A cup of longing
I must grow used to longing
for your absent face—
with weeping eyes,
accustomed to the ache.
My cup lies empty now.
From this moment on,
I shall fill it only with regret.
Though I am far from you,
whenever I close my eyes,
you appear—
seen by the heart,
called by a hundred whispered prayers.
Where is the one who,
in the night of parting,
sighs into the breaking dawn?
Where is the one
who kisses each drop
of your weeping?
I am weary of this world,
of fortune—deaf and cruel—
that hears not my cries,
nor brings a single word of you.
Why do these silent tears
never end?
I only wish to speak with you,
for one moment—
of a sweeter ending to our story.
One night,
I must cast this cup of longing
to the ground—
let it shatter,
or let it shatter me,
and end this aching solitude.
One day, I will come to you
unannounced,
like a bird
with broken wings.
You—
you are where my heart turns,
fairer than the moon.
Each breeze that passes,
I search for your scent—
hoping it may carry
a balm
for the raw wound
of my yearning.
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