Thy Heart

My beautiful! thou hast my heart and soul,

Thou hast mine inner and mine outer self;

I know not why I am so very sad,

I only know that thou hold’s the remedy.

My heart is dainty as a drinking cup,

I fear for it whenever I have a sigh;

It is not strange my tears are as blood,

I am a tree whose roots set in blood.

 Thy tangled curls are scattered o’er thy face,

Mingling the roses with the hyacinths;

But part asunder those entangled strand

On ever hair find there hangs a heart

Briar and thorn beset thy way, o heart

Beyond the dome of heaven is thy road;

If thou art able, then thy very skin

Cast off from thee, and lighten thus thy load

Beneath the tyranny of eyes and heart I cry,

For, all the eyes see, the heart stores up:

I’ll fashion me a pointed sword of steel,

Put out mine eyes, and so set free my heart.

O heart of stone, thou burns not for me,

That stone burns not, is not, indeed, so strange

But I will burn till I inflame thy heart.

For fresh-cut logs are difficult to burn alone.

By Baba Taher

Source: irib.ir