1. Alas, would that my mother had not given birth to me perfectly formed,
And that I were but dust amid the hands of midwives.

2. Would that the sky might cave upon the earth and flatten it,
And that all things, even fates, might perish.

3. One morn a stone-carrier sang out, startling me,
And saddening me with a long, drawn-out melody,

4. I asked him, “What do you say?” And he said to me,
“I lament what the son of ‘Amr – misfortunes consumed him.”

5. So now, after you, I take no joy in life’s pleasures,
Nor in living, nor in the call of a reproacher.

6. It is the way of death to take away loved ones,
And so bring illness upon them, after one who gives to drink.