You
have done well
In
the contest of madness.
You
were brave in that holy war.
You
have all the honorable wounds
Of
one who has tried to find love
Where
the Beautiful Bird
Does
not drink.
May
I speak to you
Like
we are close
And
locked away together?
Once
I found a stray kitten
And
I used to soak my fingers
In
warm milk;
It
came to think I was five mothers
On
one hand.
Wayfarer,
Why
not rest your tired body?
Lean
back and close your eyes.
Come
morning
I
will kneel by your side and feed you.
I
will so gently
Spread
open your mouth
And
let you taste something of my
Sacred
mind and life.
Surely
There
is something wrong
With
your ideas of
God.
O,
surely there is something wrong
With
your ideas of
God
If
you think
Our
Beloved would not be so
Tender.
The Gift, Poems by Hafiz, p. 271
