MIR SOZ.




XXX.


Even in the Kaaba courts my heart was moved,
Brooding upon the idol that I loved,
Mourning its loss. Now like a bird am I,
That painted in a picture cannot fly
Nor move nor sing; my heart is so outworn
With all the lingering sorrow I have borne.
Within my heart thy presence I have felt,
Within mine eyes, Beloved, thou hast dwelt
For long long days. Who taught thee for a shrine
To choose a heart so desolate as mine?
Long time I told my friends my bitter grief,
And in the telling sought to find relief;
In silence now instead I take my rest,
And find that peace and loneliness are best.

MIR TAQI.




XXXI.