The Theater of Freedom -- Hafiz

The Theater of Freedom

In my divine studio
What I have been working on is this:

Painting the Truth,
Revealing
A more realistic picture of God,

Tearing down the cruel walls
That separate you from the tenderness of Fire.

Someone must be withholding
The crucial lines
In all those stories you have heard of our
Friend,

For there is still too much fear
And pallor upon your cheeks,

And I rarely see you
In the marvelous Theater of Freedom.

Hafiz knows
You could not describe him

Even if we sat side by side on a caravan
For years,

Even if we slept close in my desert tent
And you became familiar

With the holy scent
That the sun and my Master leave
Whenever they visit me,

For something has happened
To your youthful passions,

That great fuel
You once had to defend yourself
Against becoming tamed.

And your eyes now often tell me
That your once vital talent to extract joy
From the air
Has fallen into a sleep.

All that you could ever say of me
Can only describe my camel’s tail –

And that coarse hair
That is barely visible sometimes
On the left side of the moon’s nose.

In my divine studio
Where I am sitting right now
Crafting your heart, lyre
And flute,

I long for the day when you will join me
In knowing

The extraordinary humor
And all the enchanting realities

Of the infinite performances
of
God.