1. O Sheikh, where is the spring from this autumn?
What remains for youth when old age returns?

2. O Sheikh, after forty our stay
Is futile play which for us is forbidden

3. They say, "You have poured as if still young today"
O people, the foolishness of old men is terrible indeed

4. And if I compose poetry they say, "It's pretentious!"
And if I hold the cup they say, "He's a drunk!"

5. And if I shed tears of passion and sculpt idols
They say, "Even the son of a hundred has tears!"

6. O Sheikh, spit on life without passion
And breasts that boast of it and ribs

7. For whom are the tents? Not for the worn out
Their days are like our lives, patched up

8. Praise God for the tombs, though their domes be dust
And their sides cracked, strong are their keep!