When Hafiz br sang the poetry in his heart br in the beautiful gardens of Shiraz br br they said his voice was like br pouring light into a cup br when the soul is thirsty br br so no-one wrote it down; for br the page does not always sing; br better now, to seek out an old woman br who had heard Hafiz when she was young, br ask her to speak those verses br as she remembered them br br or even to ask her grandchild br who remembered the light br of his voice in her grandmother’s eyes. br br Because Hafiz br never saw anyone br who is not God br br he called God sometimes Friend, br sometimes Beloved, br or Sweet Uncle, Generous Merchant, br The Immediate One, br The Problem Giver, br The Problem Solver, or br The Clever Rascal. br br Because Hafiz br never saw anywhere br which is not God br br he gave God’s address as br sometimes the holes in the roof, br or the cracks in the walls, br or even the back door br of a favourite pub br br where God is the dancer, br the musician, the wine, br the beautiful companion. br br Hafiz knew br we need poets br to bring rest and refreshment br because separation from God br is the hardest work in the world. br br So don’t do a thing; br just rest there, and br we’ll bring you what you need. br br * br br [To Daniel Ladinsky, translator of 'Hafiz', br Shams-ud-din Muhammad, br c.