You wounded me this winter,
with the coldness of the earth,
I am the garden of your wishes,
crown me with cherry blossoms.
May I tilt as an ivy tree,
around your tree of dunes,
may I bind up my head
by the beauty of truth.
May the wind and storms
twist around my tree,
in that battle the root becomes stronger
of the faith that is called Islam.
There’s a fire of desire that burns
from the bottom of my heart,
who can put it out
except the sea of your love?

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