Hafiz Poetry Quotes

When no one is looking, I swallow deserts and clouds and chew on mountains knowing they are sweet bones! When no one is looking and I want to kiss God, I just lift my own hand to my mouth.

You can't stop dreaming just because the night never seems to end.

First the fish needs to say: Somethin' ain't right about this CAMEL ride...and I'm feeling so damned THIRSTY.

Good poetry makes the universe reveal a secret.

It is written on the gate of heaven: Nothing in existence is more powerful than destiny. And destiny brought you here, to this page, which is part of your ticket-as all things are-to return to God.

Let's get loose with compassion. Let's drown in the delicious ambiance of love.

আগুন পোড়ালে তবু কিছু রাখে কিছু থাকে, হোক না তা ধূসর শ্যামল রঙ ছাই, মানুষে পোড়ালে আর কিছুই রাখে না কিচ্ছু থাকে না, খাঁ খাঁ বিরান..

You brought me your darkness & I loved you with the radiant tears of a thousand suns.

The sun never has an inferiority complex. It shines the same whether above or below.

I am a hole in the flute that the Christ's breath moves through listen to this music I am the concert from the mouth of every creature singing with the myriad chorus Quote by Hafiz

পৃথক পাহাড় আমি আর কতোটুকু পারি ? কতোটুকু দিলে বলো মনে হবে দিয়েছি তোমায়, আপাতত তাই নাও যতোটুকু তোমাকে মানায়। ওইটুকু নিয়ে তুমি বড় হও, বড় হতে হতে কিছু নত হও নত হতে হতে হবে পৃথক পাহাড়, মাটি ও মানুষ পাবে, পেয়ে যাবে ধ্রুপদী আকাশ। আমি আর কতোটুকু পারি ? এর বেশি পারেনি মানুষ।

I keep holding up the mirror of the sun, so you can see the stunning reflections of everything you’re becom- ing.

It never bored them to hear words, words; they breathed them with the cool night air, never stopping to analyse; the name of the poet, Hafiz, Hali, Iqbal, was sufficient guarantee. India—a hundred Indias—whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one and their own, and they regained their departed greatness by hearing its departure lamented, they felt young again because reminded that youth must fly.

I Got Kin Plant So that your own heart Will grow. Love So God will think, “Ahhhhhh, I got kin in that body! I should start inviting that soul over For coffee and Rolls.” Sing Because this is a food Our starving world Needs. Laugh Because that is the purest Sound.

‪You collide with destiny caught up in the mystery of walking the halls of a mind that's only inclined to recognize & expect victory.‬

Bookstores, invariably, are a refuge. There's one in the town where they live, and the first time Lydia ventures in, it takes her breath away. She has to steady herself against a shelf. The smell of coffee and paper and ink. It's nothing like her little shop back home. It's stocked mostly with religious books, and instead of calendars and toys, they carry rosaries, Buddha figurines, yarmulkes. Still, the upright spines of the books are bedrock. Steady. There's an international poetry section. Hafiz. Heaney. Neruda. Lydia flips past the twenty love poems and reads "The Song of Despair." She reads it desperately, hungrily, bent over the books in the aisle of the quiet shop. Her fingers ready the next page while she devours the words. The book is water in the desert.

…The heavens could not bear my debt And wrote me as a madman in my fate. But lovers bled their hearts And on the face of the Beloved Did a beauty spot create. The fire that burns In the flame of the lamp Is not the fire; It burns in the essence of The moth and consumes him entire…

Nikal jata hu har waqt ghar se kahi door jane ki firaak mai, jo dhal jati hai shaam, jis taraf bhi nikal jata hu, hamesha ghar hi pohanch jata hu mai

তারপর ফেরে, তবু ফেরে, কেউ তো ফেরেই, আর জীবনের পক্ষে দাঁড়ায়, ভালোবাসা যাকে খায় এভাবে সবটুকু খায়। " - প্রত্যাবর্তন, ১২.০৫.৮০

As I had studied the poetry of Rumi, Jami, Nizami, Hafiz and Amir Khusrau, with some difficulty in the original Persian, and with some ease in various English translations, I realised that Nanak had absorbed the ethos of Islamic poetical mysticism, inherited the belief in ecstasy of union of Baba Farid, Nizam-ud-Din Aulia and Kabir. Of

Blinking and it's dripping, the wet eyes The cold tears or foggy breath Pitter patter, but the melting one The deafening silence, shining My amusement, my curtains The cold, behind the landscape The conscious of aftermath Missing, night lamp lighting A symbolic gesture, raising my arm My bewilderment, this work done The cost of life, my uneven quilts These slurks of cold air, slowly entering By and by grabbed, a handful of curtain Failed to judge, the end of same Eventually, discovered the light Flashing my eyes, my un-dilated pupil The pane partiality covered, but visible The range of Bimar Narsar, like a bride It's blanket of white, flashing everywhere It's been snowing throughout the dark

The Head Scissor and CEO of a major corporation was once asked to give a seminar on the topic of innovation to a young and thriving startup company. After looking out upon the big-eyed crowd of young and inexperienced scissors standing there on their snippers, the aged guru opened and closed with a few thoughts that made every scissor look deep within themselves. She said, “The heart asks us to make incisions by following it along the path of intuition. Otherwise, we can be certain we’re just following behind someone else’s dotted lines. Every morning when I get out of the shower and look in the mirror, I say to myself, ‘You stand tall with long legs and bright eyes, but what good are you, if you can’t stay on the cutting edge of your self?’” After receiving a thunderous applause she gave a knowing smile and made her exit.

An invisible inquisition stands armed with canons outside the house gates of every person awakening to their destiny. Yet God is a playful guard pup, a magnificent constellation with a massive pair of brass balls called the Sun and the Moon. Visibly excited and panting at the game, this gigantic guard pup wags a tail of stars back and forth then lifts his hind leg like a radiant sequoia tree uprooted from the earth. After blinding them and spraying them with bright yellow doggie urination, he towers over the marked territory of tiny toy soldier figurines, barking, panting, kicking up dust, and doing all those playful doggie things. Hosed down with blinding misfortune, and standing there dripping with dishonor, the army finally begins to discover the depths of the unbreakable bond between a person and their pup. However, at daybreak, the big-eyed and floppy-eared puppy happily scurries back through the gate slides on the loose gravel at the corner of the house, darts through the doggie door, up the stairs, and leaps into the bed of his awakening master or mistress, jumping upon them and licking them all over, with the warmth of puppy love.

…The love of his youth Appeared as in a dream And this ageing lover Went mad with love. The youth robbed him of Reason and his chastity. In pursuit of his Beloved, mad, deranged, He was from kith and kin estranged. The fire of the rose’s cheek Burnt the nightingale’s heart; The laughing flame Tormented the devoted moth…

A note to Pahelgam My visions are getting blurred, i can't see myself In a meadow, the one behind Aru Blue sapphire, my days and nights The holy water of Lidder I can't breathe, but your breeze Oh Kolhai! embrace my existence And to my eyes, Qurrata Ayun Your visions, wherever i see Across the country, but steadfast is my heart Under the bonfire of liddervat, a prolonged night May the creator, forgive my ignorance A tear about to vanish, but Alhamdulillah

When shall I get to kiss thee?’ I asked. ‘By all means you can forever ask,’ she answered. ‘Your lips ask a heavy price,’ I said. ‘It’s a fair exchange of one so fair,’ she said. ‘What lips are worthy for your mouth and lips?’ I asked. ‘Only the discerning can this secret know,’ she answered. ‘Don’t worship idols, be with the Truth,’ I said. ‘In the Way of Love, both are allowed,’ she said. I said, ‘The tavern helps to heal the heart.’ ‘Blessed are those who heal the lonely heart,’ she answered. ‘It’s not religion, the priestly robe, the wine,’ I said. ‘But to the gnostic both lead to the Divine,’ she answered. ‘What use to an old man of youthful lips?’ I asked. ‘By such sweet kissing, he grows young!’ she answered. ‘When shall the bridegroom embrace the bride?’ ‘When the stars are that way inclined.’ I said, ‘The prayer of Hafiz is for His glory.’ ‘This is the prayer of angels too, in heaven,’ she answered.

Crispy leaves, sufferings, but senescence It maybe fall, but it's more than just a fall Not snowing outside, but the cold dry wails The spilled maple syrup, slowly adsorbing in soil I've problems and circumstances, with the winds of west The blood, i can't resist it's flow The thoughts, i can't see without The ambition, I'm breathing I'd lift my eyes, but the sky won't forgive me Earth, mortal things don't own such pride Eyes carry a million thousand answers Music is a lie, listen to the silence This prolonged Saturday war, how would i bear my ink November, why would you leave me this Tuesday? Muscles carry nerves, there's such poetry within And here's a panalty, to live until next November

What is fear, when you are no one Who killed nothingness , with a dagger of emptiness Traversed the agony, for being alive One who crossed the country, is a no man Death is a reward, for a renegade The separation, the life, other syndromes The unification is a dream, unachievable The eyes saw them in distant, untouchable What can't be achieved, will be asked The "ask" for a longing in the life How to spread the life, to walk over For the life, i can't ask, to the death for a dream -Mohammad Hafiz Ganie

The teacher of Hafiz, Muhammad Attar, was a Perfect Master, and so was Hafiz himself. The poetry of Hafiz can be read as a record of a human being’s journey to perfect joy, perfect knowing and perfect love.

Music amplified what they could not find in books. Ecumenical music lessons. Algerian raï, Bangla, Kora, the symphonies of Gholam-Reza Minbashian and Mehdi Hosseini, and every sample of taarab they could get their hands on. No contemporary outpourings which Muhidin told Ayaana were the residues of the disordered screeching of Iblisi. Thus they roamed soundscapes. Hearing a melody, Ayaana often cried out, “What she sing?” or “Read”, while pressing clenched fists to her heart, where a stranger’s musical yearnings throbbed. Mid-afternoon, one Tuesday, Muhidin reread to her the poetry of Hafiz. First in broken Farsi, followed by his Kiswahili translation: “O heart, if only once you experienced the light of purity,/ like a laughing candle, you can abandon the life you live in your head...” “What is it saying?,” she asked “One day you’ll know. Today just listen.

The imagery of intoxication pervades the mystical poetry of Islam, from Attar to Hafiz to Rumi to Ibn al-Arabi and Ibn al-Farid, to Sidi Ahmed al-Alawi and Ibn al-Habib. „The Tavern“, „Wine“, „the Cup“, „Drunkenness“ are powerful mystical symbols that indicate the deep rapture and illumination experienced by the lovers of God. Those who deny the intoxication that comes from worship and remembrance are those who have never experienced it […] hearts overflowing with remembrance of God, filled with Light. Through worship and self-abnegation, they share a taste of the intoxication experienced by those who have entered the Tavern of the Presence and drunk the wine of Light. To deny the possibility of spiritual intoxication is to remove a powerful incentive for purification and worship: an intoxication that removes confusion, a drunkenness with no hangover. What a difference between effulgent rapture and the darkness of an alcoholic stupor! (p. 273)

All things brown are steeped in soul, as though echoing the depths of your stare chocolate dissolving in wistful warmth, coffee swirling in the hush of dawn, or the antique table, scarred with ink, where your name lingers in silent requiem. Like the archaic soil of Jupiter, obscure yet eerily familiar, your gaze is an abyss of unspoken lore, somber as shadows enwreathed in autumn’s last light, where the sun, in solemn retreat, bequeaths its gold to the encroaching dusk. Oh, the tyranny of such beaut your sepia eyes, vast and immutable, a twilight whisper before the night descends, drowning the world in hush and longing.