Life With out you is bitter.

By: Sister Mardhiya

O' inheritor of Yasin,
Peace be upon your radiant soul.
Vision of Yaqub has faded;
by counting the stars,
pinned to the velvet drape of night;
until his beloved Yousef returns.
This age long separation,
has fostered me since youth.
I live to see the next Friday,
in anxiety.
It is this dream; this single ray of hope,
that outlives all other desires,
and furnishes my soul with laces of your love.
My Master, upon whom the angels take pride,
O' Son of the distinguished nobles!
come & look at my heart,
that has your name,
embroidered with threads of gold.
How unfortunate are we;
that in your presence,
are still feeling solitary.
My Master, may I be your ransom!
O Son of the brilliant fulfillers!
With what water, with what soil,
can I purify my eyes,
in order to see you ?
My Master, sweet is your remembrance,
pleasant is the utterance of your name,
I accept death with open arms,
if I die whilst meeting you!