The melody of the breaking heart fades away,
as the lover cries his last at break of day.
No man can hold for long the lover’s moan within:
his sighs of pain save him from all he has ever been.
The play of love is like a cat toying with mice:
live or die becomes the whimsy of rolling dice.
But the lover’s anguish can not last forever,
even if in his death limb from body is slowly severed.
When night passes into day, and all is revealed,
the lover’s torture and seeming death are concealed.
He walks out into the marketplace of desire,
and barters day for night to again embrace despair.
When the only light to inspire his eyes is the Friend’s face,
Darvish hears the breaking heart sobbing tears of grace.