NATALYA ALYAKINA

Eyewitness to the Truth ...

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May none be shattered like me by the woes of separation
my life has passed by wasted, by the throes of separation
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Exiled stranger, lover, heartsick beggar, mind bewildered;
I've shouldered brunt of fortune and blows of separation.
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If ever separation should fall into my hand I will kill it;
with tears, blood, I will pay all the dues of separation.
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Where to go, what to do, who to tell my heart's state to?
Who gives justice, who pays out, for those of separation?
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From the pain of separation not a moment's peace is mine
for the sake of God, be just, give the dues of separation.
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By separation from Your presence I'll make separation sick
until the heart's blood flows from the eyes of separation.
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From where am I and from where are separation and grief?
Seems my mother bore me for grief that grows ...  of separation.
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therefore, at day and at night, branded by love, like Hafiz,
with nightingales of dawn, I cry songs, the woes ...  of separation.
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> Hafiz, separation.
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At head of the market the Soul Gamblers a proclamation make:
"Hear this, You dwellers of Beloved's District, for God's sake!
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"It is days now since the Daughter of Vine was lost to us!
left to follow her own desire; take care! she is on the make!
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She is dressed in a garment of ruby and crown of bubbles
she steals reason and knowledge, dont sleep! be wide awake!
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To whoever brings me that Bitter One I'll pay - my Soul so sweet
if in Hell that one's hiding, then my soul to Hell quickly take!
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that one's a night prowler, bitter, sharp, rosy and a drunkard;
if you find her, please quickly over to the house of Hafiz take!"
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> Love let loose, Hafiz
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One morning i walked into the garden to pick a rose
when suddenly, into my ear a nightingale's song arose
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In love with the rose and so terribly afflicted like me
into that meadow's breeze his call of complaint goes.
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Yes, upon the grass of that garden I have often walked;
concerned with rose and nightingale my thought flows.
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Rose is with thorn, nightingale the companion of grief;
it's still the same with these, will always be with those.
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Since the nightingale's cry made its mark on my heart
all patience to endure this separation from me goes
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In the garden of our world many a rose has bloomed;
from it, no one without thorn's wound, picked a rose.
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Hafiz, in this circle of life there is never a hope of joy;
it has a thousand pointed defects: no perfection grows.
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Hafiz, The rose and the nightingale
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Last night, with a torrent of tears, sleep's pathway I struck;
in memory, your face's down on water to portray I struck.
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In my vision was beloved's eyebrow, so my coat burnt up;
a cup to memory of that sacred prayer archway I struck.
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In my sight the fact of the Friend's form shone with glory;
on light on that Moon's cheek, kiss from far away I struck.
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My eye on Winebringer's face, ear on wail of the harp;
In this way, with eye and ear, an omen to convey I struck.
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I pictured the ideal of your face until the morning dawned;
upon the workshop of my eye, all sleep until day I struck.
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My Winebringer took up the cup to the tune of this ghazal;
I sang a song first, then to pure Wine without delay I struck.
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Every bird of thought, that from tip of joy's branch took wing,
back again into the cage of your curls to obey, I struck.
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For Hafiz, the time was happy; fortunate omen I brought
to friends: long life, wishes granted in every way, I struck.
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