The Song of Grief

My life is similar to that of the silent violin The lap of which is full of all kinds of melodies

The harp of the universe is sacrificed on whose silence Every string of which is the grave of hundreds of melodies

The silence of which is the custodian of music’s perfection And the silence of which is not obligated to any uproar

Ah! The hope of my Love was never fulfilled This instrument was never hit by the plectrum

But sometimes the zephyr of the garden of Tur flows And sometimes the breeze of Houri’s breath from the sky

Which gently touches the string of my life And frees the imprisoned soul of my life

The gentle sound of the music of despair rises The clarion’s call for the caravan of tears rises

Just as dew’s elegance depends upon the taste for racing The elegance of my nature depends upon grief’s melodies