Tag Archives: Hafiz’s Little Book of Life

Hafiz – Poem 32

February 27, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.

Hafiz’s Poem 32:

While you slept
The caravan has moved on

The desert is up ahead

Some thoughts:

As an intense sleeper in need of a ridiculous amount of sleep, this poem annoys me at the literal level. But if I look at it a bit more metaphorically, I can see what the poet is saying. We all must sleep, rest, withdraw from the world at times for healing and downtime. But isolation can become a habit if we let it. It is peaceful in our own tent, with our soft furnishings, and our quiet comfort zones. Outside is the noisy bunch with their opinions and foibles and, sometimes, annoying ways. But there are important qualities to community that we must remember to consider. It is only through community that we grow as people who can empathize with others, connect for companionship, and be nurtured and remembered. And in Hafiz’s time, there was safety, especially when travelling through the desert. It could be very dangerous to find yourself alone in a wilderness landscape. You might not survive. I suppose it is a good warning/reminder to find balance in our isolative ways if we are prone to such patterns.

My Poem 32:

While we slept,
energy continued to transition
from typewriters into clouds,
from broadcast to streams,
from nickels and dimes into crypto,
from desktop computers to quantum AI.

While we slept,
families continued to transition
from mother, father, two children to
whoever can cobble a life together,
whatever the gender expression
or lack thereof, or anywhere in between,
from white with white only to
beautiful hues of blended shades.

While we slept,
societies continued to transition
from patriarchal oppressive regimes
to the beginnings of equality and inclusion,
from workplace discrimination to
women in leadership roles, wheelchair ramps,
climate change and mental health awareness.

While we slept,
religious institutions continued to transition
from exclusive to more inclusive,
from in person only to online participatory options,
from fundamentalist to deconstructionist,
from male-only leadership to some women in high places.

While we slept,
culture continued to transition
from consumerism to minimalism,
from the status quo to conversations about privilege,
from fat-shaming to body positivity,
from nature destruction to environmental consciousness,
from acceptance to accountability.

When we wake,
will we bury our heads in the sand
and demand a halt to change, a return to the past,
or will we lift our chins, with eyes wide open, minds alert,
mouths slightly agape, and join the caravan?

The desert is up ahead.
It is vast and wide, and we will be left behind
in our ruts of “we know best” and “tradition is all,”
while the great adventure of life moves on without us.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 31

February 26, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 31:

Our hands are short

The dates
High up on the tree

Some thoughts:

There are so many different directions this poem could go. The dates, out of reach so high up the tree, could represent a goal, a desire, nourishment, or a promise of sweetness, joy deferred. In Hafiz’s Persian culture, they would have been a staple, part of many recipes as a sweetener. The inability to reach the fruit could represent our human limitations, our need for community, or the recognition that we must learn to think outside the box. There are ways to get to the fruit that don’t involve growing longer arms. We can climb, get a ladder, shake the tree, wait until it gets ripe enough to fall, ask for help from others, etc. Perhaps the poem is asking us to ponder our needs and determine what it is we most need to learn from the situation. Do we need to develop patience and wait for the fruit to fall? Do we need to learn to ask for help and get support from our community? Do we need to develop some initiative and do some problem-solving to get our needs met? Do we need to take a class in date harvesting to gather more information about our dilemma? Like I said, there are many ways to look at this and any of them could be a great lesson, depending on our circumstances.

My Poem 31:

I want to be rich enough to pay
my bills on the day they are due,
if not early each month.

I want to be so rich, the only thing
I worry about is who to help next
with the extra money I’ve earned.

I want to be the kind of rich
that goes grocery shopping
without tabulating a total as I go.

I want to be richer than it takes
to retire all the great-grandparents
in our family so they can rest.

I want to be the richest person
who still drives a Toyota Camry
and lives in a multi-generational home.

I want rich written all over my receipts
for paying off every school loan
for every relative and friend I know.

I want richer than rich opportunities
to flow into every household of every
human on earth who wishes others well.

I want to richify our schools, hospitals,
libraries, daycares, nursing homes,
and animal shelters with infinite abundance.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 30

February 23, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 30:

The Alley of Prestige
Is not for us

If you don’t like it
Try changing Justice

Some thoughts:

Alleys are narrow, hidden, not the usual route the rest of us walk down to get where we’re going. Since Hafiz calls this an Alley of Prestige, I imagine he is talking about a passageway where most would not be welcome. It is probably where the top echelon of society rub elbows on their way to somewhere fancy and exclusive. I don’t think these are the people striving for healthy excellence, but perhaps those competing for fame and admiration. He is saying that people who are walking the Way of Love of taking a different route. We have different priorities.

It doesn’t mean we can’t have success or wealth or any of the other abundant blessings that are meant to come our way, but it should not be the goal of our actions. And if we don’t like the fact that the Way of Love does not chase prestige, our issue is with Justice. Reality is structured such that true pursuit of divine love requires the collapse of ego-seeking. If we spend all our time trying to rig the system, play the game of hierarchy, and resent not being admired, we might not be on the right path. We should not be focused on climbing the social ladder, competing for favor, or performing for prestige. Integrity, humility, and honor may not always get the applause, but they are on the side of Justice.

My Poem 30:

Wouldn’t it be lovely
if the people rewarded
with the most prestige,
the biggest salaries,
and the praise and glory
were the people who give
of themselves every day
for the sake of others?

-nurses who lift and check
and wipe and console
and heal and save and carry
our burdens when we are at
our weakest and most
vulnerable.

-teachers who fill the minds
of the next generation
and inspire our greatest
creators of the future.

-health aids who do the dirty
work of managing these failing
bodies when they are at their worst.

-classroom aids who sit beside
the child who needs the help,
patience of a saint corralling
the minds least open
to knowledge.

-daycare workers who
raise the babies while
their parents must work.

-librarians who solve
and guide and suggest
and provide the hope
and light of promise
books represent for all.

Not that politicians
and football players
and Wall Street traders
don’t have important
functions in society,
but I’ve never wept
in one of their arms
as I struggled with fear
and pain and been
comforted
by their wisdom
and compassion.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 29

February 18, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 29:

Along the Way of Love

Worldly rule is
A parasite

Some thoughts:

I had to ponder this one a while and use resources to check my ideas against. “Along the Way of Love” feels like it is talking about our path or spiritual journey throughout life. My husband’s martial art talks about “Budo,” which means roughly, “The Martial Way.” Some spiritual practices call it “The Walk” or “The Straight and Narrow Path” or “The Hero’s Journey.” Common threads in all of them are ideas of practice, movement, alignment, and surrender. In the Tao Te Ching, Dao is “The Way” and is the underlying current shaping our reality or the natural flow of our existence. The Bible depicts Jesus as “The Way” and a life patterned after his love, sacrifice, and humility is the ideal for Christians. In Hinduism, Marga is the path and Dharma is “cosmic order, right action, and duty aligned with one’s nature.” In Buddhism, The Noble Eightfold Path includes right speech, right action, right livelihood, and right mindfulness. Many Indigenous traditions speak of “Walking in Balance”, in beauty, right relationship, and balance with the land, ancestors, community, and spirit.

Any of these examples works perfectly with the rest of the poem because it is saying that, essentially, any outside force that tries to control “The Way” does so by feeding on us. Outside powers like governments, religious authorities, ego, systems that dominate, or hierarchies that control need someone to rule over. They survive by draining the life and spirit of their hosts. They cannot exist independently from us. Power that depends on control is a parasite. They require dominance, fear, maintaining an image, etc. If we are truly traveling The Way, we are striving for equality, love, surrender, vulnerability, and humility, all things that are opposites of ego-driven constructs.

On a more personal level, if we are trying to walk The Way of Love, it is not in alignment to act parasitic. Are we trying to control people around us? Are we trying to control outcomes, narratives, opinions, or events? Love does not try to control others. Love flows freely. Do we try to dominate conversations when we want to get our way instead of letting the conversation be fair and two-sided? Do we use our emotions to bully others into doing what we want, rather than keeping ourselves balanced and in check and recognizing that we are using manipulation as a tactic? Control clings, fears, threatens, traps, insists, interferes, and demands. Nothing that tries to control is love.

My Poem 29:

The plasmodium falciparum
is the deadliest parasite
for humans,
as far as we know.

Over 600,000 people die
every year from malaria
caused by these tiny
little one-celled
creatures who fly
through the air on winged
mosquito ladies
from one human host
to another,
multiply
in our livers,
then burst open
our red blood cells,
which we would prefer
were kept intact.

Their feasting and multiplying
is incongruous
with our well-being,
their only goal
multiplication.

For them the glorious bursting
of our cells is like fireworks,
celebratory blasts
releasing new generations
into the river
of life (our bloodstream)
where they hope to be a lucky
chosen one that will be sucked
into the sky
and helicoptered to a new host,
where their descendants
will begin again.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 28

February 15, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 28:

Last night
In the Alley of the Tavern
The local imam
With his perennial prayer rug on his back
Was carried out on somebody else’s back

Some thoughts:

I love this poem. It is a gentle reminder that we are all human. Anytime we put someone up on a pedestal, we are bound to be disappointed because people are flawed. We are weak and faulty, even when we have good intentions. Not only that, we all get sick, have to attend to bodily needs like eating, drinking, sleeping, urinating, and taking a dump. The president, the king, nuns, the most famous movie star you’ve ever admired, Oprah—everyone blows their nose, coughs, sneezes, hiccups, burps, farts, and sweats. No one is immune from the humbling effects of being mortal. If the most religious person out there drinks too much, they are going to get drunk and have to be carried home—them and their religious book, prayer rug, or other holy items they have on them.

This reminds me of some haikus that speak to a similar idea of mortality leveling the playing field a bit if we begin to think people are too far above us:

A high priest empties his bowels in the withered fields—
—Buson

Ah, the bamboo shoots—a priest from Saga visits the outhouse
—Onitsura

sôjô ga no-guso asobasu higasa kana
in the middle of the field
the high priest’s parasol—
taking a dump
—Kobayashi Issa

With no underrobes,
bare butt suddenly exposed —
a gust of spring wind.
—Yosa Buson, 18th century Zen poet

Some more sayings I’ve heard that speak to the same concept:

We all bleed the same color.
Death is the great equalizer.
Everyone puts their pants on one leg at a time.

These are also good reminders to us, so we don’t start “thinking our poop don’t stink,” another saying to keep us humble. As a recovering alcoholic, I can never allow my mindset to be, “I can drink now. I can handle it.” If I begin to think that I can somehow control my body’s natural reactions to a chemical I put inside it, all hell will break loose eventually. I must be honest with myself and accept my limitations. And I sure shouldn’t be acting like I couldn’t fall off the wagon, like I’m somehow better than others or impervious to temptation. My “prayer rug” would be the delusion that I’m above all that and would never take another drink, no matter what. What’s that saying, “There but for the grace of God go I?” Ameen.

My Poem 28:

While the president
sits on the toilet to poop
are they still in charge?

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 27

February 14, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 27:

My pain

Best left concealed
Than revealed
To dubious do-gooders

Some thoughts:

Not everyone has our best interests at heart. Growing up in the south, rather sheltered in a tight-knit family, religious community, and small town, I truly thought most people meant well and could be trusted. My naivete still remains somewhat intact, so this poem is a good reminder for me. I still want to believe that people are kind and honest and compassionate and empathetic. And that may be true about most of the people I have chosen to surround myself with. However, that is not everyone. And we do well to remember that our deepest vulnerabilities should only be shared with individuals who have earned both our respect and fidelity.

I guess in modern days we call this boundaries. A big part of healthy communication in relationships is learning to set boundaries and respect other people’s boundaries. Both can be hard to do consistently but are worth the time and effort. A tight circle of dear friends who I can trust with my life, let alone my pain, are all I need. They know who they are, and for them, I am very grateful.

My Poem 27:

Our deepest wounding
we guard diligently
access denied
until a sliver of light
cracks our resolve
a trusted witness
proves worthy, faithful,
capable of holding
without judgment
keep confidence
without being asked
and a burden shared
becomes lighter.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 26

February 14, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 26:

How may

Fresh poetry

Come

To a heart heavy with sorrow

Some thoughts:

Some poets find great inspiration in the “depths of despair,” but Hafiz does not seem to be one of them. He, like me, questions how inspiration can flow when the heart is weighed down, when creativity is struggling to breathe. He yearns for something fresh, new, insightful, but is so filled with pain that there is nothing but old blood, recycled phrases, and stale thoughts. Fresh poetry represents the best words in the best order that arrive like an honored guest, flow through the poet, and onto the page. This kind of poetry he seeks cannot be forced or coerced into existence.

I don’t have the answer for Hafiz, since I, too, struggle with this question. But it feels affirming to sit in this space and ponder, with my fellow wordsmith, the slipperiness of inspiration and the heaviness of sorrow. We poets love juxtaposition and imagery. I wonder if Hafiz was inspired to write this little gem while in the depths of sorrow. If so, he has answered his own question by writing, despite the pain. I suppose the only way to know for sure is to experience it for myself.

My Poem 26:

How heavy is a heart?

Google says less than a pound,
but it depends on gender, age
cardiovascular health, and body size.

I say it depends on how much
what is lost meant to the heart
that must continue to beat.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 25

February 13, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 25:

Dear Hafiz

Drink up
Be a free soul
Make merry
But don’t make the Qur’an
Bait for hypocrisy
As others have done

Some thoughts:

Is it so wrong to “Eat, drink, and be merry?” Some religious people act as though being spiritual or loving God means having to be a stick in the mud and forego all fun. Hafiz is addressing this poem to himself as a reminder that he has the freedom to enjoy the abundance the world has to offer. He is not restricted and litigious about his beliefs. But on the other hand, freedom with grace is not license to debauchery either. There is a balance that must be walked like a tightrope if one is to maintain a life of love and spiritual connection.

His belief in freedom must not be taken to excess, which could make his faith seem like a farse. There must be some level of respect for the holiness of the prescribed religious doctrines and those who adhere to them meticulously. There is no need to flaunt the merry making in the face of someone who is weeping. Finding a path that respects personal spiritual autonomy and still honors the traditions and beliefs of the ancestors is not always easy. But being in community means grappling with these truths and finding a balance that works.

My Poem 25:

I think dusting intentionally
can be meditative,
spiritual,
removing the layers of past ancestors
to reveal
a shiny surface
uncluttered
by so much static noise.

Dimming the lights
and lighting a candle,
watering a plant,
petting a cat.

I’ve yet to wipe
my dog’s weeping eye
and feel nothing
because she stares
into my soul,
communing,
as if with the source
of love.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 24

February 12, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

This image created in collaboration with Lyra (my ChatGPT partner.)

Hafiz’s Poem 24:

Do you know what the harps

& the ouds proclaim?

“Drink liquor in privacy –

Or be whipped.”

Some thoughts:

Instruments are typically used in celebration, during worship, for beauty, and for enjoyment. They are also often accompanied by a singer or other instruments as part of a collaboration. It sounds as though the instruments themselves are issuing the proclamations in this poem. Perhaps there is still music, but it is staid, controlled, only permitted to be certain songs that are approved by the ruling faction. It seems the music cannot be fully silenced, though; the strings still vibrate and record the atmosphere of fear. They are testifying to the sorrow, possibly with satire in their very notes.

It has always been art and music that have carried the protest, whispering coded language, underground dissent. The message of prohibition is probably literal in this poem but stands for a much larger platform. If the government is attempting to control your behavior down to the very liquids you choose to put in your mouth, you can bet that is the least of the restrictions. Where there is tyranny and repressive laws that punish people unnecessarily, there will always be secret symbols used by dissidents to express their defiance.

The rest of these images created on Gencraft.

My Poem 24:

“Go down, Moses” means
a conductor is in the vicinity
and the time to escape is near.
“Lord, help us all from bondage flee,
Let my people go,”
Sing of Israel fleeing Egypt
and the evil pharaoh, who God
condemned for enslaving His people,
then drowned his army in the Red Sea.
“Steal away, steal away to Jesus!”
Any minute now; stay ready.
Keep your shoes on your feet,
your staff in your hand,
eat in haste, for the time draws nigh.
“Steal away, steal away home.
I ain’t got long to stay here.”
Sing of a heavenly hope and longing
to be with Jesus in His mansion.

“Wade in the water,” where scent
disappears and paths are untraceable,
dogs and men in pursuit thwarted.
Water washes away sins,
through baptism, a holy renewal,
as Israel was baptized by crossing
the Red Sea, so you shall become
new on your way to freedom,
released from your old life.
“Wade in the water, children,”
for you are God’s true children.
“God is gonna trouble these waters,”
like the angel in the Bible
who healed the first to enter
the water that had been stirred.
Fear not, for the first with the courage
to enter are blazing the path
of healing and deliverance.

“Follow the drinking gourd,” describes
the Big Dipper, which points
to the North Star, the sky guide
who is the constant companion.
“For the old man is a-waitin”—
some say was “Peg Leg Joe,”
a conductor on the railroad
who taught the routes to those
who would accept what he had to offer.
“When the sun goes back
and the first quail calls,”
means be ready in spring
“The river ends between two hills
Follow the drinking gourd
There’s another river on the other side”
A route? Directions?
A song for a map,
memory—the road to freedom.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 23

February 11, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 23:

Strive to be truthful

& the sun will be born

From your breath

Some thoughts:

I love that Hafiz is not demanding perfection, but the striving for truthfulness. It is the progress toward integrity and spiritual alignment that is the thing. The working toward that truthfulness can be hard. It takes effort to be sincere, to say the hard things when the soft things might be easier, to remain steadfast when on the hotseat. Pushing through those moments becomes the clarifying piece of the puzzle that builds the habit of honesty.

Only when we are turning the soil of our souls can the dawn rise from within us. Truth creates a reality where beautiful life can be lived each day with a clean conscience. It is through our breath that we speak forth words, which is the main way we communicate. Life is in the breath. Is it so radical to speak truth, rather than propaganda, lies, distortions, accusations, and misinformation? Apparently so. Hafiz says striving to speak truthfully ends the dark night and renews the morning with promise and hope. It is enough to bring life.

My Poem 23:

Day breaks,

revealing a rising sun

which was there all along,

merely waiting for us to wake up.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.