A bird who cannot leave his beloved
'Great hoopoe, said another bird, 'my love
has loaded me with chains, I cannot move.
This bandit, Love, confronted me and stole
My intellect, my heart, my inmost soul --
The image of her face is like a thief
Who fires the harvest and leaves only grief.
Without her I endure the pangs of hell,
Raving and cursing like an infidel;
How can I travel when my heart must stay
Lapped here in blood? And on that weary Way,
How many empty valleys lie ahead,
How many horrors wait for us? I dread
One moment absent from her lovely face;
How could I seek the Way and leave this place?
My pain exceeds all cure or remedy;
I've passed beyond both faith and blasphemy -
My blasphemy and faith are love for her;
My soul is her abject idolater -
And though companionless I weep and groan,
My friend is sorrow; I am not alone.
My love has brought me countless miseries,
But in her hair lie countless mysteries;
Without her face, blood chokes me, I am drowned,
I'm dust blown aimlessly across the ground.
Believe me, everything I say is true -
This is my state; now tell me what to do.'

--Attar, The Conference of the Birds