The Music of Hindostan c16.192

c16.192

Why not praise your moles more than the stars!
Those are the ornaments of the cheeks of my beloved.
The white of early dawn radiates from your cheek;
The darkness of the night is a part of your waving hair.
Since I was fated to moan in separation, O God,
Why did I fall in love with one so beautiful?
Your eyes with their long lashes were quite enough,
Their side glances were not necessary for my annihilation.
Do you not understand that you will be alone after killing me?
Yet even the dust of my grave will cleave to you in my stead.
The times are such that, in spite of all that I have said and sung
there is no justice in this world.