He turned his face, my beloved, turned away,
And journeyed far, to foreign lands to stay.
I, born to love, a widow of the heart,
Am left to yearn, to tear apart.
He turned his face, my beloved, turned away.
O, my love, I cannot bear the pain,
Your absence, a relentless rain.
The moon no longer gleams,
The flute is hushed, it seems.
In my soul, a deeper sorrow blooms,
And tears, a river, floods my rooms.
He turned his face, my beloved, turned away.
Once laughter echoed here, a vibrant sound,
And fragrance sweet, upon this ground.
But you are gone, alone I stand,
Where is our love, where is your hand?
The fire of separation burns within,
My body consumed, my heart within.
Night and day, I stand and wait,
My eyes fixed on that distant gate.
He turned his face, my beloved, turned away.
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