[زکریا فتاحی]

Lit up by the light of your face, there is no soul that is not
Longing for the dust of your place, there is no eye that is not.
Those who have seen your face, are all-knowing and wise
Secrets of your beauty and grace, there is no head where is not.
No wonder if my telling tears, red and bloody, rise from my eyes
Ashamed and repentant of one's own case, there is no one who is not.
Till His breeze settles His dust upon my lap as my prize
All things, everyone I chase, there is none passing that is not.
Till the fragrance of your hair to every inhaler flies
Morning breeze confer, embrace, there is no dawn that is not.
Puzzling fate, in my fate, my agony and pain lies
Being showered by your grace, there is no one who is not.
From your sweet lips, life's spring will chastely rise
Bathing in such a place, there is no sweetness that is not.
Disclosing such secrets is uncalled for and unwise
Else in the feast of the insane and base, there is no gossip that is not.
Brave lion in love's desert, just like a fox hides and lies
Alas, for on this path, at this pace, there is no hazard that is not.
Dust of the door of your house, my teary eyes will chastise
Obliged with such favors and such grace, there is no dust that is not.
My existence, some name, a little fame, identifies
Else, there, you can trace, there is no weakness that is not.
Hafiz is upset with you, with your harshness and your ties
Else in you, from toe to face, there is not a thing that is not.

روشـن از پرتو رویت نظری نیست که نیست
مـنـت خاک درت بر بصری نیست که نیست
ناظر روی تو صاحـب نـظرانـند آری
سر گیسوی تو در هیچ سری نیست که نیست
اشـک غـماز مـن ار سرخ برآمد چه عجب
خجل از کرده خود پرده دری نیست که نیست
تا بـه دامـن ننـشیند ز نسیمـش گردی
سیل خیز از نظرم رهگذری نیست که نیسـت
تا دم از شام سر زلـف تو هر جا نزنـند
با صبا گفت و شنیدم سحری نیست که نیست
مـن از این طالـع شوریده برنـجـم ور نی
بهره مند از سر کویت دگری نیست که نیست
از حیای لـب شیرین تو ای چشـمـه نوش
غرق آب و عرق اکنون شکری نیست که نیست
مصلحـت نیسـت کـه از پرده برون افتد راز
ور نه در مجلس رندان خبری نیست که نیست
شیر در بادیه عـشـق تو روباه شود
آه از این راه که در وی خطری نیست که نیست
آب چشمـم که بر او منت خاک در توسـت
زیر صد منت او خاک دری نیست که نیسـت
از وجودم قدری نام و نشان هست که هست
ور نه از ضعف در آن جا اثری نیست که نیست
غیر از این نکته که حافظ ز تو ناخشنود اسـت
در سراپای وجودت هنری نیست که نیسـت