The Lover

A lover hasn’t the heart for knowledge
nor the patience for study.
He already knows to perfection
when the Beloved is near.

Does a thirsty man sit and
debate the words for water?
Give him one glass, and he will
drink the truth of them all.

Such a one does not notice pain.
In him, all things are consumed.
He glows with inner heat;
his eyes are embers from the fire.

Yet because of that negation
he feels Her touch like no other;
because he burns with unending thirst
a drop tells the mystery of oceans.

Thus, the lover takes to pain
like a student to a favored lesson:
for insofar as he writhes in agony
Her merest word of balm is revelation.