1. My shelter does not fail to protect me,
The night has made its appointment.

2. It cries until my erect head ascends,
Selling and exceeding the span of my arm.

3. Then it climbs and accumulates excess upon excess,
As if a rock hand seized a bridle

4. Casting one then another into it.
So people took the mosques for shelter,

5. Raising hands and arms
Pleading while bowing and prostrating,

6. Fearing arriving heat and torment.
If you could see me sitting under my shelter,

7. You'd think me a child calling to its parent.
I reckon it a roaring flood let loose.