Look at the heart, see where it rises.
See how it comes upon us, like smoke.
Whose ashen grave is this? This sky
from which a flame daily rises.
These ruined chambers of my heart,
this house you must never leave.
When lamentation tugs at me,
a great roar rises, fills the air;
a dust of confusion rises
where your eyes engage my grief.
Where shall he find rest again?
The man who rises, leaves your door?
When I left your street it was as though
I chose to abandon the world.
Love, Mir, is a heavy stone.
Who can rise from under its weight?
What would I do without Mir?