In the love of that moon-like beloved, I have finally become like a burning candle and a bewildered speck of dust. There is neither sleep in my eyes nor rest in my body, yet the beloved neither comes nor sends any letter.

Amir Khusrau weaves Persian and Hindavi together here to paint an unforgettable portrait of longing. In the first line, the lover sees himself as a melting candle and a bewildered speck of dust dazzled by the sun-like warmth of his beloved moon. The second line grounds this cosmic ache in raw, tender human sorrow—the eyes know no sleep, the body finds no rest, and the silence from the beloved is unbearable.