Every night I starve and pine,
Looking at the moon and its light.
I hear from the wayfarers who have seen her,
That my beloved is more beautiful than the moon.
Because I have nothing to offer her,
Because I do not know how to reach her heart,
My heart loves her with the last drop of blood
Just to keep itself alive.
Amid an ominous, murderous thunderstorm
I could only see my beloved’s face
Reflected in piercing flashes of lightning strikes,
Ripping apart my anguished heart.
After the rains we stepped out of the shelter,
The scent of wet earth consumed us.
I touched my beloved’s hand gently like a feather,
The beads of water had turned to pearls on her form.
One more sunset, the birds are returning home.
I clean the soot off the glass lamps with much care.
My beloved’s face glows everywhere in the dark,
I light the lamps, one by one, to dispel her thoughts.
I dare not ask myself: why am I so aloof and lost these days?
This world has become an empty shell.
Why is it then, that my beloved’s name
rests on the tip of my heart like a prayer?
The letters never arrived.
I have now lived longer than a pigeon.
Yet, I wait for a word from my beloved,
In hope of a bird looking for me through many lives.
She took to...