last night, in our circle of friends, the story was of your curls.
into the heart of night, our talk was of your long, curly hair.
the heart ran with blood from your eyelash’s arrows,
and was longing for the arched bows of your eyebrow.
may god forgive the breeze that delivered your message-
for had it not, another would not have arrived.
the world has no idea of love’s terror and tumult-
its sedition is all due to the sorcery of your glance.
i, the astonished one, was among the safe and secure,
but your hair’s twisted curls became a snare in my path.
loosen my shirt until my heart is opened-
my purity is because of my being by your side.
remember your promise, when you pass by hafez’s grave
who, as he left this world, was still desiring your face.
