My memory revives the time of your long curly hair,
how it released such scented bliss and rich despair!
The eternal living ancient one was your visage;
repeat the beloved’s name earnestly was your message.
A slap from your soft hand sent robust men flying,
a glance from your steel eyes- continuous crying.
Your dargah was called manzel-e-meem, house of the master;
all of your disciples saw in you the light of Zoroaster:
The name newly given you was Meher, and means the sun;
it also means love and mercy, or simply, compassion.
Like your father- a fakir, poverty was your glory,
and the infinite wealth of heart your unending story.
Darvish, cry and cry again to see his long curly hair,
but about his fierce beauty and soft hands- beware!
