Dying while living,
Through God's grace, I slowly awaken,
Clutching the fragile hope of reliving,
The sweet fruit of dhikr within my heart.
Beneath a shower of merciful rain,
My parched and weary garden blooms anew—
In joy, in longing, I patiently await:
How distant is my resurrection
From this winter of the soul, now fading away?
Conquered by the breath of a tender spring,
I see my beloved emerge...
...singing, shimmering,
A lifeless leaf stirs, returning to life.
MyKoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem