THOU bringest never, long-lost happiness,
To still my heart’s distress
The remedy I crave. Why to the crowd
Should I thus voice aloud
My sadness, drawing scorn upon my name,
Telling the world my shame?
If in the close-hung darkness of the night
There shine no thread of light,
What matter? Though no torches flame for me,
My sorrowing heart can see
Illumined by the fire of grief it bears.
Why tangled in the cares
Of worldly hopes, O heart unsatisfied,
Restless wilt thou abide,
Seeking those things that thou shalt never gain?
Help askest thou in vain
From useless friends, and far into the skies
Peace like the Phœnix flies.
Behold, no herb of sweet content has grown;
For we have only sown
In far-off springs the seeds of our disgrace.
How could we bear to face
The direful Judgment Day, did we not bring
Our idol, witnessing
That by this Kafir worship which we give
We true believers live?
Upon the sea of bliss our boat is set,
But comfort comes not yet;
Over the soul waves of the tempest rise
Menacing to the skies.
So weary, Makhfi, are thine eyes with tears,
Darkened the world appears,
Nor can they tell, by grief and watching worn,
The rosebud from the thorn.