1. Your ruins have saddened me, O Lakhaw
Like tents patched up and repaired

2. In them the laughing ones have become crying
And the pure ones unclean

3. The stormy winds and the reaping winds
And the twisted and trampled winds

4. Nothing in them except the streams and the gathered dust
And the beautiful ones, truncated and truncated

5. From every thin rod that grew from it a knotty or brittle palm
It has a face upon which the harshness of time has put on its dress

6. Like the moon surrounded by bliss and absent from it are the unlucky
It has soft braids above the litters combed

7. And it has a hanging muffler, rough and silent
As if its tilt were coveting a frightened young gazelle

8. Startled by the news of an ardent lover so for that it was suspicious
Until when will the ruins cry and the branch of your head be ripe

9. Will the tears that the guards have taken from you return