1. Time has erased the traces of generosity, leaving behind
No goodness or kindness, except faint customs.

2. I've become one who begs from the miser his crumbs,
And find praiseworthy the vilest of blames.

3. Except that I still have a tribe of Zarafi kinsmen
Who came to my aid when all intimates betrayed.

4. They mended my broken being, reproached those
Who blamed me for the long rending of my robes.

5. Whenever I fear a condition that comes between me
And them, their commiseration saves me from abasement.

6. You, O Ali, are one of them, my champion
Against every grave peril these times make supreme.