HOW long upon this soul that dwells in pain
Thy vengeance, O Tormentor, shalt thou pour?
Could I the Land of Love in peace attain,
Thy poisoned sting should torture me no more.
No unguent salves these wounds upon my heart,
The diamond lancet’s healing pang I crave,
So keen my pain I tear my scars apart,
Come with thy kindly cruelty, and save!
From out my keeping has my heart been reft,
Why, let it go then: wherefore should I weep?
Over the empty hut a faquir left
No watchman comes his careful guard to keep.
Hearken, the time of parting sounds for thee.
How long, O Makhfi, wavering like the fire,
A Kafir shall thy restless spirit be,
Blown like a flame, tormented by desire?