The cloud rains, and I am separated from the Friend.
How can my heart be separated from the Friend on such a day?
The cloud, the rain, I – and the Friend taken away.

I am alone, crying, the cloud is alone and the Friend is alone.
Greenery, newly-sprouted, joyful air, a green garden.

The nightingale, disgraced, remains separated from the rose-garden.
O, what are You doing to me, with the root of every hair
Of Your tresses, bound together?

I am enchained by being tied up, and all of a sudden, alone.

–Amir Khusro