Delivering bread, our beloved Hafez,
Saw the Beautiful Shakh-e Nabat,
And his heart, taken hostage,
Realized the Agony and Ecstasy,
Of worldly love.
Mad with Love and Longing,
In each delivery thereafter,
He sought whichever route,
However lengthy or out of the way,
Led him to the sight of her?
Mad with Love and Longing,
He did not hide away, pining,
But sought out every means,
Legitimate or contrived,
To glimpse her Beautiful Face.
Fulfilling a vigil to win her heart,
He beheld a Vision of Divine Splendor,
And turning from her visage in form,
Sought Her, thereafter, as The Beloved,
In the Kingdom of Heaven, within.
If we are not Mad for Love,
We will not seek Her with such passion,
Finding ways, legitimate or contrived,
To turn wandering Attention inward,
Chasing Her Perfume on the breeze.
For She is the Blossom of our Soul.
If we are not Mad for Love,
If She does not hold our Heart hostage,
Each breath labored in Longing,
Each heartbeat imbued with Yearning,
How… how can we hope to find Her?
For Love is the Secret Compass.
Her Heart, our warp and woof,
Her Love, the Essence of Our Being,
And only when Mad for Love,
Holding Her so very close,
Holding Ourself so very close…
Do Lover and Beloved Vanish in Ecstasy.
