On the cold dirt of its bosom,
its grayish beauty spread
As if some saddened woman
in her lonely abode, lost in thought.
In contemplation of union with her Beloved
every pore sore, limbs limp with exhaustion
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Is someone there, oh weeping heart? No, no one there.
The night is spent, the dust of stars begins to scatter.In the assembly halls dream-filled lamps begin to waver.Small streets sleep waiting by the thoroughfare.Strange earth beclouds footprints of yesterday.Snuff out the candles, put away wine-cup and flask.Then lock your eyelids in this morning dusk.For now there’s no one, no one who will come here.Translated…
On the far horizon waved some flicker of light
My eyes, turning restless, still dreaming,the morning, dawning in this vacuous abode of separationIn the wine-cup of my heart, I poured my morning wineMixing in the bitterness of the past, the poison of the presentOn the far horizon waved some flicker of lightfar from the eye, a precursor to some morningSome song, some scent, some…
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
left their ebony bodies naked.It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,scattered them over the ground.Anyone could trample them out of shapeundisturbed by a single moan of protest.The birds that herald dreamswere exiled from their song,each voice torn out of its throat.They dropped into the dusteven before the hunter strung his bow.Oh, God of May…
My heart, my fellow traveler
That you and I be exiled,go calling out in every street,turn to every town.To search for a clueof a messenger from our Beloved.To ask every strangerthe way back to our home.In this town of unfamiliar folkwe drudge the day into the nightTalk to this stranger at times,to that one at others.How can I convey to…
Before you came things were just what they were:
the limit of what could be seen,a glass of wine was no more than a glass of wine.With you the world took on the spectrumradiating from my heart: your eyes goldas they open to me, slate the colorthat falls each time I lost all hope.With your advent roses burst into flame:you were the artist of…
The wall has grown all black, upto the circling roof.
My night begins to converse with its loneliness;My visitor I feel has come once again.Henna stains one palm, blood wets another;One eye poisons, the other cures.None leaves or enters my heart’s lodging;Loneliness leaves the flower of pain unwatered,Who is there to fill the cup of its wound with color?My visitor I feel has come once…