She said;
My son, do not be sad, Love is written for you.
My son, he who dies for the religion of the beloved has died a martyr.
Your cup, is a terrifying world.
Your life, travels and wars.
You will love often, my son.
And return as the king who has been conquered... In your life, my son, there is a woman.
Her eyes ... Praise be to Him who is worshiped,
Her mouth ... is drawn as bunches of grapes;
Her laughter ... is music and roses.
But your sky is full of rain and your path blocked for your heart’s beloved,
my son,
Sleeps in a haunted castle. The castle is large,
my son.
It is guarded by dogs… and soldiers.
Your heart’s princess is sleeping.
He who enters her chamber is lost.
He who asks for her hand, is lost,
He who descends the walls of her garden, Is lost.
He who attempts to touch her hair, My son, Is lost . . . lost.
I have looked and read often, but never have I read a cup like yours.
I have never known, my son, Sadness like yours.
It is your destiny ever to walk in love, upon the edge of a dagger. To remain lonely as the oysters, sad as the willow
It is your destiny ever to remain in the sea of love, without rescue, To love her with millions of times, And to return as the deposed king.
