Poems from "The Subject Tonight is Love"

by Hafiz

Nothing Can Shatter This Love

Nothing
can shatter this
love.

For even if you took another
into your arms,

the truth is my dear,

you would still
be kissing
me.



It Happens All The Time In Heaven

It happens all the time in heaven,
And some day

It will begin to happen
Again on earth--

That men and women who are married,
And men and men who are
Lovers,

And women and women
Who give each other
Light,

Often will get down on their knees

And while so tenderly
Holding their lover's hand,

With tears in their eyes,
Will sincerely speak, saying,

"My dear,
How can I be more loving to you;

How can I be more
Kind?"



You Might Get Pregnant

The
power
when our hands touch
concerns
me,

you might get pregnant.
And with you
being a
man

this would
shock
m
a
n
y
.



Among Strong Men

My soul is like a young doe-eyed maid

With lips
Still bruised from last night's divine passion.|

But my Master makes me live
Like a humble servant

When any king would trade his throne
For the splendor my eye can see.

Call it many things--
Give your desire polite names
If you must;

Mask the primal instinct from your reality

If you cannot bear that sacred edge
That will hone your ken
Against the Sun and earth.

Among strong men in the Tavern
I can speak a truth

No one will laugh at:
My heart is like a wild alley cat in heat.

In every possible way I conspire
To know freedom and love.

Forget about the common reason, Hafiz,
For it only enslaves.

There is something holy deep inside of you
That is so ardent and awake,

That needs to lie down naked
Next to God.



With Passion

With
passion pray,
with passion make love,

with
passion work,
with passion eat and drink
and dance and
play.

Why look
like a dead fish

in
this ocean
of

G
o
d
.



In a Tree House

Light
Will someday split you open
Even if your life is now a cage,

For a divine seed, the crown of destiny,
Is hidden and sown on an ancient, fertile plain
You hold the title to.

Love will surely bust you wide open
Into an unfettered, blooming new galaxy

Even if your mind is now
A spoiled mule.

A life-giving radiance will come,
The Friend's gratuity will come--

O look again within yourself,
For I know you were once the elegant host
To all the marvels in creation.

From a sacred crevice in your body
A bow rises each night
And shoots your soul into God.

Behold the Beautiful Drunk Singing One
From the lunar vantage point of love.

He is conducting the affairs
Of the whole universe

While throwing wild parties
In a tree house -- on a limb
In your heart.



The Size of the Love-Bruise

The

Gauge of a good poem is

The size of the love-bruise it leaves

On your neck.

Or

The size of the love-bruise it can paint

On your brain.

Or

The size of the love-bruise it can weave

Into your soul.

Or indeed--

It could be all of the

Above.

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