I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation.
She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me.
Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of separation.
I am
Pir Muhammad
and I am stumbling away to die;
She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation.
From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century).
BALLADE OF NURSHALI
Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path