Your wounds

All your images of winterI see against your sky.

I understand the wounds That have not healed in you.

They exist Because God and Love Have yet to become real enough

To allow you to forgive The dream.

You still listen to an old alley song That brings your body pain;

Now chain your ears To His pacing drum and flute.

Fix your eyes upon

The magnificent arch of His brow That supports And allows this universe to expand.

Your hands, feet, and heart are wise And want to know the warmth Of a Perfect One’s circle.

A true saint Is an earth in eternal spring.

Inside the veins of a petal On a blooming redbud tree

Are hidden worlds Where Hafiz sometimes Resides.

I will spread A Persian carpet there Woven with light.

We can drink wine From a gourd I hollowed And dried on the roof of my house.

I will bring bread I have kneaded That contains my own Divine genes

And cheese from a calf I raised.

My love for your Master is such You can just lean back And I will feed you This truth:

Your wounds of love can only heal When you can forgive This dream.

- Hafiz