XVII: The whole of my grief is love for…

The whole of my grief is love for thee, love, love for thee!
My heart is to atoms broken: it hath become blood, all blood!

My very vitals are become gorged with red, red blood,
Though clothed in garments outwardly white, all white!

Thou inflictest fresh wounds upon me, again and again,
Altho' of my former ones unhealed are many, very many!

Thou hast not shown aught of kindness in life towards me:
Of what use shouldst thou do so, when I die, when I die!

Thou hast expelled me entirely from the garden, my love!
And the black crows, within it consume the ripe, ripe fruit!

Thy dark tresses have the whole land with fragrance filled:
Thy curls are as the musk-pods of Chin, all perfume, all perfume!

Those sleepy eyes of thine are lions, both fierce and ravenous;
For they bear away Khwajah Muhammad unto death, cruel death!