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Beauty flows to, through whatever you gaze upon;
no words can describe it. Your gifts are infinite,
my life’s a small gesture of gratitude.
The ones whom the pious call sinner truly love you.
Seeing that shames their righteousness —
they fear for their own salvation.
Tears of grief tear my heart to shreds,
shatter it to sharp-edged fragments.
Yet you’ve never wounded me.
Bowing my head at your feet, I find relief.
Now I’m as close to you as your clothing.
Why, then, call me a stranger?
Makhfi, walk boldly through the valley of grief,
girdled with new dedication
and wrapped in your promise to love.
