Today since evening, my face has grown as pale as the early dawn, and in the sorrow of separation, I keep fading away just like the declining afternoon.

The poet weaves the shifting shades of day and night to portray the quiet ruin of loneliness. Even though evening has arrived, his face has drained of all warmth, turning as pale as the faint, fragile light of dawn. In the slow burn of separation, he feels his life steadily ebbing away, declining just as a weary afternoon dissolves into dusk.