Number 9

Gently empty your heart of grief for those who are like Layla. Driver of the caravan, lead the litter slowly out of this valley. Don't search this heart with your lashes anymore; the treasure of my heart holds no jewel but your love, which I have already dug out. What use is it to lift the veil from your face at the hour of my death? Seeing the flower only deepens the longing of the slaughtered bird. When my killer resolves to take my life, my fear is something else: I don't want to see my killer's hand stained with blood. Your companions sit warmly talking with you at the feast, while I, full of longing, watch the gathering from outside the door. How long must this go on? Only God knows where my dust will fall in this valley; with all my exhaustion, I have clutched the hem of the moving litter. The physician of this sea of love is hidden from sight; the moment you set me adrift in this boat, the shore vanished from my eyes.