Mara Chun Qatrayie Ashke

'You cast me off like a teardrop from your eye and left' — the image places the speaker inside the beloved's grief: he was a teardrop, something she cried. To be expelled as a tear is to have been intimate and then externalized, to have lived briefly inside the beloved's sorrow and then been shed. The beloved both produced him and discarded him in the same act.

'You too, O darling, did not know my worth and left / O stone-hearted one' — sang-del (stone-hearted) is the standard Persian epithet for the cruel beloved, but here the accusation is precise: she did not know worth. The beloved was not incapable of feeling; she simply did not understand what she held. The distinction matters: incomprehension rather than cruelty, which is both more and less forgivable.

'She left from my sight and with her went the light / And after her, O tears — you too fled from this dark house' — the poem's ending strips the speaker of even the capacity for grief. The beloved takes the light when she goes. Then the tears themselves — which would at least be evidence of suffering, some proof of aliveness — also depart. What remains is a dark house with nothing in it: no light, no grief, no witness to the loss.