The Womb of Sin
This heart has grown impure!
I call upon the Creator only in despair,
As if my joy depends solely on His creation’s care.
I’ve forsaken the mosque,
And made my home among people instead.
Every failure lies on me alone,
This soul feels like the very womb of sin.
Hunger
If the hunger of the stomach were sated by love,
No one would steal another’s right.
And if the hunger for words were filled by bread,
No one would wait for another.
Conflict
One tries fiercely to forget,
While the other still waits, praying for return.
What a strange conflict this is.
Regret
To me, you are like regret,
And our love itself feels like a mistake.
Whether once or a hundred times one errs,
Regret always lingers for life,
And so will you, like regret, dwell in my heart for long.
Money
For a little sum of money, I sold myself.
I sold my morning sleep,
The chats on a bamboo floor in the heat of noon,
The games of evening, and the circle of friends.