Moon behind clouds

“So many are my sufferings, which shall consume me, – hu
The wounds of my heart again are raw.
For my sufferings, where shall I find my remedy, – hu
If there be cure only from the hand of the Shah. – hu
All her garments are finer than the rose.
Do not scorn the nightingale, it is unfitting of the rose.
Such longing I have endured, my heart is bruised.
Easily come the fragments of my soul. – hu
My tall and graceful cypress, my plane tree.
A fire strikes my heart; I blaze.
Toward you I pray, I turn always facing you.
My prayer niche is between your two brows. – hu
Love is not fulfilled with glances,
Who flees from love is not a man.
The candle is not put out by the breath of a denier,
Once afire, the light of passion burns. – hu
I am Pir Sultan, so much you have let yourself fall.
Without greeting, you come and you pass by.
Why do you flee this loving affection?
Is this to be the emblem of our way? – hu”

Pir Sultan Abdal
884–957 a.h. / 1480–1550 a.d.