غزل شمارهٔ 1837

Lord, would that I knew what is the desire of my Beloved; He has barred my road of escape, robbed me of my heart and my repose.

Lord, would that I knew whither He is dragging me, to what purpose He is dragging my toggle in every direction.

Lord, would that I knew why He is stonyhearted, that loving King of mine, my long-suffering Darling.

Lord, would that I knew whether my sighing and my clamor, “My Lord and my defense!”—will reach my Beloved at all.

Lord, would that I knew where this will end; Lord, this my night of waiting is very long.

Lord, what is this ferment of mine, all this bashfulness of mine?—Seeing that you are mine, you are at once my one and my thousand.

Your love is always both silent and eloquent before the image of my eye, my sustenance and my fate!

Now I call him quarry, now I call him spring, now I nickname him wine, now my crop sickness.

He is my unbelief and faith, my light-beholding eye, that of mine and this of mine—I cannot escape from him.

No more patience has remained for me, nor sleep, nor tears nor water; Lord, how long will he raid all the four of mine?

Where is the house of water and clay, compared with that of soul and heart? Lord, my sole desire has become my hometown and habitation.

This heart is banished from the town, stuck in dark mire, lamenting, “O God, where is my family and retinue?”

Lord, if only I might reach my city and behold the compassion of my prince, and all that city of my friend!

Gone then my hard road, the heavy load from my back; my long-suffering Darling would come, carrying off my load.

My lion-catching deer would drink to the full of my milk, he whose quarry I am would have become my quarry.

Black-faced night is then not the mate and consort of my day; stonyhearted autumn follows not in the wake of my springtide.

Will you not be silent? How long will you beat this drum? Alas, my veiled lip, that you have become veil-rending!