Since you, my Lord, expelled me from the garden,
Many long, long epochs have gone,
Should I now come to meet you
And seek you beyond my earthly abode,
Or still wait for you - wait for you ever?
Or would you lay me off abandoned
In a landlocked and skylocked valley?
With a rock for pillow, thorny bushes as my mattress,
But how can I without you, my Lord, live?
With longing so deep for you,
Yes, I won't live on without you,
All the while I shall keep on waiting for you,
Even till Qiyamah falls, and Israfil blows into the trumpet
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem