In separation from my beloved's tresses, restful sleep has vanished from my eyes and slumber pricks like a thorn; how will these pitch-black nights pass?

In this poignant verse, the lover is tormented by separation, where the memory of the beloved's dark tresses makes the night feel impossibly long and pitch-black. Peaceful sleep has completely deserted the eyes, and any attempt to rest pricks like a painful thorn. It captures that restless, solitary ache where time stretches on endlessly and every moment without the beloved feels like a wound.