Sting

Words are worth little; little more than pebbles.
Once flowers would've been enough,
But they too lose their eloquence.
And tears, 
Tears are merely cries of a joyous heart.
Prayer that moistens my lips,
Though soulful, does little for you or for me.

In this vast ocean you've manifested,
I can neither swim nor drown,
The seawater of your love is fast filling my eyes, my lungs, 
It stings, as it's meant to.

Oh how it stings!

The Song of the Sufi Masroof