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My sighs have fanned the embers into flames:
my breath’s rekindled fire within my heart.
My body, feeble cage, can’t stop a bluebird’s wings
from beating, nor my soul’s intent to fly away.
If they could hear it, the story of my crushing sorrow
would melt these rocks into rivers of tears.
The warning bell sounds: the caravan is leaving.
I hear it in the dark foreboding of my heart.
Love, for years I have railed against your tyranny.
No one’s heard me sobbing.
I’ve lost everything. Still, I’m proud. I would not guest
on Oprah and try to charm the viewers.
Desolate, I’ve lasted through the lonely night, tears of
blood flooding from my wounded, widowed heart.
I’m purged by grief; now hope arises. My garland’s withered
petals change to fragrant blooms, perfumed by Paradise.
Love binds me, shackles me. I’m a faithful dog, crouching
at your feet, hoping for the smallest crumbs.
Makhfi, if your sighs could sink to the ocean’s floor,
they’d ignite a flame, even in the cold, dark deep.
