In Memory Of Those

Poem By Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi

Their spring meadows
are desolate now. Still, desire
for them lives always
in our heart, never dying.
These are their ruins.
These are the tears
in memory of those
who melt the soul forever.
I called out, following after
love-dazed:
You so full with beauty,
I've nothing!
I rubbed my face in the dust,
laid low by the fever of love.
By the privilege of the right of desire for you
don't shatter the heart
Of a man drowned in his words,
burned alive
in sorrow.
Nothing can save him now.
You want a fire?
Take it easy. This passion
is incandescent. Touch it.
It will light your own.

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