English
Ghazal 8
The rose of your face freed me from ever needing a garden;
the unbelief of your dark hair stripped away my faith.
Once the image of your tall, graceful stature crossed my heart,
my mind was set free from the swaying cypress tree.
We who have been left restless and wild in loving you,
the coil of your hair keeps scattering us to pieces.
Until the hand of hope reaches the hem of union with you,
my tears will not let go of your skirt.
On the road to the Kaaba of your embrace we will not stop walking,
even if the desert thorns break beneath our feet.
Obeyd, how long can you chase after this heart of yours?
Longing for you has left me utterly ruined and homeless.