Number 2

Lord, what remedy is there for this pain of separation? I dread the news; it feels like the blade and the burial shroud around my neck. If my heart and soul stay this way in your absence, then woe to my heart, woe to me, woe to me! May you drink the rose-red wine in happiness every night, while I spend every day drinking the blood of my grieving liver. The fever of parting has killed me over and over; if I could reach you, would there still be life left in my body? I told her, 'You are mine,' and she said, 'No, I am not yours.' Leaving you is easy for me, easier than finding another love. I have something to say to you; turn your face to me and let me speak. Listen, my love, to your servant's words in their finest form. Qasem, dying for union with her is easier than living apart; in union she is joyful, and in separation I waste away.