Number 5

Your eyes have struck me with the arrow of disaster; now I am a stranger, worn out, and cast aside though I did no wrong. I have heard that medicine can cure a pain. But what cure is there, when I, this weary one, have become your medicine? When I asked my rival about union with the beloved, it was pure misery; must it always be misery for my broken heart? It seems your eyes carry the passion of an unbeliever, that this glancing charmer would harm a child of the faithful. Just show yourself and tell me: how long will you keep making promises? I keep raising new hopes, and each new hope becomes a fresh wound. A thousand lives be sacrificed for you; Ghasemi has thrown his to the wind, and your pain torments him with a hundred cruelties.