THE LOVE CURER
To whom do I say the heart’s grieve, as I have no companion but you,
Except you, oh the spirit, no other aid there is.
I am suffering from your love and I keep quiet,
Because in this desert for the grief-stricken the sign of a sympathizer, there is not.
I cannot reveal the heart’s confidence to anyone,
As in this temple of Magian, the sign of no confidant, there is.
The cup- bearer! don’t talk about the brimful cup of wine,
For in this intoxicated tavern no sober there is.
My pain is your love and my bed is the grave,
Except you for me no physician and nurse there is.
Do me a favour, a favour, call on me,
Swear by your soul that as sick as I am there is none.
I cross out my notebook’s pages with red pen,
Yeah, there is no doubt about my love and your beauty.