Number 19

Though I can't reach the hem of that moon-faced beloved, thank God my own hand can still reach my collar. Why should one restless with love fear the torment of separation? A flood never worries about the highs and lows of the road. My friends comfort me even when my beloved is absent. Happy is the one whose true state no one knows. Sometimes I weep from parting, sometimes I moan from love; all my burning life produces is tears and sighs. In searching for the beloved, my only guide is wandering, Tabib; like the caravan bell, my eyes on the road never look for a resting place.