافظ شیرازی


/ Photo by MyAngelG /

Spring and all its flowers
          now joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for celebration, not for lying low;
You too -- weed out those roots of sadness from your heart.

The Sabaa wind arrives;
          and in deep resonance, the flower
          passionately rips open its garments,
          thrusting itself from itself.

The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of water,
Learn freedom from the spreading grass.

Pay close attention to the artistry of the Sabaa wind,
that wafts in pollen from afar,
And ripples the beautiful tresses
          of the fields of hyacinth flowers.

From the privacy of the harem, the virgin bud slips out,
          revealing herself under the morning star,
branding your heart and your faith
          with beauty.

And frenzied bulbul flies madly out of the House of Sadness
          to unite with the flowers;
its love-crazed cry like a thousand-trumpet blast.

Hafez says, and the experienced old ones concur:

All you really need
          is to tell those Stories
          of the Fair Ones and the Goblet of Wine.

English version by Homayun Taba & Marguerite Theophil

Spring and all its flowers

now joyously break their vow of silence.

Something by the great Sufi poet Hafez in honor of spring and Norooz, the Persian New Year.
You too -- weed out those roots of sadness from your heart.
Spring has something to teach us about living with selfless exuberance.

The Sabaa wind arrives;

and in deep resonance, the flower

passionately rips open its garments,

thrusting itself from itself.

The Sabaa is a wind at sunrise coming from the East. Traditionally, lovers confide their secrets to the Sabaa. Spiritual poets associate the Sabaa with the breath of the Beloved; coming from the East, it is the first whisper of daylight, of spiritual enlightenment. It carries the perfumed promise of the new day. It is a messenger of awakening, subtle, playful, revealing new beauty.

Pay close attention to the artistry of the Sabaa wind,
that wafts in pollen from afar,
And ripples the beautiful tresses

of the fields of hyacinth flowers.



The bulbul is a songbird, a nightingale...

And frenzied bulbul flies madly out of the House of Sadness
to unite with the flowers;
its love-crazed cry like a thousand-trumpet blast.


The bulbul's song in the garden aches with love for the flower's beauty. But, to the spiritually minded, to the lover, this "House of Sadness" is sought, not avoided, for yearning becomes union. Then the House of Sadness becomes the House of Revelry, where the wine of bliss flows and stories find their fulfillment.

The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of water,
Learn freedom from the spreading grass.







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