I see

(a ghazal of Hafiz)

dar kharâbât-e moghân nur-e khodâ mi binam
in ‘ajab bin keh cheh nuri ze kojâ mi binam

In the tavern of the Magians I see the light of God.
Behold this wonder—I see what light it is and whence it comes.

jalveh bar man ma-forush ay malek al-hajj keh to
khâneh mi bini va man khâneh-khodâ mi binam

O master of the pilgrimage, boast not to me of pomp;
Thou seest the House, but I see the Lord of the House.

khvâham az zolf-e botân nâfeh goshâdi kardan
fekr durast hamânâ keh khaTâ mi binam

I want to unleash the musk from the tress of idols.
Thought is far away; indeed, I see an error. (khaTâ = error; khatâ = Cathay)

suz-e del ashk-e ravân âh-e sahar nâleh-ye shab
inhameh az nazar-e lotf-e shomâ mi binam

The heart’s burning, the flowing soul-tears, the morning sigh, the night’s lamentation—
I see all this from the look of your grace.

har dam az ru-ye to naqshi zanadam râh khayâl
bâ keh guyam keh darin pardeh chehâ mi binam

Every moment a picture of thy face waylays my imagination.
To whom shall I tell what I see within this veil?

kas na-didast ze moshk-e khotan o nâfeh-ye chin
âncheh man har sahar az bâd-e sabâ mi binam

From the musk of Khotan and the musk-sac of China, no one has seen
what I see every dawn from the fresh breeze of the East.

dustân ‘ayb-e nazarbâzi-ye hâfez ma-konid
keh man u-râ ze mohebbân-e khodâ mi binam

Friends, do not find fault with Hâfiz’s play of gazing,
for I see him among the lovers of God.

Throughout this ghazal Hâfiz tells of the mystery of finding the sacred in the midst of the profane world. Everywhere he looks—the tavern, the Ka‘bah, the beloved’s face, the morning breeze—a miraculous theophany greets his gaze. While the theme of the poem is one of devout mysticism, Hâfiz finely balances it with a gentle sense of humor.

Line 1. In the tavern of the Magians—In Islamic Iran the Zoroastrians, being non-Muslim, owned taverns and dispensed wine. The word kharâbât, literally meaning 'ruins', is used to mean 'tavern' because of the moral dissolution of drunkenness.

Here is the well-known Sufi symbolism of wine as divine love, the tavern as the dervishes' meeting-place, and the Magians as masters of the Path. Iranian Muslim metaphysical scholars like Yahyá Suhrawardi and Mullâ Sadrâ gave credit to ancient Zoroastrian sages for first using the symbolism of Light as Reality.

I see the light of God—On the literal level, Hâfiz is suggesting that even the most corrupt places of this world can allow mystical theophany to shine forth to one who knows how to see. On the symbolic level, the tavern as Sufi khâneqâh is the place for spiritual gathering.

Behold this wonder—I see what light it is and whence it comes.— How can the profane world be a vehicle for the pure light of the spirit? Even if the mystic cannot explain it, he can testify to the miracle he sees.

Line 2. O master of the pilgrimage—The malik al-Hajj was the high official who commanded the Hajj caravan as it made its way across the desert to Mecca. Hâfiz contrasts merely human, outward pride with the glory of his inward vision.

Boast not to me of pomp—There is a delicate use of irony in the word jelveh, here meaning worldly splendor in the ordinary sense; it also refers to the unveiling of the bride on her wedding night, so for the Sufis, it means intimacy with the Divine Beauty.

Thou seest the House, but I see the Lord of the House—This is a direct allusion to a famous saying of the great Khorasani Sufi, Bâyazid al-Bastâmi: "On my first pilgrimage I saw only the House [the Ka‘bah]; the second time, I saw both the House and the Lord of the House; and the third time I saw the Lord alone." Hujviri comments: "Unless the whole universe is a man’s trysting-place where he comes nigh unto God and a retired chamber where he enjoys intimacy with God, he is still a stranger to divine love; but when he has vision the whole universe is his sanctuary."

Line 3. I want to unleash the musk from the tress of idols—Here Hâfiz is using fragrance as a symbol for spiritual realization. The pure spirit is unbound, it bloweth whither it listeth; but idolatry comes about when people think they can fix the spiritual presence in some earthly form. Hâfiz seeks to liberate the essential spiritual life from the forms he finds it in. The Arabic word for idol, sanam, is sometimes used in poetry to mean the beloved; here, the Persian equivalent bot is used. The zolf (curls of hair) is the phenomenal world that hides the face of the Divine Beloved. The mystery of how the formless spirit manifests in a form is the keynote of this whole ghazal; in reality the spirit is always liberated from the form.
Thought is far away—Mere thought does not produce spiritual realization, and is likely to lead even further astray from it.

Indeed, I see an error—The play on words suggests how people might go astray in seeking the divine mysteries. The symbolism of Oriental realms like Cathay implies the seeking of spiritual wisdom from the Source of Light (ex oriente lux), but people may take to wandering in fantastic tales of exotic lands without transcending the plane of this world; so in a double sense their thought is far away from reality.

Lines 4-5. Here Hâfiz explores the mystery of ‘eshq-e majâzi (human love which opens into Divine love).
The heart's burning, the flowing soul-tears, the morning sigh, the night's lamentation—This is the plaint of one who has fully experienced these symptoms of lovesickness in his own soul. The word ravân is a homonym, so ashk-e ravân could mean either 'flowing tears' or 'tears of the soul'.
I see all this from the look of your grace—What else but the gracious glance of the beloved could cause such sublime suffering?
Every moment a picture of thy face waylays my imagination—Another symptom of lovesickness, but here Hâfiz is taking the theme from the physical to the imaginal plane, to lead to the next phrase.
To whom shall I tell what I see within this veil?—With this subtle hint, Hâfiz mentions the mystic’s insight that sees the Divine presence deep within earthly love. Who but another mystic could possibly understand what it means, without having experienced it? Falling deeply in love is an experience of such overwhelming intensity that, for the true mystic, it carries the impetus that allows him to see through the veil of created beings to the Creator.

Line 6. Of the musk of Khotan and the musk-sac of China—Again, fragrance symbolizes spiritual realization. Natural musk from the Himalayan deer is a precious scent. Khotan in Eastern Turkestan is proverbial for its musk. Here the fabled Oriental realms provide another suggestion of the metaphysical "Orient of Light," but those whose taste is for earthly things, however fine, miss the transcendent spiritual meaning.
No one has seen what I see every dawn from the fresh breeze of the East—Hâfiz invokes the subtle fragrance of the dawn breeze, ever renewed from the Source of Light, in contrast to the earthliness of musk. The continued rhyming phrase mi binam (I see) reminds us in this synaesthetic imagery that the Light of God is the main theme of the ghazal. His spiritual realization comes to him direct from the transcendental Origin.

Line 7. Friends, do not find fault with Hâfiz's play of gazing—In traditional Islamic etiquette, polite men and women keep their gaze downward and do not go glancing all around.
For I see him among the lovers of God—With a wry smile, Hâfiz excuses himself for his looking, because everywhere he looks with the eye of love, he sees the presence of God.  "Whithersoever ye turn, there is the face of Allah"  (Qur’ân 2:115).

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