Love
Do you know anything of the shape of love?
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
Do you know anything of the shape of love?What color is it? What is its form?The one who loves dies a thousand times each moment,And rises a thousand times again — like me, for instance.The color of love must be transparent,For transparency is the symbol of purity.The wound of love is new at every moment,And there is no loyalty or fairness in it.For, drinking the tears of the lover,The tree of love bursts into bloom all the more.The lovesick one, having let go of his own affairs,Is the senseless, dazed one of this world.At times love turns into a bitter word,At times it makes its home within a sulk.Love’s inseparable friend is a dragon,And it has other names — separation, parting.The work of parting is burning and scorching,And perhaps, simply, turning the burned to ash.Dressing your body in the garment of nonbeing,And scattering your ashes over you this very breath.Love is the only road that leads to the goal,Whoever has not loved is very far from the destination.Whoever is still raw is an unripe servant,He wishes to stay unharmed by the fire of love.Akrom MALIK
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