When drunk with wine,
upon soft pillows of golden thread,
I, in darkness, slept,
whilst sultans’ dreams filled my head,
I am woken by Your absence,
that of a restless lover in my bed.
So, we lie awake, You and I,
in silent prayer instead
and offer supha in a thunderstorm,
all this over tea and tesbhi
and sweetened sheermal bread.
Wake me, Darling, from this hide and seek,
for there is no sweeter presence
than the absence of the Beloved
of Whom the silent speak.
