Another Ghazal on Love

The gardens of paradise and all their sweetness feel cramped and narrow to a soul whose beloved has wronged it. How I wish I knew, dear land: they have moved away, and between me and their dwelling stretches a desert I must cross. I remembered the nights of union, and my heart ached with longing; oh, how wonderful those nights were, and how sweet. Our gathering was like the mansions of heaven, and in the hand of a dark eyed beauty was her cup of wine. In my heart, my friend, there is a passion that never rests, like ants gnawing at my insides, their creeping unseen. Do not imagine that distance breeds forgetting; the flames of my love can never be put out. The robe of my devotion never wears thin, and the garden of my love never loses its freshness. May the clouds of the first rains water the meadows of your land, even if the flood of my tears does not stand in for them. The dwellings of my beloved have filled me with grief; and what harm is there if her sorrowful lover pines away? The eye of the fortunate one wept whenever the sanctuary was mentioned; and the sweetest weeping is a stranger's tears for home.