Longing

My heart bleeds from the struggle of longing for her sight, The mirror in the tipsy idol's hand itself is henna.

The fainting spells that seize me repeatedly upon reaching there,A hundred times is my longing to kiss the ground at your feet.

Not a shadow remains, for upon hearing the news,Of the beloved's arrival, vibrant and new,My doors and walls have advanced a few steps ahead,To welcome them, by longing led.

In the thorny bush of this love, my beloved appears like the Kaaba to the Kaaba. Having wounded us, you did not even give us news. You made us dance with your love and then left us broken.

The market stalls are closed and the woman is veiled, For the sake of the beloved, my soul is restrained. I cannot bear this separation, my heart is contained, Oh, nightingale, in the garden, please sing your refrain.

In the dream's depth, my beloved is lost, I cannot find you.

Having crossed the river, O beloved land, your waves are not deep; why do you come here, adorned with the garment of longing?

Do not rend your collar yet, in this season of flowers;A hint from the beloved's side, too, our heart desires.

What is the matter that they only gave a glance, Leaving our lives yearning for ages?

Some whisper from the heart have touched the heart of the soul, Come you too, for this intoxicating magic is too strong.

An eye's image on the title I portrayed,So to you its yearning for sight is displayed.

In thought, the madness for the beloved's eyelashes resides,A hundred life-veins, like a path, to a lancet-field it yields.

Upon the title page, an eye I've sketched, so you may see,The fervent, aching longing for your gaze to fall on me.

We desire, Asad, those of comely grace,Your own visage too, one ought to see.

If you won't show your face, then don't, but with a reproaching mien, Just lift the veil a little, let your eyes be seen.

Still I yearn for the intimacy of beauty, While every strand of hair acts as a seeing eye.

Had my heart not claimed you, it would not know a moment's peace,And had it not died, it would sigh and wail for more days than these.

Each particle of the lover is a sun-worshipper,Even after turning to dust, the yearning for your graceful splendor did not depart.

How long, Asad, shall I turn my tongue on parched lips?O Saki of Kausar, these lips can no longer bear this thirst!

Let flirtation with the beloved continue, Asad, if union is not to be, then longing itself will suffice.

The mirror's glow lent flight to my desire's plea,A letter of longing, to a restless heart, I tied.

My heart's in a plight, bound by the beloved's vow, Whether they come or not, I must await them now.

Taking turns, my beloved, let us walk. O my heart, it is your turn; sleep is coming to you.

The night was not so fiery with passion,

On seeing the rose's cheek, Asad, the beloved's face came to mind; The fervor of the spring season is longing-inducing.

Show not your face, oh show it not if you so please,But in a glance of wrath, lift veil and show your eyes to me.

My relation to you is like the soul and the body; when will I be able to leave you, oh life?

Be it wrath or disaster, whatever may come,Oh, how I wish you were truly mine alone.

So that I may never sleep again, consumed by endless wait,They promised to return, when they appeared in my dream's gate.

The fervent surge of deep yearning utterly dissolved the heart;The heart's dark core, suvaida, is the blueprint for the lasting scar of desire.