1. Peace upon this world and all who dwell within,
Though our beloved nobles depart and are gone.

2. For what is this life but a people who pass,
When one who dwelt here leaves, what remains of his home?

3. Gently, O mourner, though morn finds you woeful,
Your words in our hearts are as mournful as moan.

4. You mourn the Moon's setting, his radian light vanished,
Can the Moon overtake where the pigeons have flown?

5. For Michael all eyes now with tears are flowing,
Though in Heaven for him there may still be a smile.

6. The women mourn genuinely, each soul is bereaved,
To each a desire, save for him, they disown.

7. At home he was joy, though away caused them grieving,
Not even the pigeons evoked such a groan.

8. No eulogy matches the one loved so dearly,
His health failed, he sickened, obedient and prone.

9. Noble ladies lament him, their veils drawn before them,
Dark wrapped in their cloaks, their brightness has flown.

10. Once shining, now bloodied in shade and misfortune,
Young men and old weep, in his blood they are soaked.

11. Tears flowing on tears, they fall fast in succession,
The crush and the crowd causes crying conjoined.

12. What riches you gathered, what bearing was yours!
Yet only bare bones in the end you have owned.

13. You spurned silk and cashmere, their comforts you scorned,
No rug then was laid out, no cushion was strown.

14. You left with no word, no farewell was uttered,
When travelers leave can goodbyes still be intoned?

15. You guarded your distance from guests you hosted,
As though fellow sojourners somehow profane.

16. The bier does not know whose frame it is holding,
The grave cannot tell who in its clutches is sewn.

17. If known who you were, the earth would have trembled,
The beasts would descend and tear at your bones.

18. You were mourned by the pages and pens deeply grieving,
Eloquence wept you as poetry moaned.

19. You are mourned by the wise and the foolish together,
None blame those who weep what his charity sown.

20. The hand of fate has struck each loving heart,
With arrow of sorrow have arrows been strown.

21. So green was the sapling of Bano in life,
How then can we utter that hardened its bones?

22. Such is this life though long it may tarry,
For all that begins will also be gone.

23. To each soul is wanting and each life imperfect,
Only in death can completion be known.

24. We build and destroy, no permanence in it,
Of the two, neither endures nor calls any home.