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The cupbearer rises and pours the cup of dust over the head. The sorrow of the days is poured on my palm, not until I have lifted this cup of my pride. Although it is a disgrace to the wise, we do not want shame and name. How much of this wind of pride is dust on the head of the unsuccessful soul? The smoke of my groaning chest burns these raw depressed people. The secret of my crazy heart is confidential. I do not see anyone. The special and the general are with my heart. My mind is happy. My heart suddenly took a break. Do not look at the cedar in the grass anymore. Whoever sees that cedar, wait for my sympathizer. Hafez struggles day and night. Eventually, one day you will find your taste. == / bamdad_honar ==