O dear, between the grinding pebbles of the pain of my heart again

Though, you have crushed my life like small pieces of broken grains

Look, I will be leaving it with my tears and knead,

The meal of hope to relax and to feed,

The sad heart for whom no harvest blow ,

Which expects sour and bitter medicine of sorrow,

I know, in the fire of sadness you have thrust ,

My flowering soul and torn it like a metal rust ,

Beloved, it will blossom like a blushing dove,

To stay under chatting hearts of love,

The sad heart souls for whom no flower bloom,

Save sour and bitter buds of doom.