With no messenger to take my message there…
no breeze to bring that One’s regards to me here,
how can it be possible for me to see the Beloved…
if Beloved’s name is more, than I am able to bear?
Dust of that road is collyrium, a good eye salve…
many labour far and wide…it, to eagerly gather.
How happy is the bird falling into that One’s trap:
what a joy it would be, to be that One’s prisoner!
When that bright moon rises over Beloved’s roof,
heaven becomes envious of the place it has there.
And as breeze keeps blowing towards the cypress,
my heart longs to embrace that One’s form, so fair.
When Jami finally wins the race to the winehouse,
the Owner will give Wine…prize beyond compare!
Adam A. Azim 