1. In the grave, O my son, or in my grieving heart
You have dwelled, and still dwell, always devoted

2. I imagined in the dust a better mother
Than she who left a father sorrowing and bereft

3. So who now has the dove, after you two
Approaching without fear or apprehension?

4. O loss of knowledge - how bitter you tasted!
All with the sudden sword of death that reaps

5. And O youth that showed fruit, but had
No harvest save calamity to pluck it off

6. Be near God, interceding for him,
And proceed into His abundant shade

7. And aid a supplicant who dates it
In the bliss of eternity, Mustafa absorbed