THE SORROW OF THE BELOVED
The wine of the beloved’s cup the sobriety has not,
Drunkenness by drinking this glass of wine the sobriety has not.
Your sick eyes make everyone sick,
This lovesick one forever no sickness has.
The lover from everything, but the beloved, relinquish quietly,
Because with himself except the tale of love no other words has not.
To whom the sweetness of the beloved’s pain of separation, can be told?
Except the sorrow of the beloved the amorous no other sorrow has.
Call on the patient of your face, one day,
Except your love nobody is looking after him.
Be kind, oh friend, unveil your face and behave less coquettishly!
The heart from the beloved except sympathy no expectation has.